Weapon of the Guild cogd-2

by Alastair J. Archibald

  Dalquist shook his head. "I need to talk to him about a few things myself. I'll see you in the Town Square in ten minutes." With that, he was off to the Baronial tower.

  ****

  "Grimm, come on! It's high time we were moving. Stop preening yourself! Remember, there's a Council meeting, and you're supposed to be the guest of honour."

  No answer came from the bedchamber. Stepping inside, Dalquist noted the unopened pouch of drugs on the carpet, and wondered if Grimm had gone for a walk in an attempt to clear his head after being tempted by the herbs.

  Twenty minutes later, he had searched the tower from top to bottom with no sign of the young Questor, and he was beginning to worry that something was amiss. Harvel and Crest joined in the search, having come to the tower when Dalquist had not returned. When it was plain that Grimm was not secreted anywhere in the tower, the group split up and scouted Crar separately, trying every shop, hostelry and alleyway to no avail.

  After an hour, they met back at the bedchamber of Starmor's former domicile. Dalquist had to admit that it appeared that Grimm could not be hiding, and that he must have absconded. It all seemed so unlikely, since Grimm would know that he would be hunted down by the Guild; the organisation did not like the idea of unlicensed renegade Questors on the loose; he surely could not expect to evade the combined resources of the Guild forever. Nonetheless, Dalquist had to consider a distasteful possibility: that Grimm had flouted his duty to the House.

  "He's a game lad, but he's been through an awful lot in the last few days," Crest said, frowning. "I wonder if his nerve deserted him; who could blame him, after all that? Perhaps the prospect of all that responsibility was too much for him, and he just ran off."

  "It doesn't make sense, Crest," Harvel declared shaking his head. "He seemed so keen at the prospect of his new clothes, and he told me he wanted to look his very best tonight. He looked a little flustered, but he didn't seem scared at all."

  "I don't think for a moment Grimm has forgotten his Guild vows," Dalquist growled, "but it's not up to me. We were intending to return to the House tomorrow to complete the Quest. If he's not there by the time I arrive, Lord Thorn will have to assume that he is in breach of his oath of fealty. That is a far more serious consideration. We've got to find him."

  He sighed and sat down on the bed in despair. Grimm would surely have notified him if his absence was unavoidable. The young mage had seemed so excited about the whole thing, and such an unexplained absence was out of character for him.

  But where was he?

  "He's left his new clothes behind," Harvel pointed out. "He was so eager to wear them; he must be around here somewhere! He'd never have left them behind. Perhaps he had a celebratory drink or two and got a little tipsy."

  "We searched the bar and the jakes," Dalquist sighed, "and he'd just take hold of Redeemer whenever…"

  A metallic glint caught his eye from within the rumpled bedclothes. Dalquist leapt to his feet and threw back the sheets to uncover a polished black wood and brass staff.

  "He's left Redeemer behind!" Dalquist cried. "He would never have done that by choice!"

  "It's just a piece of wood and metal," Harvel said mildly. "Perhaps he just forgot it. It doesn't tell us anything, Lord Mage."

  Dalquist rounded on the swordsman. "You have no idea what the staff means to a mage, Harvel! None! It is a part of him, as my staff, Shakhmat, is a part of me. Even if he forgot the staff, he could call it to hand with a mere word from anywhere in the world. No man who has been through a Questor's Ordeal, as we both have, would ever leave his Mage Staff! Questor Grimm is not in this world."

  Crest looked alarmed. "Do you mean he is dead?"

  Dalquist dismissed the suggestion. "A true Mage Staff reverts to simple wood and metal on its owner's death unless he has, of his own volition, passed it to another mage. Grimm is not dead, but he is on another plane."

  The Questor composed himself for a potent spell, a search for the life-essence of his young friend. He found nothing, and declared solemnly, "Grimm Afelnor is nowhere on this world: I am sure of that."

  Crest said, "Questor Grimm said he had not the energy to pass into the demon plane, and he was no convalescent when he declared that. He is surely too weak to attempt such a feat now."

  "Not the demon world," Dalquist said, with a decisive stab of his right forefinger. "Starmor's punishment pillar, as well as the various prisons to which we were all sent, were in an alternative three-dimensional reality to our own, displaced by a fourth linear dimension. He may be in that frame. Perhaps Grimm went to confront Starmor for some reason."

  "Why would he wish to risk facing Starmor again, Lord Mage? He left his herbs here, so he can't shield his emotions from that monster. It doesn't make any sense."

  "I don't know, Harvel. I am sure, however, that if Grimm had faced Starmor again with his emotions unmasked, our banished friend would have returned here, to his centre of power, and we would now be in no doubt of the fact. It could be that Starmor has powers we mortals can't imagine; perhaps he tricked Grimm."

  Dalquist pounded Shakhmat on the floor. "We must find Shakkar. I need to find the location of this pillar from his mind, without delay. Grimm's very soul may be in peril."

  "With the greatest respect, Questor Dalquist," Crest said, "your own emotions might provide Starmor with all the energy he needs for his return to this world. You aren't considering the risk of using those damned herbs to protect you, are you?"

  Dalquist shook his head. "I imagine Grimm is using his Questor power to raise some kind of protective ward to screen himself from Starmor. I have been thinking about such a screen, and if Grimm can raise one, so can I. Please summon Shakkar with all haste, Master Harvel."

  Harvel sped out of the chamber as if his feet were ablaze.

  ****

  By the end of an hour, Dalquist had transported himself to the various prisons in which the members of the group had been confined: Shakkar's pillar; the mockery of a fencing school in which Harvel had been forced to defend himself against a horde of skeletal swordsmen; the perverted school in which Dalquist had fought five magic-users attired as Magemasters; and the arena where Crest had battled a group of blank-eyed armoured gladiators.

  He found no trace of Grimm in any of them.

  Dalquist clasped a hand over his eyes, as if this could force his mind to work more quickly. Despite cudgelling his brain, he could not think of anything that would help the situation. At that moment Harvel sat on the bed, to be rewarded with an indignant, high-pitched squeal from the pocket of Grimm's sateen robes, followed by the emergence of a tiny head with a face contorted in annoyance.

  "Be careful who you are sitting on, human! You nearly squashed me!" the indignant Thribble complained. "I prefer to be awakened from slumber in a more decorous fashion. What are you all doing here, and where is the young spell-caster?"

  Dalquist gave the demon a terse summary of the situation, as much from courtesy as from an expectation that the minuscule creature would be able to aid them.

  "Ha! So Grimm was foolish enough to try to face Starmor one more time!" Thribble squeaked in his piccolo-like voice. "My counsel would be to advise him of his folly, and to bring him back with all haste."

  Dalquist all but ground his teeth in frustration. "The problem, Thribble, is that we cannot locate him within Starmor's fourth-dimensional labyrinth. I feel sure he must be there, somewhere, but I cannot conceive of a spell to pass this barrier between our respective worlds."

  The minute demon squeaked in exasperation. "You still have this Eye of Myrrn thing, do you not? Use it to locate him, and to return him to this world."

  "Only a powerful demon can use the Eye, Thribble. Shakkar, here, has no power of magic left to him and, with the greatest respect, I doubt that you hold sufficient power to use the gem."

  Thribble was outraged. "I may be small, but I am a true demon nonetheless," he trilled. "Power is not the issue here, mage, but simply talent. Since this item was made
by my kind, I should be able to use it, despite my small size. If you were to form a mental link with me, you would be able to see through my eyes, listen through my ears and speak through my mouth.

  "From what you say, we have few alternatives. Bring forth the gem and I will seek the Questor's soul."

  ****

  Grimm felt near the end of his tether as he tried to maintain a position of solemn meditation on the cold, tiled floor of Starmor's travesty of a place of worship. The loud, swirling dissonances of the invisible organ were becoming unbearable. He had been determined to fight for as long as he was able, but such defiance now seemed pointless.

  He could visualise the spell that he needed to dissolve his physical being without releasing his inner drives for the use of Starmor. His energies lay in a tidy, linear array ready for use. All Grimm needed was one more utterance, and his struggle would be over.

  Grimm Afelnor, attend to me!

  At first, Grimm thought Starmor was attempting to communicate with him, but the demon lord still gyrated in ecstasy to the discordant tones reverberating through the dark chapel. The tone of this mind's voice was different and recognisable; it was surely the voice of his friend, Dalquist.

  We are almost ready to attempt your rescue, Grimm. Remain calm; deliverance is at hand. I'm sure I can have you out of there in a moment, as soon as I can use the Eye to pin down your exact position in four-dimensional space, and find a suitable spell.

  Grimm felt a cool flood of blessed relief that his plight had been discovered, and that Dalquist had not assumed he had flouted his duties and his responsibilities. Nonetheless, the young sorcerer was concerned that his folly not be repeated.

  Dalquist, I have been foolish in the extreme, and I beg you not to risk repeating my stupid error. I was idiotic enough to think that I could outwit Starmor, and I have failed miserably. Starmor seems to have some kind of demonic link with me; I used that to travel here, so I have no idea where it is. I assumed he was on the pillar, only to find myself here.

  Please be careful in your choice of spell. I worry that the use of a straightforward Translocation spell to extricate me could unleash your emotions through the spell, and that it could supply our enemy the strength that he needs and craves.

  We will talk more about stupidity later, Grimm, his friend replied. My first priority is to get you out of there. Don't worry too much about the emotional side of things; I imagine that I can cast an emotional shield like yours, since the principle appears clear. My worry is that any Translocation spell opens a portal between the two locations; a portal that remains open for a short time after it is cast. What concerns me is that Starmor might be able to use that same portal to get back here. I will have to consider my options with care before I cast any spell, but do not panic, Grimm. Hold firm for a while longer, we are working on the problem. Don't lose heart, my friend.

  Please make it as quick as you can, Dalquist, Grimm pleaded. After five more minutes of being forced to endure this discordant purgatory, blasting myself into tiny fragments will look like a happy and welcome release.

  ****

  Dalquist had to admit that Grimm might be right; the risks were indeed great. He had seen that Starmor was safely ensconced in a protective ward through which no spell could pass, but his own hatred and anger might be transmitted to that diabolic dictator though any direct magical link.

  What of some sleight that transcended the four-dimensional limits of the chapel? Could he compress the chamber to a mere point, and thereby render the demon impotent and confined? This seemed unlikely, since it seemed the demon could move without restriction through this plane. What of another dimension to which Starmor had no access? Dalquist knew of no such dimension, but if four linear dimensions were possible, then why not a myriad of them? That might be the answer; perhaps he could access some frame of which the former Baron had no knowledge and, somehow, transport the entire chapel to that plane. But how was he to do this? He doubted he possessed sufficient power to cast such a spell.

  He knew also that, despite Grimm's confident air, the younger mage could not maintain his emotional ward forever. He had no idea of the exact form of the spell, since it was a product of Grimm's own Questor magic, but he felt sure that it would require a considerable flux of magical power.

  Shakkar provided the necessary insight. "Questor Dalquist, maybe you cannot risk a direct translocation from Starmor's chapel, but what if you were to perform a transfer from the chapel to another of his secret locations, and from there to here? You now know where they are in relation to each other."

  Dalquist mulled over the proposal. "I can see your point, Shakkar. There would be a delay while Starmor located the portal and launched himself into it, by which time the second portal back here would have closed. However, there is an element of risk involved. I do not know how long the spell lingers after being cast, since such energies have what we mages call a quantum decay probability distribution. I do not know how quickly Starmor can react. He might be able to react far with greater speed than we could imagine. I think I may have a small improvement on your suggestion."

  Thribble still crouched over the Eye, and Dalquist re-established contact with Grimm.

  I am preparing to get you out, Grimm. I want you to prepare to react quickly; pattern your mind for some kind of powerful dissipative spell; just make sure you leave yourself enough energy to get back here. Stand ready.

  ****

  Grimm addressed his nemesis for what he hoped would be the last time. "Do you know something, Starmor? I have been far kinder to you than one of my former Magemasters, Kargan, would have been. He would have torn you apart with his bare hands for your disservices to the art of harmony."

  The demon shifted on his throne and rolled his head as if to soak up even more of the hideous music. "My dear friend, you will learn to appreciate my music as I do when you are a part of my happy family-if I allow you to live. I think that will not be much longer now."

  Grimm readied a potent spell of dissolution, but he held the power in check, trusting in Dalquist. "Farewell, Starmor. I'll see you in Hell."

  It happened as fast as thought; before Grimm knew what had happened, he found himself on the ebon pillar alongside Dalquist, and he almost slumped in relief. He opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it before a word emerged. In the inky darkness beyond the pillar's perimeter, he saw a faint, hazy, blue coruscation that grew brighter with every moment. A thin white line appeared in the centre of the blue mist and began to widen.

  The young mage prepared to cast his spell, but he stopped as he felt the hand of his friend on his right shoulder.

  "We aren't out of this yet, Grimm," Dalquist said, his voice stern. "Wait. I will give the word."

  In sick fascination, Grimm held his breath and watched the widening white line and realised it was not a line at all. It was more like a piece of paper held edge-on and then turning to face him. Now it was a pale, blazing trapezoid; now a square. A darker spot appeared in the middle, swelling into an oval.

  "Now, Grimm! Now!"

  As if unleashing an arrow from a bow, Grimm screamed a babble of syllables and loosed a strong burst of energy in an expanding cone before him, soon joined by a similar eruption from Dalquist. Then, silence reigned.

  Starmor was gone. The white rectangle and blue haze disappeared in an instant, leaving a dark after-image on the young Questor's retinas.

  As Grimm's eyes readjusted to the darkness, he saw a sift of pale mist rolling gently into the abyss surrounding the pillar.

  "That dust is what remains of Starmor," Dalquist explained. "He was just a little too clever for his own good. I think it is safe to assume that we and the people of Crar will be free of him for at least a century. It will surely take him that long to re-integrate his body.

  "Come now, Grimm. We have some tiresome civil ceremony to attend. I believe you are expected, and we're late. Let's get off this damned pillar and back to the real world."

  Chapter 13: Atonement<
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  Dalquist had paid off Harvel and Crest the previous night, but the two warriors had elected to stay a few days in Crar, not least because the grateful Crarians insisted on buying them drinks. Early the next morning, the two mages headed back to the House.

  "So, how does being a Baron feel, Grimm?" Dalquist asked, as he and Grimm mounted up and began the ride back to Arnor.

  "I don't feel any different than before, Dalquist," Grimm admitted. "I'm still me, you know. I think I'd be feeling a lot worse if I didn't have those anti-intoxicant spells cast on Redeemer. I must have drunk enough to sink a galleon last night."

  Grimm pulled the hood of his robe over his head to shield his eyes from the bright rays of early morning sunlight. Perhaps those helpful spells were not as infallible as he had thought…

  After the pair had been riding in silence for a while, Dalquist said, "Grimm, you do know that I'm duty bound to report to Lord Thorn everything that happened on the Quest, don't you? And I do mean everything. Would you care to give me some insight into your little stunt yesterday? I would like to be able to plead at least a little mitigation."

  Grimm sighed. He knew he had been foolish to be swayed by Starmor's blandishments, but he had hoped that Dalquist might be moved to forget it, since the Quest had turned out successfully.

  "I'm really sorry about being duped by that monster," he said, accompanying his words with a shake of his head and a heartfelt sigh of ruefulness. "My thought processes seem to have slowed down after I stopped taking those herbs, but I must have had my head stuffed with rocks to have believed Starmor.

  "Basically, he used an old trick; he told me just what I wanted to hear; what I wanted to believe."

  Dalquist nodded slowly. "Did this trick involve mention of your grandfather Loras, by any chance?"

  Grimm frowned, feeling anger growing at his friend's almost patronising tone.