Regarding his reflected image with more astonishment than vanity, he thought, I look like a real Questor now!
Grimm knew Dalquist would not diminish his role in the Quest when giving his report to Lord Thorn, and that he had done well. The young mage looked at his staff and smiled.
You'll soon have that first gold ring, Redeemer, he thought, smiling. We're on our way, at last!
He started at a knock on his chamber door and said, "Come in."
Dalquist entered with a middle-aged man almost as tall as he. The stranger had a mass of tight, black, curly hair over a dark-brown face. He wore a striking scarlet and black coat over black breeches, and Grimm guessed the broad, yellow sash slanting across the man's chest marked him as some kind of civic functionary.
"Lord Mage, I am Chod," the stranger said, with a respectful half-bow. "I am the former Mayor of Crar, and I'm pleased to see you looking so fit and well after your ordeal."
Grimm remembered his lessons in Guild protocol: Mage Speech would be required in this situation, and he should respond to the dignitary with politeness but not deference. As a Guild Mage, even one without a mark of rank on his staff, he was the equal of any Secular, and he must not debase himself in any way. He was a representative of the Guild, and worthy of respect.
He grasped the mayor's extended hand with a firm, grip and shook it three times, as he had been taught.
"Mayor Chod, I am honoured to meet you," he said, accompanying his words with a polite nod. "How may I be of service?"
The mayor cleared his throat, and Grimm thought he looked a little embarrassed.
"Lord Grimm," the dignitary said, in a soft, pleasant baritone, "we are overjoyed at the deliverance of our people, and are working as hard as we can to return Crar to its former state as a proud trading city. Matters progress apace, and we hope soon to be free of the taint of Baron Starmor, who controlled us for so many years."
Grimm looked at Dalquist, who wore a broad smile, and he guessed that the mayor was coming to the crux of the matter.
"We Crarians are simple folk, and we feel the need of a strong leader; a patriarch. I do my best to fulfil this role but I was once a puppet of Starmor, as were all the other citizens. I feel sullied, as do they; we were not whole men and women.
"We need somebody to guide us who was not under Starmor's spell. I have been mayor for twenty years, but for fifteen of those years I was nothing more than a smiling, gavel-wielding marionette with no power or will of my own. It will take me some time to get into the habit of making my own decisions again, and I will feel much more secure in my work if I am able to recover my confidence as a municipal officer under the notional protection of a strong and resourceful leader."
Grimm nodded, waiting for the man to get to the point. No doubt, Chod was on the point of offering Dalquist this position; a position his friend must needs decline, in view of his obligation to the Guild.
"You were instrumental in the defeat of Starmor, Lord Mage," the mayor intoned, lowering his eyes. "We of the reformed Council of Crar wish to offer you the title and privileges of the Baron of Crar. To you would pass all the rights and privileges once stolen by Starmor. Considerable wealth comes with the position, and this would all be yours; as you can imagine, Starmor built up a considerable balance of capital from the hard work of his enslaved subjects."
Grimm gaped, dumbstruck, for several moments. The man was offering him, a mere blacksmith's boy, the lofty position of Baron of Crar?
Granfer will be so proud, he thought, feeling his heart pounding, seeing himself dressed in silk robes and golden finery. And Gramma Drima, too! They will…
The concept was impossible; Grimm was a Guild Mage, above all, and his first and last obligations were to his House and his Prelate. Tempting as he found the offer, he knew he must refuse.
"Mayor Chod," he said, doing his best to keep the note of resignation from his voice, "I feel more gratified than I am able to express by this signal honour. However, with the deepest regrets, I must decline your kind offer. I am not a free agent. My fealty is to the Guild of which I am fortunate enough to be a member. I cannot commit myself to the administration of Crar."
Dalquist, who had been standing at Chod's shoulder, stepped forward.
"Questor Grimm, you would not need to commit yourself to a full-time residency at Crar. I have had several conversations with Mayor Chod on this subject. I outlined the objections I knew you must raise, as a true Guild Mage. Lord Mayor; will you be so good as to allow me to paraphrase your response to Questor Grimm's expected response?"
Chod opened his hands and turned them palms-up towards Dalquist.
"Please feel free to do so, Lord Mage."
"Thank you, Mayor Chod.
"Questor Grimm: my understanding is that the position of Baron of Crar is expected only to be ceremonial. You would be expected to provide-shall we say-spiritual guidance to the people of Crar."
The young mage frowned. Was he expected to act as some kind of priest?"
"Now, Brother Mage," Dalquist laughed, "I beg you not to panic. Your obligation to Crar would be as a… a figurehead, an ever-present reminder of what Crar must represent to the world. You would not be expected to be a civil functionary or even to reside within these city walls. I know that, at this stage of your vocation, you are required to live within the walls of Arnor House, and Lord Mayor Chod is well aware of this stricture. Believe me, Questor Grimm: you will not be breaching the terms of your Guild Oath if you were to accept this position. An occasional visit would suffice."
"Nonetheless, Questor Dalquist, Lord Mayor Chod, I must still demur." The words felt like ashes in his mouth, but Grimm knew he must still refuse.
"The wealth and power stolen by Starmor from his former subjects should be shared by them, not simply given to a mere figurehead. The money and prestige are surely yours; I cannot accept them."
"Lord Grimm, you do not understand the freely expressed will of the Crarian people," Chod replied, and Grimm saw sweat beading the mayor's brow, his entwined hands trembling.
He's terrified! the mage thought. What have I said that scares him so?
"You are correct that Starmor's wealth and power were stolen from us," whispered Chod. "For many years we laughed and cried, celebrated and commiserated only by the will of Starmor, whether this accorded with our own feelings or not. We lived in an unending nightmare from which we could not escape. What he took from us, he perverted and twisted into something sick and meaningless. We do not wish it to be returned to us; it frightens us as a symbol of our slavery. We wish for a new Baron, one who represents the true precepts of the newly free people of Crar; a Baron who will be the ever-present symbol of the new order."
"Give the money away, if you will, Lord Mayor," Grimm protested, "but, if you find it besmirched, would that taint not pass to me, if I had control over it? I advise you to seek a more experienced person as your ruler."
Chod shook his head. "We do not wish to touch Starmor's tainted booty, but we would not see it wasted. We are by nature merchants, and waste is hateful to us. This wealth would be yours to command, and yours to use as you see fit. We refuse to spend it on ourselves."
The mayor smiled. "Nonetheless, should our Baron wish to do so in charity, we would accept his gift with gratitude."
Despite Grimm's former objections, Chod did not seem to act as if he were under duress; this insane proposal seemed to be his heart's desire, and he would not be balked.
The young Questor had to admit that the title 'Grimm, Baron of Crar' sounded alluring, and he had done his level best to raise his objections. Who was he to deny the freely expressed will of the people of Crar?
Drawing a deep breath, he asked, "Are you certain my acceptance of this post will not compromise my obligation to the Guild, Brother Mage?"
Dalquist shrugged. "Questor Grimm; so long as the post of Baron never interferes with your responsibilities to the House and the Guild, accepting Mayor Chod's offer contravenes none of the Gui
ld Rules. Several House Mages possess noble credentials, and some of them have become very wealthy as a result. Some even offer their services for hire. There is no rule that requires that a mage, even one of charitable status, must be a pauper for the rest of his life. My advice would be to accept Mayor Chod's munificent offer with gratitude."
Leaning close to his friend, the older mage whispered, "Take it, Grimm; if you don't, I will-that is, if Chod offers it to me!"
Grimm cleared his throat and assumed a solemn manner as best he could.
Grimm Afelnor, Baron of Crar! The title sounded ridiculous, but it was better than those he had borne as a Charity Student: 'pauper's bastard', 'traitor's spawn' and 'swamp rat' among the kindest of these.
"Very well, Mayor Chod," he sighed, keeping a sheepish smile from his face, "you shall have your new Baron, provided that I am not expected to spend my full time in Crar. As a Guild Mage, my first allegiance is to my House; I cannot and will not abandon that duty."
Chod nodded. "Lord Mage Dalquist advised me of this, Questor Grimm. All will be as you wish, I assure you."
"My first act as Baron will be to offer the former wealth of Starmor to you and the Council, to do with as you will in the service of the city of Crar. It is not mine to take, and I have no experience in the use of money."
It hurt Grimm to add this codicil, but it eased his troubled conscience to say so. Chod grimaced and shook his head.
"With the greatest of respect, Lord Mage, I regret that I cannot accept your terms. You are free to accept or refuse the post of Baron of Crar as you will, but, should you accept this responsibility, the wealth of Starmor must be administered by you and you alone, on a case-by-case basis. We have proven fallible before, and we lack the confidence to administer our own funds without guidance.
"The Baron of Crar has always carried out this function, since well before the time that Starmor invaded our city. Since his advent, fifteen years ago, we have had our lives directed for us in all respects, and we lack the confidence to fully administer even our own lives. We are leaderless, and we crave governance by someone who was never tainted by Starmor's evil magic."
Grimm felt trapped in a quandary. He knew he could not commit to running Crar on a regular basis, and yet these people obviously needed help.
As an idea came to him, he brightened. "How would it be if I appointed a representative: a Seneschal, to run the day-to-day affairs of the city in my name? Someone you could trust to protect you. Someone who cares nothing for gold and jewels? Someone who has actively resisted Starmor's will for many years?"
Chod nodded slowly. "That might be acceptable, Lord Mage. Do you have somebody in mind?"
"Our demon friend, Shakkar, seems to have an unsuspected talent for organisation," Grimm said. "With your permission, I will ask him if he will take the post of Seneschal. I believe you would find him a potent ally and guardian, should he accept."
Now, it was the mayor's turn to frown. "Shakkar was once Starmor's lieutenant, of his own volition, Lord Mage," he said, narrowing his eyes. "This does not sit well with me. At least the rest of us fought Starmor as well as we could before we lost our minds."
Grimm shook his head. "With respect, Lord Mayor, you are mistaken," he said. "Shakkar opposed Starmor as soon as his evil plans became clear, at the cost of his magical powers and his freedom. He spent a decade in grim imprisonment for his pains. He was free to leave at any time, but he chose to fight the Baron instead. He steadfastly refused to aid Starmor in the enslavement of the city's denizens. This is heroic behaviour from a creature who was shunned by all, kin to no human, and who owes you no fealty. We could not have defeated Starmor without the aid of Shakkar, Lord Mayor. He was instrumental in your salvation."
****
Chod considered the young man's words with care. He had hoped that Questor Grimm, whom, he knew, must remain at all times bound to the will of the Guild, would cede control of the offered city finances to the Council, without conditions, whilst still offering a measure of protection. A few hundred gold pieces, or even a few thousand, would be a small price to pay for the threat of Guild retribution for any attack; a threat Chod could invoke at any time when negotiating with the other towns in the region.
The mayor had been prepared to accept a human representative, but, now he knew the truth of Starmor's demonic provenance, it seemed unthinkable that another demon should be accepted as a representative of a new Baron, a new order. On the other hand, he knew that Questor Grimm spoke the truth.
He had seen with his own eyes Shakkar's first vocal opposition to Starmor's actions when the newly elevated Baron had begun to change free humans into enslaved caricatures and puppets. The Council, cowed by this evidence of power, had deemed it politic to say and do nothing, biding their time. By then, it was too late…
Chod knew he dared not return to the Council with empty hands, and he also knew the people of Crar would be unlikely to accept the unquestioned rule of a group of people who had failed them before. The still-cowed people of Crar might accept the accession of the Council at first, but their tenure might be brief, as the citizens began to revel in their newfound freedom. In order to prevent anarchy, Crar, so long a Barony, needed a benign but powerful ruler to watch over it. The implicit protection of the mighty Guild, however distant, might prove a potent safeguard against any would-be attacker.
Questor Grimm had proved to be a young man of considerable moral principle as well as magical power, and this elevated him even more in the Mayor's eyes than had his former resourcefulness; this youth was not greedy and would not raid the civic purse too often. The fact that he would be away from the city for most of the time was, if anything, an advantage. Only the matter of Grimm's proposed Seneschal caused him pause; nonetheless, was the prospective Baron's candidate beyond consideration?
The demon has certainly been of great help in the rebuilding of Crar, in the short time since Starmor left us. Having a dull-witted monster like Shakkar to protect us could not help but deter our eager-eyed enemies.
Perhaps this young mage's idea is not so bad, after all. I am a politician, after all. I should be able to swing sufficient support in the Council, if I word the proposal in a suitable form…
"My apologies, Lord Mage," he said at last, bowing, trying not to sound too eager. "Will you kindly put your suggestion to this demon, Shakkar? I will recommend to the Council in the strongest terms that we accept your proposal."
"Mayor Chod, I will," Questor Grimm replied. "Needless to say, my acceptance of the post of Baron is conditional upon our mutual acceptance of this stipulation."
Chod nodded, suppressing a smile.
"I have one more stipulation of my own, Questor Grimm. You must accept a yearly stipend of one thousand gold pieces from the civic fund, with the addition of further expenses occurred during the furtherance of your duties in this city. I must insist that you have new suits of fine clothes made up for you at our expense; we owe you more than that for our deliverance, whether you accept the position of Baron or not."
That should be a suitable enticement for a blacksmith's boy, he thought.
Chod kept an impassive face as he saw Grimm's expression brighten, but the young magic-user still did not speak.
"Of course, your companions are included in this generous offer," the mayor continued, feeling a little frustrated. "We still have superb tailors, who latterly clothed Starmor with his finery, and you will find them more than happy to provide this service, of their own free will, to the men who delivered them from bondage. We also have excellent smiths who will work any metal into any adornment or weaponry that you may desire, and who will gladly provide you with the finest accoutrements. I insist upon this as a minimal payment for your pains on our behalf. We Crarians are not ones to ignore a debt, or to leave it unpaid. It is not charity: it is gratitude. Should you refuse this, we will destroy an equal amount of the wealth each year, rather than spend it on ourselves. Our people take their obligations seriously, I assure you. I beg
you to accept this offer, which comes from the bottom of my heart."
In truth, Chod did not begrudge this largesse in the least; it was a cheap enough price for the assurance of Crar's tacit protection by the Guild and a fearsome demon.
****
Grimm felt uncomfortable at the thought of accepting Chod's offer and the concept of becoming rich through stolen wealth, but the mayor's expression showed the intensity of feeling that burned behind his face. Grimm understood well the concept of obligation.
What's so wrong with the idea of my becoming wealthy? he asked himself, although his mental sophistry did not entirely convince him.
He shot a glance at Dalquist again but, this time, the senior mage's expression offered him no guidance. This decision was his own, and his alone.
How many times have I heard of the fabulous spoils won from other Quests, he wondered. How many times have I read of money seized, cozened or plundered from defeated enemies?
This munificence had been offered to him on a platter, and it would be churlish to refuse. The people of Crar wanted a new start under the spiritual guidance of a new leader, a symbol of opposition to the old, hated order. Who better than Grimm Afelnor, the son and the grandson of blacksmiths; an Acclaimed Mage who had opposed and fought Starmor at every turn, and who had defeated and banished the hated tyrant?
The words came in an impulsive gush from his lips, as if somebody other than Grimm Afelnor had spoken them.
"I accept all your conditions with humility and deep gratitude, Mayor Chod, assuming that Shakkar is willing to act as my Seneschal. I will be your new Baron through thick and thin. I accept. I accept your offer with my thanks."
He struggled to maintain his sorcerous dignity, but he fought to deny the tears that pricked at his eyelids their release. The cold, measured tones and language of a mighty Questor deserted him.
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