Grimm saw that the General's dark, purple bruises had already begun to fade into shades of brown and yellow. It seemed that the old man still retained considerable powers of regeneration, despite his advanced age.

Taking the snares from the irascible Numal, the General headed into the woods surrounding the hill, whistling a merry tune as he walked

The young Questor turned to the unwillingly-juxtaposed Guy, who still bore a dark frown on his face.

"I'm sorry, Guy,” he said. “I didn't mean to laugh at you, but we just needed some release; any release."

"That's all very well,” the older Questor replied in a discordant rumble, “You've had your little schoolboy laugh, but it doesn't help Numal or me. How long do we have to live like this, before the old man works out how to use my voice to cast his bloody spell? I'd do it myself, if I had the faintest idea what he'd done to put me in this clapped-out, old body."

Grimm sighed. If Guy intended to moan and grumble until the party was ready to move on, this would be a most unpleasant stop-over.

"I'll tell you what,” he said, regarding the older man's sour expression, “I'll have a word with Numal to see if I can get the hang of the spell."

"That's all I need: a bloody adolescent wonder-boy, poking his face into my affairs."

Despite the lined, grandfatherly face, Grimm recognised the same sarcastic, dismissive mage he had first encountered in High Lodge, and he bridled. The young Questor stepped into the cover of the concealing greenery and beckoned to the stooped figure. To his surprise, the haughty mage acceded to Grimm's imperious gesture, without meeting his eyes.

"That's fine by me; fix it yourself, esteemed Brother Mage!” the young Questor hissed, rage blazing within him. “I've just about had enough of your whining. Sort out your own problems in future, and stop moaning about it to me; I don't care anymore, and I don't think anybody else does. After what Numal did for you, you should be grateful to be alive, not griping about how unfair life has been to you!