"We should destroy it, and this man, Foster, with it," the older mage growled. "Technology is an abomination and a curse. We demean ourselves by even countenancing its existence."

Grimm laughed; a rough, hacking sound. "Questor Xylox: I say this with all respect, but look at me! My skin is peeling and bleeding, and I can hardly feel my feet or my fingers. My head is still spinning, and I couldn't use my powers to melt a snowball right now. You don't look in any better shape than I. If we destroy Foster and his machines, we will be right back where we started, on the mountains. I don't believe you will last any longer than the rest of us out there."

"You used three vulgar contractions in that little speech," the starchy Xylox replied. "I must insist on full Mage Speech at all times while we are here."

The senior mage staggered to his feet. Xylox weaved from side to side, but he did not fall. After muttering the single word, "Nemesis," the Questor's seven-ringed staff appeared in his hand. Despite his unsteady legs, Xylox still looked the very image of a true mage.

Insisting on formal speech at this time seemed ludicrous, but Grimm could not help but admire Xylox's powerful presence.

'Power and presence complete the mage,' ran the old Guild saying. In his weakened state, Xylox might lack the power, but he had lost none of his presence.

The man is infuriating, thought Grimm, but I have to admit that his self-control is impressive.

"My apologies, Questor Xylox," he said. "I still feel somewhat weak, and my thoughts are a little disordered."

The older mage grunted. "I accept your apology, Questor Grimm," he said, leaning against his staff, "and I admit to a certain lethargy within my bones. There is, perhaps, a grain of reason in what you say.

"Much though I detest Technology, and as I trust you do, we have a Quest to complete. If this man, Foster, can lead us to General Quelgrum, it might be foolish to destroy him at this time."