Perhaps Horin now regretted the largesse he had shown on the previous night and now sought to redress his error. There would be no seventh ring for him, no cognomen and nothing but censure for his foolish actions over the previous two days. He had tried—how he had tried!—to be a good Guild Mage, but he had failed, in the eyes of the Master of the Guild. Even with the unstinting support of Lord Thorn, a negative report from the Dominie would finish him as a Questor and a mage.
Damn the old man! Damn them all! The hot feelings that he had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface, and he leapt to his feet in a convulsive movement, all but toppling the table that divided the two magic-users.
"I can see you've already made your mind up, Lord Dominie! If you can't see that I'm a loyal Guild man, then don't play stupid bloody games with me. I've been threatened with decades-long confinement in the Arnor scullery more times than I can count, so please don't waste your time with me anymore. I've had enough, Lord Horin!"
He might lose Drexelica, Redeemer, his Barony and his Guild Ring, but he no longer cared, as the hot hormones or rage flooded through his body. He was tired, and he had expected congratulations instead of opprobrium.
An icy, white-hot shock of horror rose through him, as he realised what he had done in his irritation.
Surely the Dominie could not accept such a rebuke from one of his minions!
"I see those words struck a note with you.” Horin remained impassive and unreadable. “Good. Now sit down, you young idiot. I don't normally waste my time with reprobates; I have people to do that for me.
I just wanted to see your reaction."
Despite the Dominie's quiet voice, the force of his delivery seemed to drive Grimm back into his chair.
Embarrassment washed over him as he sat back down, and the words of his foolish outburst reverberated within his skull. He slumped into the deep leather folds of the chair and bowed his head.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! was all that came into his head, as he closed his eyes and waited for Horin's sentence upon him.
"Xylox is a good judge of human character, if a little harsh on occasion,” the Master of the Guild intoned.
“Will you tell me he's wrong in his assessment of your character, Questor Grimm?"
The Questor shook his head. His mouth seemed unwilling to obey his commands.
"Excellent!” the Dominie said. “You may be just the man I need! I know from your actions last night that you are a loyal Guild man, but I wanted to see that you were also not some mindless automaton. Are you willing to help me?"
Grimm could do no more than nod.
What's he playing at?
"This kedgeree is delicious, Questor Grimm. May I help you to some? Come, eat; you need to get some meat on those bones of yours. We'll discuss what I have in mind later. Eat, I say!"
The rest of the meal passed in a blur. All Grimm knew was that the Dominie had subjected him to a test, and that he had, somehow, passed it. If he ate or not, he did not know, but he did know that his reckless explosion had been, in some manner, acceptable to Horin. He had no appetite for food, but he hungered to know what the old man had in store for him.
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Chapter 18: Trust
Grimm sat in silence and watched as the Dominie worked his way through a mountain of food: kedgeree, poached eggs and whole lambs’ kidneys, amongst other things. Horin seemed a single-minded man; he said nothing during the meal, his attention focused on the task at hand.
At last, the Master of the Guild pushed his plate aside and smothered a nascent eructation.
"Why, Questor Grimm, you don't seem to have eaten a thing! Breakfast is an important meal, especially for growing youths. I insist you try something."
"Lord Dominie, you mentioned that you might require my help. That is more interesting and important to me than food, at this time."
Horin chuckled and dabbed his lips with a white silk napkin. “Ah, the impetuosity and impatience of the young!"
He put the napkin on his plate and sat back in his comfortable armchair. “Very well, young Questor, I'll tell you, but only after you answer a question of mine: is there any aspect of your visit that you're not telling me? I can tell you're still hiding something from me. I need to be able to trust you without hesitation, if I'm to make use of you as I require."
Grimm felt sure that Horin had already used the Sight on him on several occasions during their meeting; he could not believe that the Dominie would be prepared to entrust a callow, unknown youth with secret information otherwise. He felt the fires of curiosity flicker in his stomach, as he yearned to hear what the older mage wished to propose. Nonetheless, conflict raged inside his head.
Lord Thorn told me not to reveal this Quest to anybody, including the Presidium.
But that was because he already knew Lizaveta's Order was under Horin's protection! The Dominie knows all about the Sisters of Divine Mercy now.
No. Lord Thorn placed his trust in me. It's not for me to question his orders.
Despite his interest in Horin's proposal, whatever it might be, Grimm felt he could not disobey the Prelate's strict, direct order with impunity.
He took a deep breath, resolving to be true to his word. “I'm sorry, Lord Horin. I can't tell you."
"What? ” the senior mage expostulated.
"Lord Dominie, if I may quote Rule 17.8: ‘ No Senior may come between a Junior and his conscience'
. This matter concerns my conscience, Lord Horin."
Horin leapt from his seat, vibrating with annoyance. “Don't quote Guild rules at me, you insolent young whelp!” he shouted, wagging a finger at Grimm. “I'll mention another, Rule 4.7: ‘ In all matters of Guild security, the Dominie's word is law, and may supersede other rules and regulations, as the Dominie sees fit' ! How does that sit with your lawyerly compunctions?"
Grimm felt a new shock coursing through his spine, but he said nothing.
Horin sighed and sat back down, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from his eyes. “I could have a pair of Seventh Rank Mentalists in here in a few moments, and I could make you tell me. But I won't do that. I want you to tell me of your own free will."
His eyes locked on Grimm's. “Trust me, Brother Mage; I wouldn't be asking you if it weren't important.
I'm not playing puerile games with you. I need to be able to trust you implicitly."
Grimm licked his dry lips. Horin had placed a heavy burden upon him. Should he tell of his mission and flout his sworn word to Thorn, or should he make an enemy of the most powerful man in the Guild? He rubbed his temples, which had begun to pulse like some metronome of discomfort.
Trust; such a small, simple word it was, yet so significant and weighty. After wrestling with his conscience, he decided that Thorn's admonition must have been superseded by his earlier revelations ...
perhaps.
"Dominie,” he said, still troubled by his shaky reasoning, “I told Lord Thorn of my suspicions after Necromancer Numal convinced me of the truth of my vision when I was last here. Lord Thorn told me he had long suspected Lizaveta's Order of skulduggery within High Lodge. I was to gather information and evidence about Lizaveta's actions, and to report back to him alone, without alerting anybody within the Lodge."
"Interesting,” Horin said in a soft voice. “I should have thought that Lord Thorn would have alerted me first, if he suspected undue interference in Guild affairs."
"Perhaps he already believed that you'd been ... affected, Lord Dominie."
Horin sat a moment in silent contemplation before speaking again.
"Questor Grimm: will you agree to submit to the use of a spell of Divination? I admit I have used Mage Sight on you before; that may be a breach of Guild protocol, but my needs are great, and I alone have that right. However, the technique is severely limited, and I want to put you to a more searching inquisition before I divulge any further information."
Grimm considered his answer for some time. Divination wa
s something of which he knew little, and he had thought that mastery of the sleight was confined only to Mentalists such as Magemaster Kargan at Arnor. From what little he knew of the spell, if he were subjected to such deep scrutiny, the older man would surely discover his liaison with Drexelica. That was something he was unwilling to surrender, at any cost.
It seemed the older man had sensed the Questor's unease. “I already suspected that you have ... another person in your life, Brother Mage,” he said. “Your aura bears a taint of rose hue, a faint but undeniable indicator of requited love to those who understand the colours a little better than most."
Grimm started; his deepest secret was discovered! However, Horin's next words acted as balm on his rising panic.
"Put your mind at rest on this score, young Afelnor: this is not blackmail. I am prepared to overlook such an indiscretion, as long as it doesn't interfere with your dedication to the Guild. Whether or not you agree to submit to my Divination, I swear on my honour as Dominie that I will divulge this to no other. The sign will mean little to other mages, even those who break the taboo on using the Sight on their peers.
"If you decline, I will ensure that you remember nothing of our meetings, other than the details I choose to allow to remain in your mind, I will send you back to your House, happy and fulfilled, but ignorant of our discussion."
With the knowledge that his relationship with Drex was already in the open, Grimm found his decision easy.
"I will submit to your questioning, Lord Dominie."
Horin shut his eyes and began to mumble; his voice rose to a shout as he rushed into a complicated, impeccable dance with the powers of runic magic.
This is no simple spell, Grimm thought as the old mage's face ran with perspiration. He's no Questor, but he's still a powerful mage.
At first, the rhythmic, fluent runic chant seemed to have no effect, but the young mage noticed a subtle coruscation of blue motes playing around Horin's brow. He felt tendrils of force boring into his head from all directions, but, after an initial few moments of discomfort, he began to find the experience soothing and calming. He relaxed in his chair, sensing his cares and worries drifting away from him. It was so peaceful here...
He heard Horin's voice as if it was inside his own head; the words were crystal clear. “What is your name?"
"Grimm Afelnor.” The name spilled from him before his mind had even formulated the intention to speak.
"What are your goals in life?"
Again, the dreamy words emerged from his mouth of their own volition. “I wish to exonerate the name of my grandfather Loras, and I wish to be recognised within the Guild for my worth and my achievements. I wish ... I wish..."
He began to writhe in his seat, and the Dominie's face turned pasty and sweaty.
"Please don't fight me, Questor Grimm. It will only make things harder."
Yes, of course: Lord Horin already knows about Drex. There is no need to fight.
"I wish to live with Drexelica forever. I love her."
"What are your feelings towards Prelate Thorn?"
"He is my friend. He is stern and forbidding, but he has treated me well. His word is my law.” The question appeared almost ludicrous, but Grimm found it easier to answer than not.
"What of your attitude towards me, and any orders given by me?"
"My Oath is to the Guild first, and my House second. Your orders supersede those even of Lord Thorn."
"If I were to give you strict orders to conceal evidence from Lord Thorn, would you do so?"
"I would not wish to do so, but I would have no choice but to comply."
Grimm was aware of a dim discomfort, but it was almost as if it were being visited on somebody else.
Once more, it was simpler just to answer the question put to him than to resist.
"Have you any secret plans concerning your dealings with me?"
That was an easy question to answer. “No."
The older mage put several other searching questions to Grimm, concerning his loyalty to the Guild and his innermost desires, and the Questor answered all of them in a clear, unemotional voice. At last, with a rasping sigh, Horin turned away from the young Questor, who felt the magical tendrils withdrawing from his brain; his mind was once more his own.
"You are a powerful one indeed, Questor Grimm."
Horin was ashen and his voice, in contrast to the clear mental tones that he had heard during the Divination, was hoarse and mumbling. “I should have asked Mentalist Gowell to administer the spell. He was the mage who taught me the sleight when I first became Dominie. I thought myself well practiced in its use after all these years."
"I'm sorry, Lord Dominie,” Grimm felt unsure of how he might have done wrong. “I wasn't trying to resist you."
An urgent, panicked expression flitted across the older mage's face. “Excuse me, please, Questor—"
Cutting himself short, Horin vaulted from his chair and ran pell-mell across the room, upending two small tables in the process. Grimm, perplexed, saw him yank open a door in the corner of the chamber and launch himself into a small room. Within a few seconds, he heard the unmistakable sounds of wracking, violent retching and vomiting from within. These persisted for some time, and the young mage could hear Horin gasping and spitting. Then he heard the distinct sound of splashing water, and a soft, agonised groan.
At last, the Dominie emerged from the small room, his face pale, a bloodstained handkerchief held against his nose with his right hand.
The Questor leapt to his feet. “Are you all right, Lord Dominie? Shall I summon help?"
Horin waved his free hand, and shook his head, although he did appear to be in some distress. “I'll be all right, thank you, Questor Grimm,” he said, indistinctly through his handkerchief. “It's no worse than a bad miscasting."
Grimm felt a momentary frisson of guilt that he felt no ill-effects from the meeting of the two mages’
minds, but he said nothing as Horin lowered himself into his seat, and Grimm did the same.
The older man inspected the red-stained cloth and stuffed it into a pocket in his robe. A delicate tracery of brown stains remained around his top lip, but Grimm considered it might be impolitic to mention it.
"Thank you, Questor Grimm, for submitting to my questions,” Horin said in a nasal tone. “I will now tell you what I have in mind."
Grimm leaned forward, eager to hear Horin's plans for him. “Thank you, Lord Dominie.” It was all he could say, under the circumstances.
The Guildmaster looked around for a few heartbeats, his eyes looking to Grimm like animated currants set in a mass of pale, damp dough. He appeared almost feverish, but intelligence and strength of purpose burned in those eyes; this was no paranoid madman. Grimm could see that this was a man with a mission: a man fighting incipient exhaustion, despite the early hour.
Summoning some inner reserve of energy, Horin mustered a clear, strong voice, as he spoke almost in the manner of Magemaster Crohn delivering one of his sonorous, interminable lectures.
"This Guild has prevailed for more than a millennium, young Afelnor. It has survived insurrection, mutiny, treachery, opposition, war, famine and plague for more than thirty generations for one reason, and one reason only: the complete dedication of its members."
Do I speak? Do I keep my mouth shut? Grimm wondered. It seemed easier to nod and say nothing.
"This is my very life,” the Dominie declared, “and yours, too, if you could but realise it, young Afelnor.
"Are you pleased at your rapid elevation, Questor Grimm?"
Grimm blinked: Horin's question appeared nuncupatory.
"Yes, Lord Dominie; I feel very pleased."
"Some of my fellow Presidium members consider me little more than a superannuated clerk, obsessed with trivia and minutiae, without strategic vision or imagination,” the Guildmaster said. “You think you reached the Fifth Rank only due to my inattention and incompetence, don't you?"
Grimm stammered, “I ...
I know you're a busy man, Lord—"
"Of course you do!” Horin cried, his eyes bright, feverish. “Poor old Horin, struggling with his silly papers, doesn't notice he is promoting a ringless First Rank novice well beyond the level merited by a single, if meritorious, Quest."
Grimm felt his head spinning. What was the Guildmaster saying?
"I have had my eye on you for some time, Afelnor. I could not have promoted you to the Sixth or Seventh Rank without my judgement being brought into serious question, or I would have done so. Your accession to the Fifth Rank was no fortuitous mistake, Questor Grimm. Have you ever heard Questors referred to as ‘Weapons of the Guild'?"
"Of course, Lord Horin.” Grimm felt as if he were a leaf being swept along in a strong current, unable to change its course.
"The Guild is my world, my universe, young Questor. I would do anything to protect or save it. I wanted a true, loyal weapon of my own to aid in the fight, and I selected you. Recent events have proved I was right."
" Fight, Lord Dominie?” Grimm spluttered. “What fight, and why me? I'm hardly blooded as a Questor yet, and there are surely many of my kind, more experienced and resourceful mages who would prove more suitable."
Horin laughed. “Not that many, Afelnor,” he said. “Your power and resourcefulness are remarkable in one so young. Older Questors may have guile and cunning gained through a dozen Quests, but only a scant handful could match you in naked power, if any.
"That is gratifying, but it is not the only reason I chose Grimm Afelnor to be my weapon. The other Questors are good men. Loyal men; powerful men; but they are bedazzled by wealth, status and privilege. They think being a Guild man is nothing more than formality and protocol; knowing the correct cutlery to use at a court banquet. Many of them leave the Guild as soon as they are able, rich mages who have paid off their debts. Other, more loyal mages perform their roles well enough, but they are nonetheless obsessed with games of precedence with their peers, as you already know well."
Despite his confusion, Grimm laughed: the Dominie could only be referring to Questor Xylox. Then his face clouded.
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