Truth and Deception cogd-4

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "Looking at something, youngster?"

  The mage's tone was pleasant, but Grimm could hear an unmistakable note of menace within it.

  "I was just surprised to see another Questor," he said. "You're the first I've seen here."

  "Of course!" the older Questor snorted, rolling his eyes. "They don't have any Questors here, because they expect the Houses to do their dirty work for them."

  The blue eyes scanned Grimm, as if taking in his full import, and he nodded; it seemed that the young mage had created a favourable impression.

  "It's good to see someone else around here who knows the value of decent presentation," he intoned. "I can't stand this sackcloth-and-ashes image that so many mages choose to show the world. I'm Guy Fulinar, Eron House, called the Great Flame."

  "I'm Grimm Afelnor from Arnor House, Questor Guy."

  "You're a Fifth Rank Questor, and you don't have a cognomen?" Guy said, almost sneering. "What is the world coming to? How old are you, anyway?"

  "Seventeen," Grimm admitted. Determined not to sound defensive, he resolved to refrain from making excuses. "And I'll be receiving my sixth ring later this morning."

  He seemed to have made some sort of impact on Guy, whose eyes bulged for a moment. Grimm guessed that Guy might still have been a mere Neophyte at the age of seventeen.

  "How old are you, Questor Guy, if I may be permitted to ask?"

  "Twenty-seven," the older mage replied. "I didn't know the Guild had started Acclaiming infants."

  Grimm bristled, and he clenched his fists. "When the infant is powerful enough, they make exceptions," he said. "And I am powerful, Questor Guy, make no mistake."

  It seemed that nothing could prick Guy's bubble of self-confidence. "I don't doubt it, Questor Gribb-"

  "My name is Grimm, Brother Mage."

  Guy waved his hands. "Whatever; your diction isn't as clear as it might be. Still, it's not just power that makes a Questor. What of experience? I've been Questing for six years, and it's taught me a lot. Being a Questor has been good to me."

  "And to me," Grimm said. "On my first Quest, I was elected Baron of Crar, and I have all the wealth I can handle. Not bad for a blacksmith's son, I suppose. On my Quests, I've faced demons and Technologists, and I'm still standing strong. And I'm very, very rich."

  At first, he felt it might be better not to mention that he had undertaken a mere pair of Quests, but he changed his mind. How better to puncture this man's serene self-confidence?

  "Oh, Questor Guy, I just thought I'd mention that I've reached my present position after only two Quests. Please don't try to play silly little games of precedence with me.

  "Perhaps you'd like to complain to Lord Horin about my current status? Otherwise, please try to find your pathetic pleasures somewhere else, because I find your attitude just a little wearing. You may find Shael an easy target, and there are always the servants to belittle, if you run out of inspiration."

  For a moment, to Grimm's immense satisfaction, Guy's eyes looked as if they might burst from their sockets, and the two Questors stood almost nose to nose for several seconds. Grimm allowed a small flicker of blue fire to quiver at his fingertips.

  At last, Guy laughed, a hearty guffaw bursting from his lips. "I like you, Questor Grimm; perhaps adolescents today do have some spirit, after all! I'll see you around, youngster."

  With that, the self-possessed Questor sauntered away, chuckling as he went.

  May the Names prevent me ever turning out like you, Guy, Grimm thought, with a shudder. He knew Guy Great Flame, as a Questor, must have started as a pauper like he had been, but he could not imagine what might have turned a poor boy into such a snob.

  ****

  Since the Dominie's schedule seemed less hectic than on his previous visit to High Lodge, Grimm's interview with Lord Horin lasted somewhat longer than his first, hectic interview. The Dominie asked several searching questions concerning Grimm's last Quest, which Grimm answered as best he could. Grimm wondered if Horin was about to refuse his promotion, and he felt discomfited when the Dominie asked him about his visit to Prioress Lizaveta. The witch must have spoken the truth when she told him of her link with Horin.

  However, much to Grimm's relief, the arch-mage accepted his statement that he had only gone to pay his respects. Perhaps Lizaveta had not told Horin about Drexelica, after all. He waited in patient silence while Horin read through Lord Thorn's report, after which the Dominie raised his head and nodded.

  "Very well, Questor Grimm. Lord Thorn's recommendation is accepted, and I am pleased to confer upon you the degree and responsibilities pertaining to the Sixth Rank of our calling. Shael, please accompany Questor Grimm to the Armoury and arrange for the fitting of the sixth ring."

  With that, the audience was at an end, and Grimm breathed a sigh of relief as he bowed and accompanied Shael from the chamber.

  All that remained was the descent into the crypts with Numal, the gathering of information, and, with hope, a safe return to Arnor House. The rest of the day could not pass quickly enough for him.

  ****

  The two mages, guided by their invaluable Location Gems, made their way into the lower demesnes of High Lodge, their path lit by a simple, if effective, spell of Illumination cast by Numal. Grimm, his staff now bearing six rings, felt the leaden arms of responsibility closing around him as he tried to remember the route to the Sisters' dark temple. The magical jewels were of no help now, since Grimm had no idea of where he was going. Numal grumbled and muttered behind him, and the Questor asked him to remain silent, with as much politeness as he could muster.

  Grimm's sensitive ears strained as he made his way through the dark catacombs, trusting in the memories of his nocturnal voyage to the place where Sister Madeleine had been butchered. Numal stayed close to his right shoulder, and, on occasion, Grimm felt the need to ask him to move further away. The Questor's task was made more difficult by the fact that, during his dream, he had seemed to drift through the stone walls rather than following the dripping corridors.

  "It's down this passage," the Questor said, with sudden certainty as he recognised a distinctive, spider-like crack in one of the stone blocks. "I'm sure of it."

  "I don't like this," complained the Necromancer, in a low voice. "This place is scary."

  Grimm laughed, despite the churning anxiety in his stomach. "A Necromancer who's scared of crypts? I'd have thought you'd be in your element here!"

  Numal shivered. "I don't like close spaces," he confessed. "It's as if the walls are closing in on me."

  Wonderful: a claustrophobic, self-pitying Necromancer. That's just what I need.

  "Just get a grip on yourself, will you, Numal? Please?"

  "I'm sorry, Grimm, I can't help it. I never wanted to be a Necromancer, you know." The older mage's voice took on an unmistakable note of incipient, rising hysteria, and his breathing became swifter and shallower. The magical illumination flickered and dimmed.

  "Please don't start on that again, Numal," Grimm said, with as firm a voice as he could manage while whispering. "We are what we are, and we have to play with the hands we're dealt. Just keep your voice down. It won't be much longer now: all we need is to go through this next door, and we're there. Do you see how clean the hinges and handle are?

  "Come on, take a few deep breaths and steady yourself."

  "I'm sorry, Grimm. I'll try."

  As the hapless Necromancer shut his eyes and tried to control his fears, Grimm strained his ears for any sign of encroachment. All he heard was the steady, metronomic drip of moisture from the ceiling of the tunnel, and Numal's tortured, shuddering breaths. At last, Numal nodded.

  "I think I'll be all right now, Grimm. Let's get it over."

  They took the last few steps to the door, and Grimm opened it. The chamber was just as he remembered it: the shallow, brown-stained depression in the floor, the altar and the coffins lining the walls. The Questor felt an electrical thrill shoot through him as a figure emerged from the sha
dows. He readied his mind for magic, but stayed his power as the figure's face came into plain view.

  Grimm blinked. "What in the Names are you doing here?"

  "I might ask the same of you, Questor Grimm," the resplendent figure of Guy Great Flame responded.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 14: An Unexpected Guest

  "Aren't you going to introduce me to your companion?" Guy asked, as if the three mages were attending some society party instead of standing in a dank tomb.

  "Er… Questor Guy, this is Necromancer Numal," Grimm said, feeling quite out of his depth. "Numal, this is Questor Guy from Eron House, called the Great Flame."

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Necromancer Numal."

  The imperturbable older Questor extended his hand, but Numal's face wore a blank, pale mask of shock, and he did not respond. The pale luminescence of his spell of Illumination guttered and died, but the group was not plunged into darkness.

  "Illumination is a vitally useful spell to cast on one's staff," Guy drawled. "I'm surprised a Questor of the Sixth Rank didn't have the same idea. War-maker, here, has a score of useful Minor Magics cast on her. Light, heat, minor wards, dowsing…"

  Grimm realised that, despite his two arduous Quests, he was still a relative tyro in his craft. The only spells he had placed on Redeemer were for the relief of intoxication, and he now recognised the ability of a mage's staff to become a receptacle for a multitude of enchantments, enhancing his potency as a Questor.

  "So, just what are you doing here, Questor Grimm? Your friend doesn't seem much use for whatever it is. He looks like a bit of a weak reed to me. If you're thinking of going up against dear old Grandma, you're going the wrong way about it."

  Guy's sneering tone raised Grimm's hackles, and he spoke before he realised the full import of the Questor's words.

  "Just who do you think you are, Guy Great Flame?" he snarled. "You walk around as if… what did you say?"

  "Grandma: it's a vernacular term for a parent's distaff progenitor. I'm sure you've heard the term before. Dear, sweet, virginal Prioress Lizaveta is my grandmother."

  "Lizaveta is your grandmother?" Grimm felt too stunned to say anything more profound.

  "Give that boy a prize!" Guy laughed. "With a sharp mind like that, you'll have your seventh ring within a week, youngster."

  "What makes you think we want anything to do with Prioress Lizaveta?" Grimm blustered, hardly able to think.

  "This is hardly a congenial, cheerful gathering-place for bored mages, now, is it?" Guy seemed to be enjoying himself. "For the record, I've only discovered my relationship with the hag in the last few months, and I hate the wizened, raddled old bitch with all my heart and soul."

  "Why?" The younger Questor's mind was racing, but he found himself unable to elicit a more cogent response.

  Guy leaned back against the altar stone, crossing his arms and legs in a nonchalant manner. "The child speaks! 'Why?', it says! I suppose you just want to pay heartfelt homage to the old cow. Perhaps I'm wrong; perhaps you were just looking for a convivial little soiree with your pathetic little friend, and you just happened upon this pleasant picnic spot. Come on, Questor Grimm, surely you can do better than that."

  Grimm did not trust Guy in the least, and he felt unwilling to reveal his true purpose in the crypt to this mercurial fop. He saw the older mage's eyes roll and guessed that Guy had noticed the mistrust in his expression.

  "All right, Grimm," Guy said, sighing. "A little act of faith: I hate Lizaveta, and I'd like to kill her. If you can remember how, use your Mage Sight on me and tell me I'm lying; I dare you!

  "They do teach you toddlers how to do Mage Sight these days, I suppose? Go on, I won't hurt you, I promise."

  Trying to control his fury at Guy's ever-present sarcasm, Grimm unfocused his eyes and used his Sight on the mage. He saw indications of slyness, shiftiness and unreliability in Guy's aura, yet none of them pertained to his statement concerning the Prioress; Guy had spoken what he regarded as the absolute, literal truth in this respect. Grimm's entrails squirmed with doubt, but he decided to tell the haughty mage the true reason for his incursion into the crypt. It would be a relief to tell someone else of his secret.

  "Very well, Questor Guy: I also seek the downfall of Lizaveta and her Order. I'm on a secret Quest to seek out evidence of any wrongdoing on their part, and to report back to my House Prelate. When I was last here, a nun of the Order tried to beguile me by using Geomancy to take control of my emotions. When I managed to break free from her influence, I accepted her explanation that it had only been some prank but, later that night, it seems I travelled on the astral plane to this place, and I saw Lizaveta and a group of other nuns butcher her battered body and drink her blood. I gather that my breaking free of her spell constituted a failure on her part. Perhaps Prioress Lizaveta had other plans for me, and Madeleine's actions were somehow a part of this scheme. I brought Necromancer Numal with me, hoping he'd find some trace of murder or bloodshed here, so we could amass some concrete evidence to take back to Lord Thorn."

  "You're honoured, Grimm," Guy said, whistling. "As far as I can tell, the old hag's pretty selective about her pets. Bravo, youngster."

  The older Questor sat on the altar stone and made an ostentatious show of inspecting his immaculate fingernails for a few seconds.

  "I've been on the trail of dear Grandma for months now," he said, "and I've seen her sneak down here on occasion. I got it into my head that she had treasure stashed here, and that's what I was looking for. I thought I could hurt her that way. Your way seems a bit more promising."

  "Why do you hate her so much?" Grimm asked, leaning on Redeemer. "You already know my reasons, so you have the advantage over me."

  "Well, I suppose it won't do any harm to tell you," the older Questor said. "You seem a simple enough lad, blacksmith's boy and, if anyone should ask, I'll just deny I was ever here."

  He shuffled on the angular stone and grimaced. "This place was never built for comfort, I must say.

  "Well, I don't remember anything of my parents; I was brought up by my uncle Gerilon. He was a rich merchant, and I went to a good elementary school. Still, he was as stingy as they come in other respects, liberal with his strap and the back of his hand. When I was seven, he couldn't wait to get rid of me, and he sent me to Eron House. I assumed I'd be well provided for, but the crabby old bastard sent me there as a charity case. Then there was the bloody Ordeal; even you know how that goes, I imagine."

  Grimm nodded. If Guy's Ordeal had been even a tenth as severe as his, then he could not help but feel a certain amount of sympathy for the man.

  "If there was one thing that sustained me through my time in the Eron Scholasticate, it was my hatred of Gerilon. The tight-fisted old get had piles of cash, and yet he let me slum it out as a bloody charity case."

  Grimm saw Guy's hands clenched tight, the knuckles bone-white, his face contorted in an expression of pure rage. The young mage felt no need to access his Mage Sight to confirm the truth of Guy's muttered, angry words.

  Guy continued. "Last year, I found out my parents aren't actually dead. I still don't know who they are, but I do know my father is some high-ranking mage in a major House, not some squalid little backwater like Eron. For all I know, he's here at High Lodge, maybe a member of the damned Presidium. It seems I was the regrettable by-product of some little drunken dalliance he had with some serving wench and, of course, he wouldn't want to admit that, would he? His mother was, or is, Prioress Lizaveta. She is the only member of my real family whose identity I know, and I hate her for hiding the truth from me. And for letting me freeze in a clammy cell as a charity boy."

  Grimm decided he did not want to find out how Guy had discovered the information; he had the unpleasant feeling it might well have involved the direct, and possibly brutal, interrogation of the hapless Gerilon.

  "Still, that's enough of happy family memories," Guy said, hopping off his uncomfortable, unyielding perc
h. "What do you say we wake up Grandfather, here, and get on with it?"

  Grimm had all but forgotten Numal. He turned towards the pathetic mage, who was hunched over his staff, his bottom lip trembling and his eyes distant.

  "Necromancer Numal!" Grimm called, as loudly as he dared. "Wake up!"

  Guy pushed past the younger Questor. "Allow me, youngster." Towering over the catatonic thaumaturge, he gave Numal a stinging slap on the right cheek. "Hey, old man, you have a job to do, or had you forgotten? It's time to go to work!"

  The Necromancer's hand flew to his cheek. "You hit me," he said in a plaintive, child-like voice.

  "Give the man a cigar!" Guy said. "So there is someone hiding in that pathetic sack of flesh, after all!"

  "He hit me, Grimm…"

  "Come on, man! Wake up, will you?" Grimm felt near the end of his tether. "Our Guild may be in danger, and you have a sworn oath to fulfil!"

  "All right," muttered Numal, caressing his face. "Just don't strike me again."

  Grimm could see Guy's face contorting into a contemptuous sneer, as the older Questor raised his staff in a threatening manner.

  "All right, all right," Numal said, waving his hands. "I'm sorry about that. I'll do it."

  The Necromancer sank to his knees, planted his hands on the rusty-coloured depression in front of the altar and shut his eyes. A monotonous, rhythmic chant rose from his lips, and Grimm saw a faint, blue coruscation playing around Numal's splayed, trembling fingertips.

  Despite the Necromancer's funk, the droning incantation sounded flawless to Grimm's ears, and the Questor moved closer to Guy as Numal continued to chant.

  "Supposing Lizaveta comes here and finds us, Questor Guy? Do you have any plan of action in that case?"

  Guy rolled his eyes in a mockery of self-condemnation. "Ah, here's a man who's made careful plans!

  "Do you really think I'd come down here if I didn't know the old witch was otherwise occupied? I know full well she's in conference with that old fool, Horin, at this very moment. I have some spies here; they don't know it, but they're acting for me. For some reason, dear Grandma fancies him, and she goes to see him at the same time every week. We won't be interrupted."