"Most of the ammunition was unusable," the General chipped in, "but Armitage soon showed us how to make gunpowder, lead azide, fulminating mercuric chloride, TNT and lots of other useful substances. We threw away our bows and spears and embraced this new, fantastic bounty. I think it's safe to say that I wouldn't have such a well-equipped militia under my command if not for Armitage. He also started to offload his undesirables-suitably Pacified, of course-and my force grew. Now I've got fifteen hundred people, all ready to kill or die for me, and most of them have been conditioned only by solid discipline and the brotherhood of an unstoppable army with a righteous goaclass="underline" freedom."
Xylox took up his wine glass, inspected it with a critical eye, and downed its contents at a single gulp. Grimm could not help but admire his fellow mage's icy calm under adversity.
"And what of poor benighted fools like Mentalist Perfuno, here? What of their freedom?" asked the elder Questor, in a cold voice.
The green-clothed Mentalist bristled. "My name is 'Perfuco', Questor, and I am quite happy where I am, thank you very much."
"My apologies, Brother Mage," Xylox hissed. "You seem very happy to have forgotten your sworn oath; an oath that should have been sacred to you. You are nothing but a puppet to this megalomaniac, who worships only at the altar of cursed Technology. You have chosen betray your brethren and your blood oath at the word of a manic, power-crazed lunatic. I spurn you."
Grimm winced at his senior mage's words; the older magic-user might be protected from Technological projectiles, thanks to his magic gem of Missile Reversal, but the rest of the party remained at risk from the guards' metal weapons, which the grim-faced soldiers seemed only too happy to employ at the least word of command from Quelgrum.
Is Xylox trying to make the General angry? wondered Grimm. If so, he's making a splendid start.
Far from seeming enraged, the General chortled. "I'm not in my dotage yet, Questor Xylox," he said. "We're all slaves of something or other; you to your beloved Guild, and I to my army of lost souls."
Xylox slammed the empty glass onto the table. "The Guild enslaves nobody!" he shouted, oblivious of the weapon now almost pressed against his temple by a man whose bared teeth and narrowed eyes implied he was only to ready to use it.
"I might have given my oath as a child," he said, "but I did so with a free mind; I have never once regretted it: regardless of how you perceive the situation, I am my own man, sworn to a noble purpose."
Quelgrum, who seemed to have an endless capacity for alcohol, filled his glass yet again and took a healthy draught of wine.
"You see? We agree in our sentiments!" he said, in evident good humour. "However, one or both of us must be wrong. It's self-evident that the man with the power prevails in any given situation; I have the power here, and so I must be in the right. I regret to deprive any man of his freedom, but I have a duty that transcends individuality. The Professor will help you to disregard your former scruples, and you'll become happy to serve my cause: all of you."
As if a signal flag had been raised, the party flashed into sudden, concerted action as if they had been trained from birth to act as a team. Tordun leapt to his feet, seizing the weapon-bearing arm of his guard and twisting it with a savage motion that snapped it with a sickening sound; Grimm swung Redeemer, hidden below the table, at his own warder's skull, breaking it with a single, shattering blow; Crest, stripped of his accustomed daggers and whip, but possessed of remarkable reflexes, grabbed a knife from the table and plunged it to up to the hilt in his guardian's breastbone in a single, fluid motion; Xylox raised his own staff, Nemesis, and drove it straight through a sentry's sternum, to emerge through his back in a bloody spray. Drex grabbed her own watcher's ankle, causing him to stumble and drop his weapon, which she snatched up and used to club the man into unconsciousness. Tordun sunk a meaty right fist into the face of another soldier, leaving him senseless and bleeding and, at the same time, he hammered his left elbow into the gut of a further man, who collapsed like a sundered house of cards.
A single alert guard reacted in time to release a leaden hail of projectiles at Xylox, but he fell in a spray of blood as the Questor's magical gem did its work. Another soldier, standing a little too close to his comrade, was felled by the same vicious, stuttering fusillade.
Foster's face was ashen and stunned, and he sunk below the level of the table-top as the three remaining militiamen struggled to bring their firearms to bear, in the cramped space available to them. The close presence of Armitage, Perfuco and their beloved commander slowed their reactions: the mages' magically perdurable staves and the albino's clubbing fists took them down before they could orient their weapons. In the space of maybe ten heartbeats, a potent force of twelve armed men had been reduced to nothing, without the casting of a single spell.
****
Quelgrum smiled at the swift, efficient demolition of his armed guard. It pained him that a dozen of his flock had been so easily defeated, but he felt unafraid.
Yes, these people will form a valuable addition to my army.
"Perfuco!" the General cried, above the noise in the small room.
As the last man fell, and Tordun scrambled over the fallen bodies to reach the Mentalist, the mage assumed a splay-legged stance and screamed a rapid series of crisp, perfect runic phrases.
All resistance ceased.
Perfuco wiped cold sweat from his brow: the pale giant was frozen just in front of him, his face contorted in an ugly expression of rage.
Armitage crouched behind the ample frame of the senior officer, and the terrified servant cowered behind the inadequate cover of his toppled cart, along with Foster, who seemed no less traumatised at the swift series of events.
Quelgrum got to his feet and studied the fascinating tableau before him; five figures, frozen in positions of defiance and attack. He stepped over to Xylox, whose staff was poised before him, ready to strike again. The General flicked the magic-user's nose with his right index finger, without the least reaction from the motionless sorcerer.
Turning to Perfuco, the General said, "Well done, Colonel. You were right; I should have had you here from the start. How long does this spell last?"
The Mentalist rubbed his brow. "As long as I can maintain it, Sir," he said. "It is a considerable drain on my magical resources, not least because I am having to control the willpower of a pair of Questors; had their attention been focused upon me, I doubt I could have succeeded with such ease, if at all. I was lucky to catch them when they were distracted."
Armitage stood up and produced an object like a thick pen from the breast pocket of his white coat. "Don't worry, Colonel; I have enough Thorazine in here to knock out a herd of rogue elephants."
The Technologist stepped up to the albino. "Hmm; two doses for him, I think," he muttered.
Pressing the device against Tordun's neck, Armitage pressed the top of the pen twice; the giant swayed and fell.
"At least two doses for the mages as well," Perfuco called. "What they lack in bulk, they make up for in willpower."
Armitage looked the Mentalist in the eye and held his gaze; a feat beyond most men, when dealing with a class of thaumaturge in which strength of will was paramount. "That's far too much for the young one; we'll be risking brain damage or heart failure."
The Colonel turned to his commander; "You saw what they did with their staves, General; any Guild Mage could do the same, if in rude health. If they had had time to access their bloody Questor magic, this room would now resemble a charnel house, and I could not have hoped to stand against them for a moment. In fact, I would advise you to have their lives terminated right now, Sir. I can't hold them much longer, even with Armitage's drugs sapping their strength."