Truth and Deception cogd-4

by Alastair J. Archibald

  She's probably just sinking her claws deeper into Dominie Horin, Grimm thought. This is worse than I thought.

  "Don't you feel any loyalty for the Guild, Guy? Don't you realise she's probably trying to draw Horin further into her influence?"

  "Oh, of course, I never thought of that," Guy said, slapping his hand onto his brow again. "How I envy you these inspired intellectual insights.

  "Oh, look. I do believe Granddad's finished doing his Necromancer bit."

  Grimm saw Numal had risen to his feet and was wiping his hands on his black robes.

  Guy stood with his hands on his hips. "Well, old man? Found anything?"

  Numal nodded. "There's been a lot of death here. Violent death. I heard at least five anguished souls crying out for vengeance."

  "Did you manage to identify any of them, Numal?" Grimm asked, breathless. "Did they say anything?"

  The Necromancer shrugged. "I don't know how to interpret dead-speech yet. When I do, I'll be eligible for the Second Rank."

  Guy snorted in contempt, turning his back on Numal. "You can't do a whole lot, can you, old-timer?"

  Grimm sighed. "Numal, we're in a crypt: there are coffins all round the room. If you don't understand what these souls are saying, how do you know for certain you're not hearing their occupants?"

  "Please, Grimm, do give me some credit," the Necromancer snapped, seeming more confident now. "What I did was to locate and follow the silver cords of those who had either died here, or who had been here shortly after their deaths. I told you about silver cords back at Arnor. The astral plane is a four-dimensional construct stretching through space-time, leaving a trace in every three-dimensional location that the body's been in after death. After a few weeks, the cord snaps back to the soul, and what we call the 'prompt mortal sign' disappears. I wouldn't have been able to find any trace of the owners of these old coffins. The signs I found had to be recent, even if I couldn't understand what the souls were saying. At least five people have died violently here recently, or their bodies were here shortly after they died."

  "It's not much to go on, is it?" Guy said. "It's hardly a damning, earth-shattering discovery."

  Grimm shook his head. "Questor Guy's right, Numal. It is a bit thin. Is there anything else you can do?"

  The Necromancer scratched his nose. "Like what?"

  "Well, I don't know," confessed Grimm. "Can you tell if any of them actually died here, for example?"

  "Not with any certainty."

  "You two are about as much use as a sundial in a coal mine," Guy said. "I think I'll go back to what I was doing before you barged in. There must be something valuable in here, something Lizaveta wants to keep secret."

  He moved over to the altar and began to examine it in minute detail, presumably hunting for hidden catches or hinges.

  "I'm sorry, Grimm," the hapless Necromancer whispered, but Grimm was no longer listening. Something about what Guy said had begun to buzz in his mind like a restless fly.

  "Why here?" he muttered.

  "What do you mean, 'why here?'" Guy snorted as he searched. "She's not likely to start sacrificing people in the middle of the Great Hall, is she?"

  Grimm frowned, trying to force understanding from his brain. "I mean, why right here? It's in the exact geometric centre of the Lodge, as far as I can tell. Any other crypt would do just as well. And why sacrifice people at all?"

  The kneeling Guy faced Grimm and rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious, smithy boy? This is the Lodge's innermost crypt, so nobody's likely to find it by accident. As for sacrifices, some of these religious types have weird beliefs.

  "You do ask some asinine questions. It's a wonder to me you were ever accepted as a Student, let alone Acclaimed. Please don't hesitate to shove off whenever the fancy takes you."

  With a despairing toss of his head, the older Questor returned to his search.

  There was… something I read in one of the Lodge books: something about a 'base of power'. Witches need something to anchor them to a place, so they can draw power from the earth. Localising the field of influence can concentrate it, if there's some deep tie to the area, like a tree, or a monument.

  "The location's important, Guy," Grimm said, his voice burning with intensity. "It's more than just a nice, secret cubby-hole. This is how she's able to exert her maximum control, and she'd need it if she was trying to influence a powerful mage like Horin. There's more than religious mumbo-jumbo at work here. Geomancy is an art, just like sorcery, and it has its own rules and requirements."

  Guy did not respond, having turned his attention to Lizaveta's throne. "Aha! Just as I thought!" he crowed, reaching under the lip of the cushioned seat.

  Grimm heard a distinct click, as a grinning Guy swung the seat upwards.

  "This must be where she keeps her treasure!"

  "It looks more like old rags to me, Questor Guy," Numal said.

  Guy stared down at the cavity he had opened, and Grimm saw the Necromancer had been correct in his observation. The older Questor frowned, scrabbling through the scraps of cloth as if hoping to find untold wealth beneath. At last, he stood up, his forehead lined with puzzlement.

  "That's all it is: just old rags and bones," Guy grumbled, letting the fragments fall. "What in Perdition does the old cow want them for?"

  Grimm smiled: he was beginning to think he had the answer.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 15: Triumph

  "Why in the world would she want to hide away a heap of worthless junk like this?" Guy railed, tossing a handful of the rags onto the damp flagstones.

  "Excuse me, Questor Guy," Grimm said, pushing past the foppish mage.

  "Oh, feel free to hunt for pearls in this pile of garbage for as long as you like," Guy muttered. "I'm off." He sounded to Grimm like a petulant child denied a second slice of his favourite pie.

  "Hold on, Guy. Just a few more minutes, please." He began to search through the pile of rags, inspecting each scrap of cloth in turn.

  That's what I was looking for! he thought, eying a fragment of rich, purple velvet. As he picked it up, he felt a sharp thrill run through him, and the name, 'Madeleine', came into his head, unbidden.

  With a shock of realisation, he stood upright, holding the violet rag high. "It's hers. I'm sure of it," he gasped. "Madeleine: the girl I saw murdered in my dream. This is just what we need!"

  He turned to the Necromancer. "Can you contact the dead through their possessions, Numal?"

  "Not yet," Numal confessed.

  Guy snorted, "No surprises there."

  "But any Necromancer of the Third Rank, or above, could do it. There's a standard spell for it, although I don't know it yet."

  "This explains everything!" Grimm declared, suffused with satisfaction.

  "Oh, good," Guy said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll let you carry on with your needlework. Doubtless, you intend to make a patchwork quilt in honour of my sainted grandmother. Enjoy yourselves, and good riddance to you." He turned on his heel and began to walk away, his staff bobbing behind him.

  "This is her power base!" Grimm cried. "If we destroy that, she's all but powerless within High Lodge. This 'garbage' is what allows her to operate here!"

  Guy stopped and stood, although he did not turn around.

  "Explain." For once, his voice seemed free of sarcasm and belittlement.

  "Yes, please do, Grimm," Numal said, his brow as furrowed as a farmer's field.

  "This place, this crypt, was chosen for its central location alone, because it allows Lizaveta to spread nodes of power throughout High Lodge," Grimm said. "That means she can use her Geomantic magic anywhere inside the building, without being in direct contact with the earth. I should have thought of it before; most witches prefer to conduct their spells in the open, preferring not to enter buildings without an earthen floor. A web of Geomantic power extends from here to every part of High Lodge, drawn from the earth."

  "Looks more like flagstones to me," Guy said. He di
d not turn round, but Grimm heard growing interest in his voice.

  "Precisely," the young Questor said. "I read of a basic Geomantic principle, although it meant nothing to me at the time: 'contact is eternal'. The sacrifices wore these rags at the time of their deaths. They were butchered here, according to a prescribed ritual: their blood flowed between the flagstones into the earth. During the ritual, Lizaveta took a sample of their hair, one of their bones, or a scrap of their clothes, and bound it to her. This gives her and her closest acolytes intimate contact with the earth, and it enhances their power accordingly, growing with each sacrifice."

  Retaining the fragment of Madeleine's velvet dress, he pointed at the throne and concentrated, summoning and ordering his power.

  "Sh'shakk't!"

  The nonsense word burst from Grimm, and the throne's contents shivered into insubstantial motes. He sank to his knees in the circular depression before the altar and stared at the gap surrounding the round centre stone, placing his palms flat on the stone. He remembered how Magemaster Crohn, during one of his long, tedious monologues on the various classifications of runic spells, had mentioned spells of Gathering, and their applications. Although the Magemaster had divulged no details of these enchantments, the principle seemed clear enough to him.

  That was all a Mage Questor needed to cast any spell.

  Blood, arise from the earth.

  With his Mage Sight, Grimm followed the brown tendrils of life-essence as they snaked through the interstices of the bedrock beneath High Lodge.

  Arise, and be free.

  The young mage groaned as he felt the tortures and agonies visited upon the victims of Lizaveta's evil lust crowding in upon him, a score of voices screaming for release. Come!

  A flurry of syllables flew from his lips, and a fine spray of brown dust began to fly from between the stones, showering over the grim chamber. Grimm sighed as the pressure of the spell was released, and he climbed to his feet.

  "It's done," he said, his voice hoarse. "Lizaveta's finished here. Let's go. Guy, feel free to hunt around for trinkets, if you want. I have a mission to fulfill."

  "Where are you going, Grimm?" Numal asked.

  "I'm going to see Lord Horin, Numal. If necessary, I'll smash the door down."

  Grimm looked at Guy's face, a picture of incomprehension, and he laughed at the popinjay mage's apparent discomfiture.

  "Enjoy your treasure hunt, Guy," he said. "I'm sure you know best. I'm finished here. I have all the proof I need."

  "Wait a minute, Grimm," Guy said, his expression almost friendly. "If what you've said is true, I can't wait to see Lizaveta's face; I'm more than willing to take that chance. Besides, you might need a real Questor to help you. Horin doesn't let people into his chamber lightly."

  "Numal, we're saviours of the Guild now," Grimm said. "If being a part of this doesn't get you that first ring, I don't know what will."

  Numal looked dubious, but he nodded. "All right, Grimm. I just hope you know what you're doing."

  ****

  With the invaluable aid of his borrowed Location Gem, Grimm found Lord Horin's private chamber with ease.

  Two men-at-arms stood by the door, but they paid little attention to the approaching mages; rather, they seemed drawn by the sounds of a loud altercation from inside the room. The sentries seemed uncertain what to do, their jaws slack and their eyes wide.

  "Better open up, boys," Guy drawled. "It sounds as if Lord Horin may be in danger."

  Flicking the least glance at the gaudily-attired mage, one of the guards, a grizzled, battle-scarred man rapped on the door.

  "Lord Horin! Is everything well with you?"

  "Get in here at once!" a voice from within screamed, and the guard opened the door. The two warriors stormed inside, followed closely by Grimm and Numal, while Guy remained outside, the hood of his robes pulled over his head.

  Grimm saw a sumptuous room lying in complete disarray. Two tables lay on their sides, and broken glass and crockery littered the floor. In the centre of the chamber stood Lord Horin, his face flushed and his robe dishevelled, and Lizaveta lay sprawled at his feet.

  The Dominie's mouth quivered for several moments before any sound came out. What emerged was a shriek of outrage.

  "Get her out of here!" cried Horin. "This filthy creature tried to beguile me by means of magic. She might have caused me to flout my sacred Oath, had I not managed to collect my wits in time!"

  "Lord Horin, I beg you to reconsider!" Lizaveta pleaded, and, from the corner of his eye, Grimm looked over his right shoulder to see a broad smile spreading across Guy's face as he waited in the corridor. "You always seemed so comfortable in my company before, and I found myself entranced by your commanding manner-"

  Horin's sweaty face was the colour of an embarrassed beetroot, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. "I command you to leave, witch! Guards, get her out of my sight!"

  The guards seemed uncertain about just how to deal with a prostrate, pleading old lady, and Horin turned his eyes to Grimm and his companions.

  "What are you two doing here?" he demanded.

  Grimm sank onto one knee and bowed his head. "Lord Horin, this woman is a witch who sought to gain control over you."

  As the guards dithered, Horin snapped, "I know that!"

  "My lord Dominie, my colleagues and I suspected her of foul magic. We located her chapel and base of power within the crypts of High Lodge. We destroyed it, fearing that you might be compromised. She was using the very structure of the Lodge and the captured souls of human sacrifices to augment her power. Here is one of the sordid fetishes she used to accomplish her evil deeds."

  Without raising his head, Grimm held out the bloody fragment of Madeleine's dress to the Lord Dominie. He did not need to look in order to know that Horin had touched it; the spastic tremble in the cloth was evidence enough that Horin had sensed the power within it. He looked up, to see a new fury rising in the Dominie's flushed face.

  "You, outside the door!" Horin snapped. "Do not skulk in the shadows; come in here at once!"

  Guy bowed and entered the room, making the required obeisance. His hood still obscured his features.

  "Is this true, Brother Mage?"

  Guy nodded. "Far be it for me to traduce a religious lady, Lord Dominie, but it is true in every respect. I was a part of this-"

  "You are banished!" Horin screamed at Lizaveta. "I want you and your filthy Order out of the Lodge by the morning, and you will visit any other Guild House only on pain of death. Count yourself fortunate that I do not blast you into a million fragments where you lie! You have twelve hours, and no more, to quit our demesnes. After that time, you and your loathsome Sisterhood will be declared Enemies of the Guild, subject to summary termination on sight by any servant or mage of this Guild."

  Lizaveta rose to her feet, all pretence of coquettish bewilderment abandoned. Slapping aside the hesitant, flapping hands of the guards, she faced the Dominie.

  "Your hands felt like a brace of dead fish, Horin, and your pitiful fumbling bored me to the core. Enjoy your books, your papers and your cold baths. They are all the love you will ever know." She blew a kiss towards the elder mage and strode to the door.

  "Get out, before I change my mind and have you executed instead, witch!"

  "As you command, Lord Dominie." Lizaveta's cold eyes focused on Grimm's for a few heartbeats. "You and I will meet again, young Afelnor; I prophesy it. I do not ignore a slight, as I once told you"

  With that, she stormed from the room, her white robes fluttering like a dove's wings in her wake.

  Horin motioned Grimm to stand. "Young Questor: you have done me a signal service, and I thank you for it. I command that you be elevated to the Seventh Rank, and I would take it as a singular favour if you would accept a position on my staff as my personal Questor, the first such accolade to be bestowed. I will not see such selfless service to the Guild go unrewarded."

  Grimm, although suffused by the joy of triumph, conside
red his response with care. "Is it permitted to refuse, Lord Dominie?" he asked.

  Horin's brows rose. "You refuse the seventh ring?"

  "No, Lord Dominie, far from it. It is a prize beyond my wildest dreams, and I thank you for your bounty from the bottom of my heart."

  That statement was easy, but Grimm knew the next would need all his powers of diplomacy.

  "Lord Dominie, I thank the Names that I have been fortunate enough to become a member of an establishment as egalitarian and just as the Guild. However, I am still a very young Questor, and my heart still yearns to find glory in the fulfilment of arduous and challenging Quests, to the honour of the House that raised me."

  "Do you regard saving your Dominie from disgrace as insufficiently glorious for your ambition?" Horin's expression turned as dark as a thunder-cloud.

  Grimm drew a deep breath. "On the contrary, Lord Horin; I regard it as the pinnacle of my career," he found himself saying, "and I am grateful that I may have aided you in your deliverance from malicious influence. Nonetheless, I wish to prove myself further, by confounding additional threats to the Guild as an active Questor, rather than by stultifying in an office. I accept, with heartfelt gratitude, your offer of promotion, so soon after my last elevation, but I believe I can serve you better by remaining a simple House Questor."

  Horin stood and stared, but, to Grimm's immense relief, he laughed. "I like your spirit, Questor. I am sure you will go far. Very well: I will grant you the Seventh Rank and allow you to go back to… what House is it?"

  "Arnor House, Lord Dominie."

  "Ah, yes, Arnor House: one of our oldest and most respected establishments. That is fitting.

  "Very well, my headstrong young sorcerer, I'll grant you that."

  Grimm felt astonished that the austere Lord Dominie had used a common contraction, in clear violation of Mage Speech, but he said nothing.