"What is it, demon? Is Questor Grimm in trouble?"

"He is, human," Thribble panted. "Pit-master Kel er has marshal ed al the fighters at his disposal to destroy the mage. Even your monstrous, pale companion, Tordun, is amongst his assailants. From their expressions, they are not under their own control. Questor Grimm is heavily outnumbered, and I fear he cannot destroy al of his opponents. He continues to fight, but the end cannot be long."

Numal felt a pang of helpless distress. "If a Seventh Level Questor can't hope to beat these men, what do you think a superannuated Necromancer can do to help him?"

"You are not completely helpless, mortal; you have your magic stick, do you not?"

Numal suppressed an inappropriate laugh. "So does Grimm, yet you say he cannot defeat his opponents, even aided by his powerful magic.

Perhaps I could manifest a lost soul or two, to try to frighten the fighters, but I doubt it would be of any use."

"Perhaps it wil not be necessary to face the pugilists," Thribble said. "Kel er seems to be their guiding influence. Perhaps al that is needed is to defeat Kel er, and this man is no fighter."

"Nor am I, demon, and I'm scared! I'm just a bloody coward! "

Numal's heartfelt words seemed to have little effect on the demon, or on General Q.

"Everybody gets scared, mage." The soldier's swol en mouth made it sound as if he had both cheeks ful of marbles. "Show me a man without fear and I'l show you a dead man. You have no choice about whether you have fear or not. You do have a choice when it comes to submitting to that fear or not.

"I was fifteen years old when I fought my first battle, at the behest of my hated lord and master. I was a shepherd, and I'd just spent six months'

slavery in a mine for attacking an overseer with my crook, after he beat me with a cudgel for complaining about the inadequate rations.

"I'd had eight weeks' training in swordplay, and I was so scared that I nearly fouled my breeches, but I fought. Since then, I've seen countless young recruits who thought they were too frightened to fight.

"I remember one young lad of about seventeen years of age, who fought beside me when we took on a band of brigands who tried to take over our base. We were outnumbered two to one, and I overheard him tel ing one of his friends he was worried he'd be too scared to fight. I stood beside him as we lined up for the start of the battle, and I saw him struggling with his emotions."

"I suppose you're going to tel me that he went on to a glorious career as a warlord, General," Numal said.

"No: he died in my arms." The General's expression was like stone. "But he told me before he died that he wasn't afraid any more. He was proud that he'd been a part of our victory, and he wasn't scared of death any more."

Numal snorted. "Very inspirational, General. But that boy didn't have to face the enemy alone. That's what I'd have to do, and I'm not going to.

That's the end of it."

Quelgrum levered himself to his feet and glowered at the mage. "Perhaps you're right, Numal. Perhaps you are just a bloody coward. I'l do it myself."

Part of the Necromancer's psyche felt relieved that someone else would face the danger instead of him, but he knew the old soldier was in no condition to fight.

"You can't, General;" he pleaded. "It's al you can do to stand up!"

"If you don't go, I will. Don't try to stop me."

The soldier surged forward. Numal moved to block Quelgrum, but the soldier shot out his bruised left fist to strike the mage on the jaw, just hard enough to make the Necromancer stumble and fal .

The pain of the blow was subsumed by the realisation that the soldier had not held back in the least; the soldier had hit him with al the force available to him. The man was al but finished, yet stil prepared to take on an overwhelming force.

"No, wait, Quelgrum!" he shouted, as the General stumbled out of the bushes. "There must be something else we.... can do!"

Quelgrum paused, and turned back to face the mage.

"It seems to me your magic isn't any great shakes, mage, and your wil power certainly isn't any better.

Forget it, coward. You can spend the rest of your life starting at shadows, for al I care."

"Perhaps there is something I can do," Numal said, feeling a little sick at the knowledge that the old soldier would surely die if he attempted to save Grimm. "It's not something I want to do, and I'm not even sure if I can. But I wil try."

Quelgrum stepped back into the bushes.

"What's the big plan, then, mage?"

Despite the General's swol en, disfigured face, Numal saw the ghost of a contemptuous sneer on the soldier's face.

"Necromancy involves the manipulation of souls," he said, the words tumbling, unbidden, from his mouth.

"I might, perhaps, be able to perform a spel of Juxtaposition. I've never attempted one before, but I know the runes."

"Let's just pretend for a moment that I'm just a simple soldier, and not a bloody Guild Mage," the soldier said in a sardonic tone. "What the hel is a spel of Juxtaposition?"

"I can maybe exchange my soul with Questor Guy's," Numal said, flicking a nervous glance at the now-silent, twitching form of the fal en mage.

"He would inhabit my body, free to perform his Questor magic. He can do more than I ever could."

"He's al but finished, Necromancer. He's as weak as a new-born kitten!"

"That's just his body, General. He'd have mine to play with, and al its strength."

The General frowned and looked down at the twitching, groaning Questor. "Guy's in terrible pain. Do you think you can face that?"

"I'l have to."

"Not bad for a craven coward, Numal." Quelgrum clapped the mage on the shoulder and forced his swol en mouth into a smile.

The Necromancer knew he must move quickly, before the dread demons of fear overwhelmed him.

Kneeling down beside the quivering form of the Questor, he put down his staff and applied both palms to Guy's forehead. "Hold him stil , please, General."

As Numal patterned his mind for the spel , he felt a welcome sense of calm washing over him. There was no room in a mage's mind for both fear and precision.

While his mouth spat out complex, flawless syl ables, he groped in the ether for Guy's soul. As he found it, he gasped at the shock of unimaginable, electric anguish, but the runes continued to issue from his throat; exact, perfect. A last pang of joy at the realisation that the spel was complete was swamped by agony.

He was in pain; he was pain...

Guy felt himself swirling through the al -consuming agony, drifting away from his body.

This must be it. I never thought it would end like this.

With a sudden shock, the Questor realised that the torment was gone, and he looked down at his own body, lying, twitching on the ground. Is this it? he wondered. Am I dead?

"Quickly now, mage," a familiar, mortal voice said. "Grimm must be saved, and Numal, too!" It was Quelgrum.

The Questor rose to his feet-or someone's feet-and felt an unaccustomed ache in his knees as he did so. His arms felt too short, and his entire body felt ... wrong, somehow.

"What's going on?" Guy said in a harsh voice, struggling with an unfamiliar throat and tongue. "Where the hel am I? What's the matter with my damned body? I feel like an old man."

"You are; you're in Numal's body, Questor Guy," Quelgrum said. "He's just done a very brave thing.

"Explanations must wait; you have to defeat Kel er, so Questor Grimm and Numal can be saved."

Guy felt shocked, realising he now inhabited a body over thirty years older than his own, but, for the moment, he was just glad to be free of the pain.

"Don't worry, Quelgrum; I'm more than happy enough to take on Kel er for my own reasons. That bastard put that damned col ar on me, and he's going to suffer for that. He's a dead man! I swear I'l -"

" Move it!" Quelgrum snapped in a parade-ground voice, cutting off the mage. "The sooner you do this, the sooner you get back to your own body."

Guy cal ed for his staff, revel ing in the sting as the magical weapon smacked into his outstretched hand.

"Very wel , old man. I'm not any keener at being in Grandpa's body than he is at being in mine. Demon, you come with me; you might just come in useful."

He held out his left hand in an imperious manner. Thribble rol ed his eyes, but said nothing as he hopped onto the extended appendage.

Slipping the demon into his pocket, the mage felt the joints of his body grind as he moved out of the bushes and around the rotunda. The sooner he ditched this worn-out shel and returned to his own, youthful body, the better!

As he reached the Pit entrance, he saw two heavily-muscled men standing in the entrance.

"Hold, old man!" one cried, a cauliflower-eared veteran of some forty years. "Yield or die!"

"Over your dead body, cretin," Guy-Numal said, launching a vengeance-fuel ed bal of ice-cold energy against the two men. In an instant, the warriors' faces turned paler even than Tordun's, and the mage stepped forward. With one sweep of his staff, the frozen pair shattered into tiny pieces.

"It's good to be back," the Questor muttered, stepping inside the Pit building, ready to hurl death at any who opposed him. To his surprise, the brightly-lit arena seemed empty. The domed ceiling was no more: Afelnor's handiwork, he guessed. From al around, he heard spectral applause and cheers, and guessed that Kel er was behind this.

"Demon, can you find the source of this cursed noise?" he shouted, scooping Thribble from his pocket and holding the imp to his ear.

"The sound emerges from several loci, human." Thribble pointed toward various black, rectangular excrescences around the wal s. "But the ultimate source seems to be that little hut."

Guy strained his eyes and saw a smal cubicle to his right, nestled against the short wal at the rear of the dished auditorium, surveying the Pit.

The hut had no apparent door.

No problem, he thought, readying himself for another spel . Let's make a real entrance!

"Be careful, mortal," the demon said. "You must not kil Kel er before he dispels his foul, Technological influence over the fighters. Grimm must be saved!"

Guy suspected that the younger Questor was already beyond al help, but he wanted his own young, healthy body back. The imp's words made sense, so Guy backed off much of the energy he had al ocated to the spel .

"Good advice, demon," he admitted. "Kel er can live-at least for now."

Despite difficulty in mastering the nuances of Numal's vocal tract, the mage knew this would have no effect on his spel ; a common runic spel might require perfect tone and diction, but a Questor spel was another matter. Only the pattern mattered.

"Let's give Mister Kel er a little surprise, shal we?" he said, readying himself to cast.

Chapter 34: An Echoing Tumult.

"Al right, boys; who's first?"

Grimm spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He stood with his back against the end wal of the short corridor, as the maddened horde of fighters approached inexorably. His only advantage lay in the fact that the narrow passageway forced the warriors to advance in a column instead of en masse.

If I hadn't wasted all my power so quickly, these fellows would be easy meat, he thought, mustering a rueful grin. What a time to learn such a vital lesson!

He held Redeemer before him, forming a horizontal barrier. To reach him, someone would have to touch the staff, and that might make things interesting.

Come on, you over-muscled morons. Come on!

At last, the front row of men approached him, and a foolhardy or ignorant soul tried to snatch the staff from Grimm's grasp. As his questing finger touched the staff, the man cannoned backwards as if he had been punched by a bad-tempered bear, spil ing other men to the ground.

Seizing the moment, Grimm stepped forward and swung Redeemer back and forth, rendering the fal en men unconscious or dead. A smal wal of inert bodies now lay between him and his attackers, and the young mage began to feel more confident.

Divide and conquer, he thought. I can't beat them all at once, but maybe I can take them out a few at a time.

"Bad move, gentlemen!" he shouted, as much for his own morale as for any other effect. "This round's mine, I believe."

However, he soon realised he had been overconfident; these ensorcel ed men were focused on only one goal: the elimination of Grimm Afelnor. They had no thought for the preservation of their own lives. As the main mass of fighters stepped back, a single warrior stepped over the bodies, his hands weaving in a complex, baffling pattern. As Grimm feinted with Redeemer, the attacker hooked the staff from the Questor's grip. As expected, the assailant flew backwards, unconscious, but Grimm was now unarmed.

Seeing their foe deprived of his weapon, the gladiators surged forward again.

Be calm, Grimm!

With a word, the magical staff flew back to his hand, and the Questor dispatched another five attackers.

He resumed his former defensive posture, realising the men would learn from this abortive attack.

Nonetheless, the advantage was once more on Grimm's side, and he awaited the next stratagem with a certain detached interest.

Now, Tordun was in the vanguard of the opposing force. Sweat ran down the albino's face, which was contorted in a complex expression of mingled ferocity, pain and despair.

"Tordun, don't do this," the mage said in the calmest voice he could muster. "You're a fighter, so fight Keller, not me!"

"Cannot ... help ... it," the former White Titan gasped. "It's too strong. The image-boxes ... blind him!"

With that, Tordun col apsed to the ground, contorting and flailing. The twitching albino's bulk impeded the advancing warriors, and Grimm scanned the wal s and ceilings for any evidence of the *image-boxes'