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convince Foster of a matter contrary to his understanding and awareness; I
need to create an entire false history, and this is even more difficult to
achieve than a basic Compulsion."
The young thaumaturge knew the previous night's brief rest had done little to
replenish his depleted reserves, and that he might be of little use to Xylox
in this matter; nonetheless, he had worked hard to build even the most fragile
bridge between himself and the curmudgeonly mage, and he deemed it politic to
comply with his senior mage's request.
"I am at your disposal, Questor Xylox, Grimm whispered.  I will do my best
to fulfil your needs."
The two Questors approached the frowning Foster.
"Do you not remember, Pilot Foster? the senior mage asked, his voice one of
deep concern.
"Not at all, mage, Foster confessed.  I know it was my decision to come this
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way, and I can only imagine that it's something to do with General Q, but I
can't remember a damn thing about it. I only..."
Fluent gibberish spilled from Xylox's mouth, as the senior Questor's twisted
expression told of inner agonies. In counterpoint to this, Foster's visage
lost all animation, as if a blackboard had been wiped clean. The spell went on
and on, and Grimm could tell the frugal mage was expending his hoarded
energies at a phenomenal rate as he babbled.
The mage's face turned ashen, and he grabbed his colleague's right arm, still
maintaining the cadence of the spell. Grimm felt much-needed power flowing
from him like water cascading from a broken dam; it felt as if his head were
being emptied, as if it might crumple and implode at any moment. His vision
began to turn grey and hazy, his field of view diminishing in size with each
second. The amount of energy Xylox was stripping from him was not the cause of
his pain, but the rate at which it was being drained.
Cold panic pulsed through his nerves, and he wanted to scream,"Enough, Xylox;
enough!" but he could no longer spare the energy to speak.
Was this what Granfer felt when he was stripped of his powers?he wondered,
his fear subsiding to dull resignation. He would die here, a shrivelled,
wasted husk, and Xylox would have delivered final adjudication on his despised
junior. Just as Grimm's field of vision narrowed to the size of a small coin,
Xylox released his arm: the spell must be complete.
For several moments, Xylox gasped like a beached fish, and Grimm sank to his
knees. The two warriors and the girl stood by, their expressions
uncomprehending and concerned, but the Haven man's face was as blank as a
fresh, clean sheet of paper, ready to be filled with new writing: Xylox's
fantasy.
Grimm's vision cleared, and he felt power rushing back into him like water
flooding into a squeezed sponge that had just been released. His head ached,
and needle-like pains pricked him behind his eyeballs, but he knew he still
retained at least some of his power. He half-expected Drex to rush to his side
in concern, but the girl seemed to look anywhere but at him. He gasped and
blinked, trying to regain his composure, as the senior Questor addressed the
ensorcelled pilot.
"Foster, we have all been Pacified to Level Three; do you not remember?
Xylox's voice was steady and metronomic, husky yet clear.
"I remember, was the dull, emotionless reply.  I was present when
Administrator Armitage ordered it."
"That is correct, Xylox said.  Armitage pacified us and then ordered you to
take us to General Quelgrum for induction; we are all unwitting slaves of your
Administrator, and we would do anything for him without knowing why. Haven is
in good order, and Armitage is alive and well, as are all his acolytes."
The pilot, shorn of his fearsome, Technological armour, nodded with
elephantine slowness.
"It was ... it was Administrator Armitage's idea, he said in a hesitant
monotone.  I must take you to the ... theGeneral . Armitage will be pleased."
"You will act at all times as if we possess free will, Xylox said, leaning
close to the flyer.  Armitage doesnot wish us to be aware of our enslavement,
and you do not need to ask why."
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The mage's brow beaded with perspiration as he sought to drive his will into
the pilot's sensorium. Despite the energies he had already expended, it seemed
to take additional resources to push home each new concept and instruction.
Foster twisted and groaned, as if caught in a mixture of agony and rapture.
 It was Armitage's will, he whined in a childlike treble.
Xylox groaned in a basso counterpoint; he must be reaching his limit of
power. Grimm delved into his diminished reserves and sent a spurt of it, all
he could afford to give, into his colleague, who tore a rasping, relieved sigh
from the cool morning air.
"You must take us to the General and his men, the older sorcerer whispered,
his eyes red and dull.  We know nothing except our love for Armitage, and our
need to obey the General."
"Love of Armitage, the blank-eyed pilot agreed. Xylox snapped his fingers in
the manner of a fairground mesmerist. Foster blinked, showing the first sign
of animation since the Questor began his magically-enhanced speech, and his
mouth flapped without sound.
"So there we are, the older thaumaturge said.  I am sure you remember now,
Foster."
"Er, yes, Questor, Foster mumbled, shaking his head as if to clear some
mental blockage.
"That's right, he added in a clearer voice, as false awareness came to him.
As far as Grimm could see, Foster was back in full charge of his mind and body
after his indoctrination.
"I'll bet you're looking forward to meeting General Q; he's a wonderful man,
believe me, Foster said, smiling.  Still, we won't get there any quicker by
standing around. Let's get these tents down, and I'll see what other
provisions I can find in the chopper. We've got a fair trek before us."
With a cheery whistle, his normal good humour restored, the pilot trudged off [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]