"Can you even imagine what it's like to be a member of a community that regards a close member of your family as a traitor, an attempted murderer, an oath-breaker?" he snapped, tightening his grip on the reins "That was thrown at me time and again during my Ordeal, and the passage of time hasn't healed the wound too well. I wanted to believe so much that the man I lived with as a child could never have committed such a dreadful act as trying to murder a Prelate. Starmor seemed to pick right up on that, and he told me that Granfer was placed under some Compulsion or Geas that made him do what he did; that it wasn't Granfer's fault. He said my grandfather had been betrayed by a fellow mage. If I would only consider releasing him, he would give me the names of his betrayer. Once I knew what had happened to me, I was ready to kill myself before I ever allowed Starmor to return.
"I swear I had no intention of freeing him under any circumstances, but I thought using a ward to screen my emotions from him would allow me to coerce him to give me the names. I had no idea he could switch between his fourth-dimensional cubbyholes so easily. I thought using the mind-link he had with me as my travelling medium was a clever touch, allowing me to save energy without any risk of Starmor returning along any Translocation portal.
"I can only apologise for my folly, Dalquist." Grimm sighed. "But I can't excuse it. I imagine Lord Thorn won't be too happy, but I guess your duty is your duty."
Dalquist sat in apparent contemplation for some time, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The silence seemed almost tangible to Grimm, broken only by the occasional whinny from the horses; several minutes passed before the older man spoke. He looked deeply troubled.
"Grimm, since we seem to be in a confessional mode of conversation, I will have to admit that I feel somewhat guilty about thinking ill of you yesterday. I never doubted your intentions, but I was all ready to leave you behind and head off back to the House; it was only the sight of one of Redeemer's shoes that drew me back. When I realised the truth, I felt like I had been a fool as well.
"I will let you into a secret, Grimm. I want your solemn assurance that it will go no further." Dalquist's expression was stern, and Grimm vowed that he would keep his mouth closed.
Dalquist cleared his throat in a nervous fashion. "On my fourth Quest, Xylox the Mighty was Senior Questor. I was a Questor of the Third Rank at the time, having completed two Quests on the behalf of High Lodge and one for the House. My Quests had brought me no luck as far a booty was concerned, whereas Xylox had abundant wealth. He had any number of magical gems and artefacts and, of course, those seven rings on his staff…"
Grimm nodded. As he knew only too well, the lack of a single gold ring on Redeemer marked its owner as a mere beginner. In the class-obsessed Guild, rank was all, and he quite understood his friend's feelings of inferiority.
"We had just completed a long and arduous Quest," the older Questor continued, "part of which took place in the sewers below Musado City. I was not in the best of moods because I had ruined a perfectly good new robe. We had been sleeping rough in the middle of winter, and all we had to show for it was four miserable gold pieces.
"At least, that is what Xylox thought. In fact, I had found two magical rings, one a charm of Perdurable Flesh, the other a ward of Missile Turning, from the pockets of a mage that Xylox had killed and failed to search properly. They were self-powered items, and they were worth a king's ransom, as you can imagine. I have them here, right now."
Dalquist reached in a pocket and extracted a pair of rings: plain and ordinary to the naked eye, they oozed power when viewed with Grimm's Mage Sight. He raised his eyebrows in appreciation, but he did not speak. It seemed that there was more to come.
Dalquist ran a hand through his dark hair. "It was my responsibility to declare those rings as spoils of the Quest. Xylox would have handed them over to Lord Thorn, and we might have had shared a reasonable proportion of the rings' worth.
"I… I did not declare them. Xylox could have discovered my deception in a moment, had he turned the Sight on me, but, of course, one does not do that lightly to one's trusted brother mage!
"I burned with guilt when Xylox handed me my single gold piece and apologised that it could not have been more. He had garnered only a gold piece from the Quest, and I had the same, but those valuable magical rings seemed to burn a hole in my pocket. I did what I did out of sheer greed and envy. I have never forgiven myself for that, and I have never mentioned it to a soul, until now."
Grimm felt highly embarrassed at Dalquist's frank confession, and all he could say was, "I'm sure you made up for it later, Dalquist."
Dalquist shook his head. "If I tell Lord Thorn that you acted in such a foolish manner, you may lose preferment. Such a moment of simple recklessness could blight your career before it has even properly started. I will atone for my earlier… mistake by leaving out some of the details of our defeat of Starmor. As far as Lord Thorn will know, we just entered Starmor's lair and blasted him into a powder. That is, after all, just what we did. There was just that little interlude for you in Starmor's chapel beforehand. I won't mention that part to Lord Thorn."
Grimm felt relieved, but a little shocked. "D-Dalquist," he stammered, "there's really no need to do this just for me. I'm not made of sugar, you know."
While Dalquist had been telling the story of the rings, he had been looking past Grimm, looking at the sky or at the ground. Now, he locked Grimm's eyes with a level gaze.
"I'm not just doing it for you, Grimm. I'm doing it for me: for the good of my soul. I just want to say one more thing to you. Being a Questor can be a dangerous business. There are ample opportunities for mistakes, blunders and momentary stupidity. Don't make a habit of it, Grimm. You are intelligent and powerful, and I am sure you'll make a fine Questor if you give yourself the chance. This time, and this time only, you get a clean slate and a good report from your senior mage. Next time, you may be on your own, or under somebody like Xylox. You have to learn to make the right decisions on instinct, to develop a sense of risk and to act accordingly. Nobody can teach you that, Grimm, but the least I can do is to give you a second chance to let your staff live up to its name. From now on, you act as a Questor; always. Is that quite clear?"
Grimm tried to think of something clever to say, but words failed him for once. He nodded, his throat tight.
"Don't say anything, Grimm. We both have a long way to go yet."
Dalquist shook the reins and trotted off, with Grimm just behind him.
****
They stopped in Drute for lunch, again at The Broken Bottle. This time, Grimm swore he would act like a true Questor. The landlord greeted them both by name, which Grimm found gratifying, and he complemented the young mage on his new clothes.
Dalquist insisted in sitting right by the flimsy door to the jakes, and Grimm blinked.
"It's a little smelly here, Dalquist," he protested. "Most of the bar is empty. Why are we here?"
"Because most of the trouble seems to start on the way to or from the conveniences," the older man replied. "This time, I don't want to see you let it bump into you. You've shown me your power several times, and I have no doubt about that. Now, I want to see you work on your presence. A true Questor should be able to quell trouble with a look, a word or a gesture. I am quite willing to stay here until some trouble comes your way, so that I can see that you have learnt something."
Dalquist smiled, raised his wine glass and raised a toast to the Guild.
"The Guild," Grimm echoed, wondering just how long they would have to wait for trouble. Some of the regulars seemed to recognise the two mages from their previous visit, whereas the remainder must have been aware of the meaning of the blue-gold Guild rings and brass-shod staves. The various warriors and drinkers acknowledged the mages with polite nods, if at all.
****
At three o'clock in the afternoon, Grimm found his promised trouble at last. It came in the shape of a broad-shouldered man with a close-cropped bullet head, tattoos on his bare upper arms an
d a hunting knife at his belt.
The man seemed to be one of those people who believe that a conversation interrupted is a conversation lost. He was backing towards the toilets whilst delivering a long-range monologue to companions on the other side of the bar. Dalquist leaned back in his chair, the cowl of his robe over his eyes. Grimm felt almost bored to tears when the bullet-headed man bumped into him, spilling beer on the floor.
"You clumsy oaf!" the muscular man bellowed. "You tripped me!"
"I did not," Grimm said, adding, "I believe you owe me another glass of ale."
"I believe you should watch your mouth, boy," the man grunted, "I am known to be dangerous when angered."
Grimm rose to his feet in a moment, feeling his fatigue fade away in an instant. "Dangerous?" he growled. "You have no idea of the meaning of the word, my friend! I am dangerous."
For a brief moment, the bullet-headed man's hand flickered near the haft of his knife, and the ghost of a smile flitted across Grimm's face.
"A very good friend of mine," he said conversationally, "once told me that there are ample opportunities for blunders and stupidity. I see he was right. However, there is a line between stupid and bloody stupid, and you may be about to cross it."
Without taking his eyes off the tattooed unfortunate, Grimm took out his pipe, filled it and spoke a single word, "K'chaat".
A small blue flame appeared at the tip of Grimm's right forefinger, which the mage used to light the tobacco within the pipe. The mage inhaled luxuriantly before releasing a blue-grey cloud of smoke.
The bullet-headed man blanched. "You're a bloody mage!"
"A thirsty bloody mage," Grimm corrected, smiling again.
Without a word, the man hurried to the bar and brought back a foaming pint of ale, placing it in front of Grimm.
"We have no quarrel, Lord Mage. I'm sorry I spilt your drink."
"Your apology is accepted. Thank you."
Grimm sat, picked up his ale, and looked past the stubble-headed warrior. The altercation was at an end, and the man seemed to remember his original errand as he disappeared quickly into the jakes.
Dalquist sat up and brushed the cowl from his head.
"Right, that'll do," the older mage said, draining his glass. "Drink up, Grimm. Now we can go."
Grimm looked at his friend with a quizzical air. "Would you really have waited here all day for something like that to happen, Dalquist?"
"Not all day, Grimm," the older man drawled, smiling. "I just needed somebody suitable to get within range of my left foot."
"You mean he really was tripped?" Grimm yelped.
"Indeed he was. It seemed to me you'd have to work at it to get someone like that to back down, especially if he knew he was in the right."
"You bastard, Dalquist!" Grimm hissed, under his breath.
"That's 'Senior Bastard' to you, Afelnor," Dalquist replied. "Don't forget that."
****
The moon was up by the time they reached Arnor House. A House servant emerged from the shadows and took the horses away.
Grimm walked to the black portal, which opened at a wave of his ringed hand, as he had known it would. A familiar figure stood before them: Doorkeeper.
"Questor Dalquist, Questor Grimm: welcome back to the House. I trust your Quest went well, indeed very well."
"Thank you, Doorkeeper," Dalquist said. "Yes, I think we can say that the Quest went well."
"Very well indeed, Doorkeeper," Grimm declared, "but I'm glad to be home again."
"Lord Thorn told me-what was it? — oh, yes," the ancient major-domo twittered. "He said he will see you at your earliest con… convenience in the morning. Still, you must be tired after your trip, and your rooms are ready for you.
"Welcome home, Brother Mages."
"It's good to be home, Doorkeeper," Grimm said, smiling with unfeigned happiness as he stepped inside the comforting, familiar walls of the House. "I'm just glad I made it."
Chapter 14: The Return
Lord Thorn felt a glow of contentment as he re-read his message from Lord Dominie Horin. High Lodge commended Arnor House for the valiant actions of its Questors in the retrieval of the Eye of Myrrn. Horin congratulated Thorn on behalf of his Questors and informed the Prelate that he was henceforth a permanent member of the Guild Presidium.
The page was not signed by an amanuensis, as was common with missives from the Lodge: it bore Lord Horin's own signature and seal.
Thorn knew that only Presidium members were eligible for the post of Lord Dominie; he was now a member of the Guild elite, a step nearer to his mother's ultimate goal.
If this doesn't keep the meddling old witch off my back for a while, the Prelate thought, I don't know what will.
Questor Dalquist's recent report also gave him cause for satisfaction; the senior Questor gave Grimm Afelnor full credit for his instrumental part in the downfall of Starmor and the safe extraction of the Eye.
The House now had three active Questors on its rolls. The good opinion of High Lodge, combined with Thorn's position on the Presidium, meant that Arnor House would be entrusted more often with the conduct of prestigious Quests on behalf of High Lodge. In addition to this, the enhanced status of the House meant that more wealthy parents would send their offspring to Arnor to be educated. The possibilities were endless…
A knock at his door roused him from his idle reverie. "Enter."
For a moment, Thorn did not recognise the splendidly-attired, confident young man standing before him as the youth whose Acclamation ceremony he had attended a matter of months ago. Grimm's expression was neutral and yet self-assured; he looked every inch a cool, collected Guild Questor.
"Please be seated, Questor Grimm," Thorn said, with an expansive wave towards the visitor's chair.
"Thank you, Lord Prelate." Even the boy's voice seemed to have matured in the last few weeks. This was the voice of a Questor who had faced adversity and triumphed.
Thorn looked through the notes he had made from Dalquist's verbal report, delivered thirty minutes beforehand.
"I am sure you will be pleased to hear that Questor Dalquist speaks very highly of your resourcefulness in the defeat of this demon, Starmor," the Prelate said, leafing through his papers.
The boy inclined his head and lowered his eyes, again giving the image of a modest, imperturbable mage.
"I am grateful for Questor Dalquist's good impression, Lord Prelate. I wish to mention that it was Questor Dalquist's own ingenuity that led to Starmor's ultimate downfall, and his magical skill that allowed us to conceal the Eye once we had laid our hands upon it."
"This has been noted, Questor Grimm," Thorn replied, "and we are indeed cognisant of his valiant acts.
"One thing puzzles me, however. Why, once you had so cleverly confined Starmor to his own four-dimensional prison, did you feel the need to transport yourselves to his demesne in order to destroy him? Was he not safely secured?"
Afelnor's words seemed careful and measured, almost as if he had rehearsed them, but Thorn reasoned that the Questor wished to address his Prelate clearly and without hesitation; of course he would have rehearsed his report.
"Lord Prelate, I delivered Starmor to his prison with a standard, runic spell of Translocation in the second form, the External variant of the cantrip. As you are better aware than I, this form requires physical contact with the subject. In so doing, I unwittingly established a mental link to the demon, through which he contacted me. Questor Dalquist reasoned that Starmor might use this link to attempt to control me beyond my power to resist; the former Baron was a powerful enemy, indeed. Once aware of this, he suggested that it were better if we were to disperse Starmor's physical form, in order to eliminate this risk. Since Starmor's physical form was immortal, it seemed a prudent step. The demon is now so finely disintegrated that, by the Sixth Law of Diabolic Control, it should take Starmor centuries or millennia to reassemble himself."
Questor Grimm spoke in the cool, wordy tones of Mage Speech, a
nd the Prelate nodded in approval.
Crohn taught this one well, Thorn thought.
"Your explanation is coherent and credible," Thorn allowed, "and it tallies in all essentials with Questor Dalquist's own report. The senior mage's actions do him credit, and your significant contribution to the success is also noted."
The Prelate leaned back in his chair.
"As of today, you are entitled to bear a gold ring on your staff, signifying that you are a full-blooded Mage Questor of the First Rank, one who has performed in a satisfactory manner on his first Quest. Mage Armourer Thuril will do this for you."
Afelnor blinked, although his eyes gleamed. "I was not aware that there was such a rank as Mage Armourer, Lord Prelate," was all he said.
Thorn smiled. "You are still young, and there is much that you do not know concerning this House. The Mage Armourer is responsible for ensuring the protection of the House against attack; a Mage Staff is a potent weapon, and it is Thuril's prerogative to annotate that staff with the badges signifying the approbation of his Prelate."
"I wish to add that this is not all. You and Questor Dalquist have been invited to present the Eye to High Lodge in person. This is, of course, a great privilege, and I will not need to tell you that you will be expected to display the highest decorum and presence during your stay. I think you will find that the Dominie will not be unappreciative of your efforts; the loss of the Eye has been a major concern to us all. I am sure that Lord Horin will wish to place at least one more ring on your staff, and possibly more, in his gratitude and, indeed, relief."
Afelnor's face was like stone. Thorn thought he might as well have been discussing the price of fish with the youth.
"I wish also to tell you that, as a result of this Quest, I have now been elected a permanent member of the Guild Presidium. This is a great honour for the House."
"I offer you my heartiest congratulations, Lord Thorn!" At last, some animation had appeared on Grimm's face. He appeared genuinely pleased at Thorn's advancement.
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