"Can a bird fly, Brother Mage?" Grimm asked, returning the smile with only a little more confidence than he felt. He had practiced the control of his magical power over and over, until even the acerbic, critical Magemaster Crohn had declared himself fully satisfied. He felt certain he could evoke the necessary magic by force of will alone, without word or gesture.
The young Questor extended his Mage Sight into the depths of the woodpile, assessing its fragility and its flammability. He drew just a little power to himself, and clenched his brow and fists for a mere moment. In an instant, the wood burst into lambent flame, launching great curls of orange light into the night sky.
"Perhaps you'd like to use a little less force next time, Questor Grimm?" Harvel suggested. "It's not good practice to let the world know where you are."
"My apologies, friends," the young mage replied, happy that his spell had succeeded. "Next time, I'll just set a small flame on my finger and light it that way. That was at the lower limit of my projected power, I think."
"May the Names help our enemies, then." Crest grinned in evident appreciation as he spoke. "Does anybody want to eat now?"
Dalquist withdrew a dry cake of jerky from his pack, but Crest shook his head. "I advise you to save that tack for leaner times, Questor Dalquist. Watch and learn from Crest, the master hunter."
After a brief glance over his left shoulder, Crest sent the thin whip streaking out behind him. When he drew it back, Grimm saw a fat rabbit trapped in the coils, its neck broken. Crest repeated the operation twice more, and two more small animals joined the first.
"Heavens help the local wildlife, then," Harvel muttered in a stage whisper, and everybody laughed. Harvel set to work, expertly preparing and cooking the rabbits.
****
Producing a belch of heroic proportions, Crest offered to take first watch while the rest slept.
Grimm shook his head. "I do not feel sleepy," he declared. "I am happy to take the first watch."
The others accepted with grace, and Crest offered to take over in four hours. Grimm asked how he could judge the time without the guidance of the sun, but a military man, Crest explained, needed to be able to wake at will after any specified time interval. Grimm thought this was just part of the elf's habitual bluster, but for once Harvel did not contradict him.
When the others were asleep, Grimm took in the peaceful sounds of the area. Branches gently whispered and creaked in the breeze, and in the distance a wolf cried; an eerie, spectral sound. The embers of the fire changed their glowing patterns as if they formed the parts of a living thing, a luminescent chameleon, and Grimm wandered off for more sticks with which to feed the flames.
Was that the sound of the wind, or something more ominous? In an instant, Grimm's strained his sensitive ears until he could hear the blood rushing through his arteries and veins.
There is something there…
He started as a hand caught him from behind, wrapped around his mouth so he could not cry out. An arm that felt like iron clenched his arms to his sides. His heart pounded fiercely, almost deafening him, and then came a whisper that sounded like a storm to his sensitised ears.
"Thought to humiliate Harman Hammerfist, did you? Let's see you try those filthy devil-cursed magic words now, you undersized excuse for a wizard! So you choose to go around with that puffed-up fop and his mutant half-breed friend? No less than I expected. I've tracked you all day, all the way from Drute, waiting for the moment when you were alone. You never even looked around for an instant! Even on the bare plain, you never saw me.
"In the morning, your friends will find you hanging from this tree, a reminder of what comes to them that try to cross Harman. You should never have messed with me in The Broken Bottle. Goodbye, wizard, and good…"
The whisper finished in a loud gagging sound, and Grimm felt the hand fall from his mouth. Leaping forward, the Questor spun around, calling Redeemer to hand. He saw Harman clutching frantically at his throat, his eyes bulging, as Crest stepped from the shadows.
"You're a good tracker, Harman," the elf said, "and you skulk well in the dirt where you belong, but you make a lousy assassin. You should have made your kill quickly and got out. But you had to tell the mage your life story first. That was a bad move; a very, very bad move."
Crest released his whip from the big man's neck, and Harman's whooping gasps for air soon brought Harvel and Dalquist. The would-be assassin was now surrounded.
"I thought we'd see this piece of semi-human scum again sooner or later," Harvel spat. "He's obviously the forsworn traitorous bastard I took him for, but I never gave him the credit for being able to sneak up on us this easily. Well done, Hummer-pissed; you're easily one of the best crawlers I've ever met."
"Who's going to do the deed, eh?" Harman blustered, his eyes flicking from side to side like those of a cornered animal. "You think you're big enough to carry it off with that pig-sticker, you walking clotheshorse? Or let's see if that pointy-eared imp can take me on. Or are you all too scared to take on a real man, one-to-one?"
Dalquist made a show of inspecting his nails. "I would not sully my hands with you, Harman," he said. "The honour of ridding the world of your odious presence belongs to our friend Grimm, here."
Grimm gaped. "I can't just kill him in cold blood, Dalquist! I just can't!"
Harman jeered. "No, of course not, you'll get your fellow bugger-boys to do it for you, won't you? You couldn't dirty your hands with the murder of someone who's more of a man than you'll ever be."
Dalquist looked hard into Grimm's eyes, the two mages' noses almost touching. "You have to do it, Grimm," he muttered, his tone low and urgent. "There's no way out of it. This isn't murder: it's an execution. You vowed what you'd do if our hot-headed friend tried anything more. I told you just what a vow means in Drute; it's a solemn covenant. This scum needs a dose of his own warped justice"
"I know, Dalquist, I know!" Grimm wailed. "But this is just plain slaughter. I can't do it!"
"You must, Lord Mage." For once, Harvel seemed in deadly earnest, and Crest nodded in stern agreement.
As Grimm struggled with his doubts, Harman spoke up. "Well if you won't do it, and the child won't do it, I guess that's about it. Goodbye, all." He turned on his heel, and Harvel reached out a hand for the failed murderer, only to find himself sprawling in the undergrowth. From the corner of his eye, Grimm caught the bright glint of steel flying towards his throat.
The young mage, caught by surprise, screeched "Sh'slach'tera't'ye!" The giant tottered and sprawled at Grimm's feet, his own dagger embedded deeply in his left eye, a thick rope of spittle hanging from an open mouth.
"Now that's the way to do it, Questor;" Harvel said with an approving nod, "quick and clean."
Grimm stood aghast, his mouth gaping. Nausea took his entrails in an iron grip. Hysteria flickered within the Questor as it had only ever done once before, unwanted and unbidden. Blue motes of magic flickered around him to no effect as he struggled with the enormity of his act. "He's dead!"
"Grimm, listen to me!" Dalquist hissed. "If you had not done what you did, it would be you lying dead on the ground now. You know it! You did not launch the missile; you only turned it back against its homicidal owner!"
Grimm wrestled with the torrent of emotion rising within him like a frigid, bubbling mountain stream. "I know, Dalquist, I know! But I've killed another human being, no matter how evil he was. I could have restrained him. I could have disintegrated the dagger harmlessly. I could have done any number of other things to stop him. Instead, I reacted without thought, and I killed him!"
Harvel clapped a hand on Grimm's shoulder. "None of us condemns you for what you did, mage. I've killed many men, and it's never easy. If it were, then I'd be no better than the vicious scum lying here. I don't like to do it, but I kill when I must." He fixed Grimm's wide-eyed gaze with steely eyes.
"I would have killed this man, if my reactions had been as swift as yours. Do you hate me?"
Grim
m shook his head. "You're a warrior, not a wanton assassin, Harvel. It's your trade, and I respect your abilities. You're right; I had to kill Harman, I know it in my head, but my body doesn't see it that way. Maybe he had a wife, a family, loved ones. They'll never see him again."
"And the families of his other victims?" Harvel demanded. "You can bet this wasn't the first time he sneaked up on someone to kill them. I say this with all respect: maybe you're too wrapped up in your emotions to realise it, but you've done the world a service.
"It's as simple as that: you killed when you had to, and I know what that can feel like. I still remember my first kill. I was no older than you, and my tongue got away from me after a drinking session. I might have inflamed the situation a little, but it wasn't my fault someone else's ego was a bit too sensitive. When my back was turned, he drew a dagger and lunged at my back. If I hadn't dropped to one knee and thrust my own blade between his ribs, I wouldn't be here today. A horde of gorgeous women would never have known the tender touch of Harvel, the best lover in the Northern Lands! Aye, and what a tragedy that would have been!"
Harvel puffed up his chest and smoothed his clothes with such a primping, self-satisfied gesture that even Grimm laughed. He laughed long and loud, out of all proportion to the swordsman's posturing, a few tears breaking unbidden from his eyes. He sniffed, still laughing, but then the hysteria left him and he assessed the situation. Whatever else, he, Grimm Afelnor was still alive. He would survive and the murderous Harman would not. He had had no choice.
"Shouldn't we bury him?" he asked.
Dalquist snorted. "He does not deserve it. Leave him here. It will be a good warning to any of his friends, should they come by. If, that is, he had any friends."
Sleep was ruined for all, and brushing the tears from his cheeks, Grimm remembered why he had wandered off in the first place. "I must get some firewood," he said. "This time I'll keep my wits about me."
"And this time I'll take the watch, as I offered earlier," Crest insisted. "You do need some sleep, no matter what you say. You weren't alert enough, letting someone sneak up on you like that."
Grim acquiesced, and went for the fuel, this time keeping his ears open for the slightest untoward sound. This time, he was not molested.
Dalquist approached the young Questor as he delved for wood in the undergrowth. "Questor Grimm," he said, his voice sterner than Grimm had ever heard it. "You have sworn an oath to the Guild. At times, you may be ordered to kill; I have been so ordered in the past. I will never enjoy the act as long as I live, but I know my duty. I hope you never get used to it, but you will have to be impassive and resolute when you have to kill. Just remember your blood oath to the House, Grimm. You are a Mage Questor; that means sometimes you must put aside your humanity for the sake of necessity. The next time you have to kill, I do not want to see a display like that, is that clear?
"In addition to this loss of control, I asked you to confine yourself to Mage Speech when dealing with Seculars, and you have been lapsing into vulgar contractions and slang. You must keep control at all times; is that clear?"
Dalquist had never talked to Grimm in this manner before, but the young mage saw the concern on his friend's face. Dalquist was responsible not only for the success or failure of the Quest, but also for the reputation of Arnor House. Grimm had revealed weakness and humanity; in less tolerant company, the image of the Guild Mage might have been tarnished.
"I apologise, Questor Dalquist," Grimm said, bowing his head. "I know I should be more in control of my emotions by now. I promise you I will be more on my guard next time. It was just so fast that it shocked me. I will not allow myself to lose control again, I promise."
Dalquist nodded, and his expression softened a little. "Sit down."
Grimm lowered himself onto a grassy mound, his friend standing over him.
"To tell you the truth, Grimm, on my first Quest, I killed four armed guards in cold blood. I stood by and watched as a frightened man was flogged and hanged by his brother's men. I maintained a cool pose, but when I was alone, I vomited. I also drank a lot afterwards; too much, in fact. I'm not telling you to be a cool automaton, but sometimes you have to act like one. I'll say no more about it. Let's get that firewood, and I think we can relax the use of Mage Speech with these trusted men."
When the Questors returned, Harvel and Crest were in the middle of yet another heroic dialogue, glorying in death-defying exploits and tales of past loves and battles they had shared. Grimm immersed himself in the tales of gallantry and daring of which two friends never seemed to tire, and eventually he fell asleep. The words "murder", "death" and "killer" ran around his head for a while longer, but soon departed, to become admixed with "Quest", "glory" and "fame".
What would Granfer Loras think of me? Grimm thought. He was a Questor, just like me. He must have killed on many occasions. I'm sorry, Granfer…
The young mage drifted into merciful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 5: Toy Town
When Grimm awoke, he saw Harvel burying the embers of the fire and the remains of the previous night's meal. Crest whistled as he shaved with his dagger, using quick, precise movements. The keen blade never once nicked his olive skin. Dalquist was engaged in a series of stretches and bends to ready his body for the journey ahead. As Grimm stood and stretched, the others acknowledged him with polite nods, but not a word was said.
Grimm still felt solemn after his brush with death. Although no longer racked with guilt, he knew with dread certainty that the innocent, eager child he had once been was no less dead than Harman. However, if there must be regret, there was room for a little pride. He had faced danger and prevailed. He was a Questor; he was a man to be respected and feared.
The party broke fast, still swathed in silence, as the sun rose above the horizon.
Dalquist said, "We'll be in Crar by midday if we start now. That will give us the chance to scout the lie of the land while there is still light."
"A sound plan, Questor Dalquist," Crest replied. "I visited the city of Crar some years ago, and can tell you a little of their ways. They think themselves master traders, and I can tell you there are few places so full of avarice and folk ready to take the last copper from your purse. We'll have to pay well even to enter the city walls; perhaps we'd best take stock of our joint resources first."
Dalquist smiled. "I do have some wealth with me, Crest," he admitted. "However, it is not mine to give as I will. Watch this!"
The mage bent and picked up a handful of pebbles, muttering over them for a few moments. Grimm gasped as each stone took on the colour and shape of a gold coin. With Dalquist's permission, he took one of the coins, scrutinised it and weighed them in his hand. All his senses reported to him that the objects were pure gold.
"I can't tell the difference!" he cried. "That is a marvellous spell!"
"I'm impressed, Questor Dalquist," Crest said, "but if you can do this, why bring real money at all?"
"Ah, Crest, if only these were real gold pieces then we should all be rich!" Dalquist said with a smile. "However, they will revert to stone on my death, or after a delay of a few days. I have no desire to bilk honest traders, but I have fewer scruples when it comes to deceiving a barefaced cheat in mid-swindle. If we are charged fair worth, we'll pay with good gold, but if it seems we're being chiselled, the cheats are welcome to the stones."
"It's so good to travel with magic-users who aren't too high and mighty to countenance a little financial finesse!" The smiling Harvel seemed to hold gold in his pocket in higher regard than that owned by others.
"Wait a moment!" Grimm said, grabbing Dalquist's sleeve as an urgent thought struck him. "I feel a little uncomfortable at the idea of walking into Crar with a Mage Staff and a Guild Ring."
Dalquist smiled. "You're right, Grimm. I should have thought of that. We need a little magical disguise: a simple Glamour should suffice."
After several moments' incomprehensible chanting, Grimm saw Dalquist's fine robes change
from green silk to brown sackcloth, and his gold-ringed staff, Shakhmat, took on the appearance of a rough-hewn, gnarled walking-stick. Looking down at himself, he saw his own appearance had changed in a similar fashion. Although he could feel the warm, comforting presence of Redeemer, he saw only a simple length of wood. His marriage finger now appeared to bear a simple, tarnished brass ring.
"Well, I'm convinced," Crest said, blowing out his cheeks and whistling. "You look like simple travellers to me."
"A simple enough spell," Dalquist replied, puffing out his chest a little with evident pride. "However, it should suffice against casual eyes. Let us continue."
The companions mounted their patient steeds and continued west. Grimm, allowing a little more of his weight to rest on Jessie's back, felt pleased that his muscles seemed far stronger today, strong enough to allow a few hours' ride.
Crar appeared as a small jewel on the horizon, gleaming white and polished. Around it were smaller black dots, evidently the homesteads and farms of the barony. After another hour, towers and turrets became evident, the tallest being a twisting black spire. After another hour, the true magnitude of the city became apparent: a fifty-foot stone wall ran around the city, with strategically placed firing-stations at thirty-yard intervals along the perimeter. Access to the main gate was through a long curving tunnel with thick walls, which would admit individuals but would exclude war machines and battering rams. How was this vast place to be supplied with raw materials, food and other supplies?
Then, Grimm noticed a series of derricks arrayed around the wall, some occupied in swaying supplies into the city from the outside. The people of Crar seemed both secretive and cautious.
Crest waved the group to a halt fifty yards from the entrance tunnel. "I suggest you let me do the talking here, gentlemen," he said. "As I told you, I've been here before and I think I know how to wheedle our way in. I ask you to follow my lead, and not to contradict me."
Dalquist nodded. "That makes sense, thief. Very well, then, you are our spokesman. I am sure your silver tongue and ready wits will not let us down."
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