To Grimm's surprise, the wrinkled lips just smiled. “I can see I've misjudged you, Grimm: you're no different to me, are you?” the juxtaposed mage croaked. “You aren't just some jumped-up little nobody trying to make a name for himself, are you? You hate the old witch just as much as I do; maybe more so!

"It isn't just a Guild Quest for you, is it, youngster? You're just as hungry for revenge as I am!"

Grimm tried to speak, but could not do so; the older Questor had touched a sensitive nerve.

Guy/Numal slapped him on his right shoulder. “Don't worry, Grimm, I understand: you're only human after all."

Numal/Guy walked, or rather shambled, over to the woodpile and tripped, sprawling prone in front of the wagon.

"I want my own body back!” the imprisoned Necromancer yelled, hoisting himself back to his feet. “As I told the General, I even have trouble peeing, because these damned legs are too bloody long: I find it difficult to stand still long enough to finish."

A brief moment of silence ensued, and Grimm shot a stern glance at the old soldier, who just shrugged.

"What's the matter,” Numal croaked. “Did I say something wrong?"

"But I thought…!” Harvel started, his face reddening before he started to laugh again. This time, even Guy joined in the mirth.

Lizaveta sat on her magnificent, gilded throne and pounded a long rod on the flagstones. The nervous, chattering nuns before her became silent, assuming positions of religious modesty as they knelt before their Superior.

"Sister Judan; I declare you Mistress of this solemn ceremony,” the Prioress intoned. “We are all in your hands; I entrust to you the success of our endeavour."

"Thank you, Reverend Mother,” the matronly nun said, rising to her feet. “May I address the Conclave?"

"Please do so, Sister,” Lizaveta replied. “As I told you, for the purposes of this Great Spell, you may consider yourself an Authority over all present, including me."