Tordun had mentioned.

At last he saw them; grey cubes clinging to the wal s of the corridor, almost blending into the dul decor, betrayed only by the gleam of their glass eyes. Four were within the reach of Redeemer, and the Questor dispatched them with a swift series of blows, moving back to his guard position just in time to fel another two assailants. The others, with the exception of the thrashing Tordun, regrouped to plan their next move.

The attacking horde seemed barely weakened, and Grimm's resolution weakened. Over thirty men remained, and their determination seemed as strong as ever.

The mage saw other boxes, arrayed down the corridor, swivel ing into position, orientating their crystal ine gaze upon him, and Grimm groaned with frustration. Only adrenalin was keeping him on his feet, and that was fading fast. If only he had the strength to...

The strength! The Questor realised he had forgotten about the spel s he had cast on Redeemer back in his tower. In addition to runic cantrips for light, heat and a dozen other minor spel s, Grimm had also poured his own energy into the staff for later use.

Drawing Redeemer close to his chest, the mage cal ed upon the much-needed strength hidden within the gleaming, black rod. As the Questor felt the vitality flooding back into every fibre of his body, the fighters made another attack, and he laughed with joy. He was whole again!

"Sk'tallek'ye!"

The nonsense syl ables burst from his dry lips, and the whole wal of warriors flew backwards. Although not badly injured, they tumbled in disarray, as if caught in a mighty wind. Like an avenging angel, the mage strode forward, sweeping Redeemer along first one wal and then the other. The metal and glass boxes were no more.

Grimm, free of the constricting corridor, tried to run for the passageway from which the fighters had emerged, but he realised he was back in the field of view of more of Kel er's Technological eyes. A hand caught his ankle, and he tripped.

"Great work from the outclassed Questor!" the mocking voice of Pit-master Kel er boomed from high above, as Grimm sprawled on the floor.

"But this series of desperation moves could just prove to be too little, too late! See now, as the victorious Pit champions-"

The hateful voice cut off, but the fighters lost none of their zeal. Grimm felt himself pul ed inexorably backwards towards the throng, his slender right leg in the grip of a huge, iron fist, which was soon joined by others. He tried to marshal his thoughts, to focus his power, but panic began to subsume him. It looked as if he were being drawn into the maw of a huge, many-legged insect...

Guy smiled as the wooden wal of the kiosk faded into dust, revel ing in Kel er's terrified, wide-eyed gape as the Pit-master whirled around on his smal , wheeled chair. The smal room contained al kinds of bizarre Technological equipment, which the mage vowed to destroy once he had achieved his ultimate aim.

"You don't seem to have much of an audience tonight, Kel er," he grunted in a guttural, grinding manner that only seemed to add to the Pit-master's fear.

"You!" the slight man gasped. "But you're only-"

"I'm your worst nightmare, worm," the young mage said in the old Necromancer's body. His gruff, slurred delivery was due to the Questor's difficulty in control ing Numal's larynx, but he rather liked the sepulchral effect of his new voice. Even the way he swayed on his unfamiliar legs seemed to heighten Kel er's terror.

Perfect, Guy thought. This bastard's going to suffer.

"What ... what do you want?" Kel er stuttered, his eyes wide in confusion.

Guy smiled slowly; to judge from Kel er's reaction, he guessed his borrowed face must be distorted into some ghastly grimace. This was al to the good: it would enhance the experience.

"Quickly, human; be swift! Time grows short! "

Thribble's urgent squeak brought the Questor out of his reverie.

"I want you to turn off al those bloody col ars," Guy-Numal growled. If you want to quibble about it, try this! "

Guy cast a spel of which he always felt inordinately proud, and Kel er fel to the floor, screaming in agony. The mage had exercised this particular magic on only a few occasions, since it required a man to be restrained and unresisting, but the Pit-master's consuming dread appeared to work just as wel as physical confinement.

Guy held the spel on the slender man for only a few moments; he did not want Kel er disabled or kil ed-yet.

As the Pit-master recovered, the Questor smel ed the acrid scent of ammonia, and smiled again as he saw a dark patch spreading across the front of Kel er's buff-coloured trousers.

"I'l do it; I'l do it!" the hapless, soiled man bleated. "Look!"

He drew a smal , grey implement from his pocket and ran his trembling fingers across a number of coloured keys on its surface.

"It's done, I swear; they're all off! " Kel er screamed, his eyes wide and terrified. "Let me go! I had no choice in this-they made me do it!" he jabbered, drooling in panic.

"Al in good time, Kel er." Guy-Numal began to appreciate the disconcerting effect his involuntary, dul monotone seemed to have on the worthless little man. "You just wait here while I check.

"K'zaat'az'er!"

He lifted the grey pad from the frozen Kel er's nerveless fingers and walked out of the Pit. As he entered the bushes, he saw his own body, lying pale and stil , and he turned to the battered General Quelgrum.

"How am I?" he barked.

"He's ... you're al right, I think." The General bent to check the supine body.

"You're stil breathing, and he ... you seem relaxed now, if unconscious. Whatever you've done, it seems to have worked.

"Now, where's Questor Grimm?"

Guy-Numal spread his borrowed hands. "I have no idea, old man. The Pit was al but empty when I went in. I think he's a lost cause. I just want a little more friendly discourse with our good friend, Kel er. I recommend we move on then."

Quelgrum rose to his ful height, and Guy realised just how threatening the old man's presence could be.

". recommend we don't," the General said, his voice blurred by his swol en mouth. "This time, I'm coming with you, and I want to know that Baron Grimm's dead before I abandon him. Is that al right with you ... old man?

"Remember, you'l need Numal to return you to your own body. Perhaps he'l prefer to stay where he is if I don't prevail upon him to do the right thing, and, right now, I might be persuaded to advise him to remain where he is. Without my advice, I doubt he'l change his mind-would you, in his circumstances?"

Guy-Numal shot a sharp look at the soldier, unsure if the old man was bluffing or not.

"Al right, Quelgrum. Just don't slow me down too much; I want to have a little fun with that skinny bastard. I've got his funny little device in my hand, so I don't think he can do much more. He was scared out of his wits when I last saw him, and I froze him in place. I don't think he'l be any trouble."

" You don't think?" Quelgrum expostulated. "These people seem to shake off Questor mind-control spel s like other people shake off flies!

What makes you think he's under this spel ?"

Guy-Numal smiled. "My body says he is."

"What about Questor Grimm? Kel er may be relying on your bloody egocentrism! He may be laughing at you now, just waiting to send a bunch of Pit fighters against us!"

"Al right, old man; keep your hair on. We'l check," Numal said's mouth. "He's dead, whatever happens."

Grimm had dropped Redeemer in his fal , and he cal ed for the staff as the insectoid mass of writhing fighters began to pul him in. The obedient, reliable baton flew into his hand as ever, but his panic swamped any kind of cohesive response. For the first time since his Outbreak, he miscast a spel , spewing purposeless energy into the air in a blue mist.

Not them; me! The inner voice was imperative, and he did not wait to consider the alternatives.

"Utch'katch!"

With this impulsive spel , born of sheer panic, he burst from his opponents' grip and cannoned into the far wal of the Pit. Light and pain bloomed in his head, and Grimm knew he was losing his hold on consciousness. Redeemer slipped from his fingers and he could not seem to cal it to hand.

Multi-coloured lights played around the inside of his cranium, and his thoughts drifted. Darkness began to descend over his eyes, and a buzzing sound fil ed his brain.

As if from far away, he heard the admonishing voice of Magemaster Crohn in his head: "You used far more energy than was required in that spell, Afelnor, as usual. I see we need to work upon your powers of control once more. We all know you have power; the trick is to use the least amount necessary for the desired result to be achieved."

He staggered to his feet as if drunken, his legs devoid of control or strength, to see a wide wal of bodies surging towards him.

As his stunned, befuddled mind sought solutions, the human mass stopped in its headlong, fanatical rush.

Grimm shook his head, as if he could shake some sense into his impact-addled brain, and tried to ready himself for the next assault. It did not come.

One fighter stood over him, bafflement fil ing his face. Stil wary, Grimm picked up Redeemer and held it before him in trembling, ineffectual hands, as he tried to control his rambling thoughts.

At last, the warrior spoke. "Who are you?"

"I am Grimm Afelnor, cal ed the Dragonblaster. Who are you?" Grimm remained wary. Could this muscular assassin be playing with him, before the end?

"Why am I fighting you?" the huge man rumbled, his expression bemused and unsure. "I'm..."

To Grimm's surprise, and even horror, the titanic fighter burst into tears, and the mage felt wetness at the corners of his own eyes. A distant part of his mind registered that Redeemer had once more slipped from his fingers, but he felt too stunned to care.

"I don't know," he said, giving vent to the pent emotions within him as he laughed. "I have no quarrel with you." Nothing seemed right, and the mage had lost al sense of self-preservation. His head rang, and he had had enough; al he wanted was to lie down, and never to wake again.

As the other warriors began to stand and shake their heads, Grimm saw Tordun surge forward, and he tried to move. He could not do so.

The white warrior swept the mage up in his arms. As if in a dream, Grimm heard him say "Our true enemy, Kel er, awaits us; he must not be al owed to live!"

At last, the Questor let go of the reins of consciousness; he al owed the blackness to descend, as an echoing tumult fil ed his head.

Chapter 35: Retribution.

After drifting for a while in a strange, disjointed reverie, Grimm awoke and opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and several moments passed before his vision cleared. He was lying on a comfortable, white bed, and Tordun and another, older man were standing over him.

"I'm stil alive!" he croaked. "What's happening?"

"I'm Dr. Hubin, the Pit physician," Tordun's grey-bearded companion said. "You've been unconscious for a few minutes, since you cannoned head-first into the Pit wal . It's a wonder you didn't cave your skul in, youngster."

"Kel er's influence over us seems to have gone," the pale swordsman said. "Most of the other fighters have gone looking for Kel er, but I wanted to stay here until I knew you were al right. Questor Grimm ...

I'm sorry I-"

"Don't worry about it, Tordun." Grimm cut off the albino with a wave of his hand. "I can't begin to imagine what that bastard, Kel er, did to you, but you stil tried to resist."

He levered himself upright, and felt his head swim.

"Take it easy, boy." Hubin put a firm but fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Rest a while."

"I can't, Doctor; Crest and Harvel need medical attention, and I need to get to Kel er before the fighters kil him!"

"I wil accompany Questor Grimm, Doctor." Grimm winced as Tordun's basso rumble vibrated his aching skul .

The swordsman helped the Questor to his feet, and Grimm felt surprised at the unsteadiness of his legs.

With gratitude, he clung to the mighty arm offered him.

"How badly injured are these men, Questor Grimm, and where are they?" Hubin asked. "I have several other patients I need to treat, you understand."

Grimm saw several occupied beds in the large, gleaming room, and he realised these held the fighters he had fel ed in self-defence. He suppressed a pang of guilt that threatened to unman him.

"They've been shot by the Mansion House guards' metal weapons," he said, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bleeding, battered men. "I believe they're in the bushes to the right of the entrance, but I don't know how badly hurt they are. The last time I saw them, they were bleeding and unconscious, and I'm worried about them."

"Very wel , mage," the doctor said at last, his face locked in a mask of ... what? Disapproval? Distaste?

Hatred? Grimm could not tel . "I'l treat them first. Your victims are either dead or likely to live, even if some of them may never speak or walk again. You've done wel , butcher."

Grimm's first instinct was to defend himself: he had had no choice but to strike out when attacked, and he felt the medical man's condemnation of his was unfair. However, more of Magemaster Crohn's words rang in his mind: "When it comes to a choice between regarded with pity, with hatred or with fear, Adept Grimm, always eschew pity; a pitiful mage is a lesser mage. The life of a Guild man is not a popularity contest."

Stil leaning on Tordun's supportive arm, he leaned forward to look the physician straight in the eyes.

"I was merciful, Hubin," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Just be grateful that I did not leave you a roomful of unidentifiable chunks of flesh.

See to it that you take good care of my friends; I'l be keeping an eye on you."

He held his intense, piercing Questor gaze on the grey-haired man's eyes for a long time before he relented. The doctor did not seem quite so defiant now.

"Very wel , magic-user; you've made your position quite clear," Hubin said, not daring to meet Grimm's glare. "Let's go, then."

The albino led Grimm out of the maze of corridors, fol owed by the sul en physician, and the mage felt a little guilty at how he had treated the old man. Nonetheless, this was no time to languish in self-pity or doubt; he had a mission to accomplish, and good friends to save. He also knew Kel er might hold information that could exonerate his beloved, disgraced grandfather. He only hoped he would not be too late to save the worthless life of the despicable Pit-master while there was stil time.

As the three men ascended the staircase to the top level of the Pit building, Grimm became aware of shouts and cries, and he saw a crowd of angry men clustered around the form of ... Numal! The old mage appeared to be holding the warriors at bay with his staff, but he looked to be losing the battle.

Grimm let go of Tordun's arm and yel ed, "What is happening? What are you doing here, Numal?"

Unthinking, he shouldered past the enraged, mil ing warriors to stand before the Necromancer, who had his back to the remains of a smal cubicle. Behind Numal lay the fal en, unmoving form of Kel er, and Grimm felt a cold shock run down his spine.

"Numal; he's not dead, is he? I need to talk to him!"

The Necromancer's mouth worked, but only a few guttural sounds emerged, as if Numal had difficulty co-ordinating his tongue, lips and throat.

A deep voice boomed behind Grimm. "Step aside, youngster. We've got business to finish here."

He spun around to see a heavily-muscled man who overtopped him by several inches. The man's expression was not friendly.