Grimm blinked at the unfamiliar words, but he gathered that the mysterious mountain malady was due to altitude alone, and nothing to do with coldness.

Grimm managed to stand, facing Foster, although his legs still felt unsteady. He saw Tordun and Xylox also showing signs of stirring, although the girl, Drexelica, still lay supine and motionless.

"Master Foster," he said, his voice harsh even after he cleared his throat. "I am Questor Grimm of Arnor House. How came you by all this Technology?"

"We of Haven don't fear Technology the way you mages do," Foster replied. "It's all we have that allows us to make a living here in the mountains. We have equipment dating back centuries, and we have our own machine shop for fabricating spare parts as required."

"Haven?" Grimm frowned. "What is that?"

"We're a small community eking out a difficult living in the mountains," the Technologist answered, with a hint of pride in his voice. "We're almost fully self-sufficient, but sometimes we send people dressed as natives into Griven for needed foods and medicines we can't produce for ourselves. When you're all recovered, I hope you'll do me the honour of visiting us at Haven. I'm sure our Administrator, Armitage, will be very interested to meet you."

"It is not up to me," Grimm said, picking his words with care. "I mean, I cannot speak for everybody."

Foster nodded. "I understand. Since you seem a lot more tolerant of Technology than most mages I've met, would you mind persuading your fellow magic-user not to destroy my equipment? It did, after all, save your lives, and it might save other people in the future."

Grimm managed a painful smile, feeling the flesh of his lips cracking and bleeding.

"I will do so gladly, Master Foster. I wonder, however, if you would mind answering a few questions for me?"