"Very well, Questor Grimm,” Xylox growled, shaking his head. “Much though I loathe all ramifications of this ancient art, I would rather it were used in our service than in the hands of a renegade. I offer you a free hand in this regard. However, I will deal with the detestable Armitage myself; he will die at my hands, but I shall be merciful."
An automatic reaction arose within Grimm to reject this proposal, but he quashed it. Armitage was too dangerous to live; he did not care what he did to any being, so long as it advanced his knowledge. The man was evil, and Grimm could not find any objection to the prospect of Armitage's death.
"Good hunting, Brother Mage,” he said. “Armitage may be considered dead already, and I will not weep for him."
Although Grimm had left far behind the insecure boy he had once been, a small segment of his conscience nagged him over his rapid acceptance of the cool murder of a fellow human, no matter how callous.
* * * *
The large train of vehicles stopped short of Crar, at Grimm's command, and the Questor walked the last quarter-mile to the formidable city gates alone.
"Who goes there?” came the challenge from the bastion.
"I am Baron Grimm,” the mage replied. “I have brought an army with me. I bring Crar security and safety against any foe. Starmor is dead, and this force will preclude invasion from any other of his ilk. I request free passage for our protective force, which is under my complete command. Send the Mayor; he should vouch for me."
The suspicious face at the ramparts disappeared, to be replaced in due course by that of Mayor Chod.
The Mayor peered at Grimm from the high walls and commanded that the gates be flung wide, without delay.
The Questor breathed a deep sigh of relief. At least he had not been forgotten!
* * * *
Grimm felt irritable and befuddled. All he wanted was a soft bed and surcease, after five exhausting days of interviews at the side of his trusty demon Seneschal, Shakkar. Crar was safe, and the mage wanted nothing more than a comfortable bed, content in his successes. He wanted to be alone.
However, when he finally climbed the winding, softly singing staircase to his chamber, he saw Drexelica standing just inside the open door.
"It's all right,” she whispered to him.
Grimm blinked, fighting torpor. What did she mean?
"We all need somebody else in our lives, boy-mage,” she said, her voice as beguiling and as entrancing as any Mentalist's.
He recognised the power her voice had over him, even though he knew she was using no magic on him. This did not feel like the frantic, desperate passion he had felt when the witch-nun, Madeleine, had attempted to control him at High Lodge.
Grimm's feelings were as strong now as they had been then, but he knew that his confused emotions were at least his own, and very different from those he had felt just before the reckless battle against Quelgrum's forces.
"You masked my aura from Perfuco, didn't you, Drex?” he said, without a trace of condemnation.
Drex shrugged. “I can't deny it, Grimm,” she said, smiling. “I tweaked your self-confidence, too, but just a little. I did use witch magic, but does that make it bad? I did it for you, not for me."
Her arms were open, and Grimm found himself unable to resist. He said nothing, launching himself into her embrace and kissing her with a fierce passion, born of the release of tension after a long, hard struggle. The kiss seemed to last forever, but it came to an end at last, and he looked at the beautiful girl, a nervous expression distorting his features.
"It's all right,” she whispered, as Grimm trembled, his breath rapid and shallow. “It's all right, my baby."
Grimm reached for her again, as warm waves of long-pent, physical need washed through him, but he stopped short, groaning in frustration.
"I can't, Drex,” he moaned, although he wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted. “I can't. It'll destroy my magic. I have a vow not only to my House, but to redeem the Afelnor name in the eyes of the Guild, for my grandfather's sake. I want you, more than anything else, ever, but I can't have you."
"Is that what they tell you, Grimm?” she snorted, stamping her foot. “I don't believe it. I think they just say that to make you put all your energy into their bloody Quests. They think your having someone more important than them weakens their hold over you. I don't believe this fairy tale at all."
Grimm screwed up his eyes in agony. “I ... I can't take the risk, Drex. This ring means so much to me.” The words were strong, but he knew his voice was weak and uncertain.
"More than me?” she asked, dropping her blue gown to the floor.
The voices of passion screamed ever louder in his head, overwhelming everything else: his oath, his duty, his very name. He fought as only a Questor could, but this new magic seemed more powerful than any spell he could cast.
The girl lay on the bed; open, inviting, infinitely desirable, and he surrendered. Damn Thorn! Damn the Guild! Damn this lonely, monastic life!
Grimm growled and approached her, his heart pounding like a steam-hammer.
* * * *
In his passion, Grimm reached his hot, sticky climax in only a few minutes. Drex bit her lip and closed her eyes. Grimm knew she had found little physical pleasure in their frenzied, animalistic coupling, but the burgeoning needs of his body took him beyond all care and reason. A detached part of the mage's brain reeled in horror at this unaccustomed loss of control, but it was unable to restrain him.
When his lust abated and rationality returned to him, Grimm saw blood on the sheets, and he recoiled.
"Drex, Drex, I'm so sorry!” he blurted, horrified. “I hurt you! How can you ever forgive me?"
"That was my first time, too, Grimm Afelnor,” Drex replied, her face calm. “I was told the first time would hurt a little, and that a little blood is normal. But you did nothing to me against my will; I wanted you and nobody else. I'm happy."
"It was worth it; losing my power, I mean,” the young Questor said, trying to be gallant, but he felt a vague unease rising within him, growing stronger by the minute, belying his brave words.
I'm no longer a mage! his mind screamed. I've lost everything, everything! I'm a forsworn Oathbreaker, just like they called Granfer Loras! Only this is my fault!
Post-coital tears prickled at the margins of his eyes as the gravity of his offence began to hit home. Cold panic welled up as Grimm realised he was naked inside as well as out.
Hoping against hope, he tried to summon his power, but his efforts resulted in a confused tangle of magical skeins. Trembling, he tried again and again, but his inner force was no longer under his command.
"It's all true, Drex!” he cried, shaking with horror. “I can't do it anymore. I'm no longer a mage!"
"I meant what I told you,” Drexelica said, her tone level but urgent. “I'm a witch; not a very strong one, but a witch, anyway. Sometimes, we can see things ordinary people can't, just like you mages can. You're as powerful as you ever were."
Grimm tried to meet her gaze, but he could not do so.
"I don't think you'll be able to cast spells as long as you tell yourself you can't,” she continued, “but I don't believe for a moment that our love will take your strength from you, or I wouldn't have done it, I swear!"
"It's all true!” Grimm repeated, hearing the note of rising hysteria in his trembling voice. That frightened him almost as much as the loss of his power, and he fought to control his emotions.
"Look at me, Grimm Afelnor."
Drex's words were sharp and harsh, striking home with the force of a hard slap to the face, and Grimm complied with her command.
The girl lifted the Questor's left hand and touched the blue-and-gold Guild ring on his third finger. She rolled it around his finger; it revolved with ease. Still looking into his eyes, she took firm hold and pulled it. In an instant, the ring closed on the mage's finger, making it impossible to remove.
"Does that happen to—what do you call
them—Seculars?” she demanded. “Even mages who've lost their powers?"
Grimm shook his head, listless. “It doesn't work that way, Drex,” he sighed. “A Guild Ring has its own magic, and it doesn't depend on whether you still have powers. This is my Granfer's ring, and even the Conclave that destroyed his powers couldn't take it from him."
"Well, then, try something else,” Drex said with a snort. “What about your staff? Doesn't it come whenever you call it?"
"Redeemer,” he muttered, expecting no response, but the staff leapt to his outstretched right hand, as it always did when summoned. So swift was Redeemer in its progress that it might have brained his lover if he had held out his left hand.
I'm pretty sure you have to be a mage to do that, he thought, his heart pounding with hope. Could Drex be right and the Guild wrong, after all?
The girl said nothing, but she raised a quizzical eyebrow, challenging him.
Grimm looked into his psyche, gathering the tangled threads of power, arranging them into orderly rows. He felt sweat dripping from his chin as he carried out what had once been an operation as simple to him as breathing, but he succeeded.
Drawing a deep breath, he drew the pale tendrils together and compressed them into a tight, golden sphere. Breathing out, he released a tiny amount of inner energy and uttered three syllables: "Sh'k'kesh!"
For a moment, he feared the spell would fail, damned by his attack of animal passion, but an obedient, blue flame flickered into life at the end of his left index finger without burning him.
Willing the flame to die, he gathered his powers again, this time with his accustomed ease. He did not cast his spell for a few moments, contenting himself with the feeling of strength that now coursed through him.
A different burst of nonsense from his lips brought the flame back, and he willed it higher and higher, until it almost reached the ceiling.
Grimm laughed for the first time since he had embarked on his last Quest, a month before.
"You see?” Drex crowed, her eyes moist and glittering. “You see, Grimm? You haven't lost anything. You're still a Questor; my Questor, if you'll have me."
"They lied!” Grimm whispered, staring in disbelief at the cold flame dancing on his fingertip. “The Guild lied to me."
The young sorcerer knew the life of a Questor often involved subterfuge and deceit, but he took it as an article of faith that openness and honesty within the ranks of the Guild were sacrosanct.
'Women are dirty and feral, seeking only to steal a mage's power. Stay away from them.'
'A single kiss, a single careless moment of passion will destroy all you have worked for. Keep your distance from the temptresses and harlots.'
'A passionate woman is a poisoned chalice, seeking to steal your strength and your manhood.'
How many times have I been warned about the pernicious effects of women? Grimm wondered. Is Drex some scheming whore or a manipulative trollop? Was she only trying to destroy me as a mage?
No! She had worked to convince him of the falsity of these beliefs, which were pounded into every single Student, Neophyte, Adept and Mage from the age of seven onwards.
What other lies had the Magemasters pounded into him during his painful conversion from a sensitive, introverted boy to a mighty Mage Questor? From what he had learned from the demon, Starmor, and the cryptic note he had once found in the Scholasticate Library, Grimm began to suspect that Lord Thorn knew far more about Loras’ disgrace than he had admitted, and he vowed to get to the bottom of the matter, sooner or later.
However, it could wait, for tonight, at least. Drex's eyes were warm and inviting, and Grimm felt invigorated; joyful; powerful. He vowed to learn the truth about his grandfather's disgrace, but later.
As Grimm Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank, Weapon of the Guild, pressed his open lips against Drexelica's and lost himself in her warm gaze, he forgot all the lies.
He now knew a magical truth that transcended all others.
About the Author
Alastair J Archibald is the quality assurance manager of an electronics company. In addition to writing, he enjoys playing guitar and singing in a band called Indigo Nights. Pool, chess and reading are other hobbies.
You are invisted to visit his author website at: [email protected]
For your reading pleasure, we invite you to visit our web bookstore www.whiskeycreekpress.com
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