"What makes you think I will be any different, Lord Horin? I am rich beyond my dreams after my first Quest, and I'm pretty sure I could easily afford to buy off my indenture any time I wished."
"But you won't,” Horin said, “not even if we allow you to do so—and we don't have to, Afelnor.
"You need the Guild as much as we need you. You have a mission, a personal mission, do you not?"
" What? "
"You are unique, Afelnor. You are the grandson of the reviled Oathbreaker. Your name is tainted beyond imagining, and you seek to cleanse it. You are kin to a man who tried to kill his lord and master, and there is no worse crime in the whole Guild. Because of your lineage, you are reviled by most, even beyond the petty prejudices of social class-consciousness.
"I can help you achieve your aims, and I will, if you help me."
Grimm slumped back in his chair and rubbed his perspiring brow with a palsied hand. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and he felt unable to speak.
The Dominie leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Our life, our very existence is threatened, and I want an irreverent, hot-headed, impertinent grandson of a convicted traitor to help me, not a polished, scrubbed, silver-tongued paragon of Guild manhood."
Grimm tried again to speak, but his tongue felt as if it were a lump of dead wood. Horin rose to unsteady feet, weaving like a drunken man, but the Questor knew that only the old man's body had betrayed him; despite the evangelistic gleam in those feverish eyes, the Dominie's sanity could not be in doubt.
The old man laughed; a crackling, high-pitched squeak without the slightest hint of humour. “There is a sickness within our brotherhood, my young friend,” he said. “After centuries, millennia of stability, a creeping, insidious malaise threatens the stability of the entire Guild. Following my dealings with the odious Lizaveta, I have begun to believe that she, or someone just like her, may be at the root of the problem."
Grimm's forehead furrowed.
"What is the nature of this sickness, Lord?"
The young man saw the Guildmaster's wan complexion growing healthier by the moment, and he noted a little more animation in the Dominie's voice when he spoke.
"There has always been rivalry and ambition within the Guild, young Afelnor,” he said. “It is tolerated, and even encouraged, so long as it doesn't interfere with the smooth running of the institution. You are an ambitious young man, but that is only to be expected in a Guild mage.
"However, I have noticed a distinct escalation in the unrest between the Houses in the last few decades.
There is now far too much secrecy and skulduggery in an organisation that has always prided itself on openness and fraternity.
"I have tried to eradicate this sickness at the root, but without success. There may be many causes for this malaise, but I cannot deny that this little attempt by Prioress Lizaveta to suborn me has shaken me beyond measure; my unease has not been diminished by your own experience with the young nun, right here in High Lodge. How many mages have been compromised or controlled by this woman and her Order?
"I am mindful of the early wars between mages and witches, and I wonder if these latest affronts are skirmishes in a renewed conflict. Perhaps Lizaveta's order is no more than a front for a Geomantic supremacy movement."
Grimm considered the Dominie's words: they sounded on first hearing like the paranoid maunderings of a worried man, but were they so improbable?
Lizaveta's involvement in Madeleine's attempt to subsume his will seemed incontestable. Perhaps she had tried to perform similar magic on Loras, many years before, and his will had proved the stronger. The Dominie, although a potent mage, would not have presented such a difficult target, and the old witch had tried to use Grimm as her weapon without success. Maybe this was no coincidence; if Loras had rebuffed her, control of his grandson might seem like sweet revenge.
Slowly, Grimm nodded; it all began to make sense to him. “I concur, Dominie; at the very least, Prioress Lizaveta's Order presents a serious threat to our Guild. May I ask what you have in mind for me in this regard?"
It'll be some kind of fact-finding mission, I expect, he thought. Presumably, I'll have to interview various mages, to see if they've fallen under Lizaveta's influence. Tedious, but, I suppose, essential.
"I want you, Grimm Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called the Dragonblaster, to find out. I wish you to confront this odious cult directly and, if necessary, to destroy it. I want this baleful influence eradicated, however you choose to achieve this.
"I now know you are a truly loyal mage. I elevated you to the Seventh Rank as evidence of my good faith, and I expect you to carry out your side of the bargain. Will you do so?"
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Chapter 19: “The Most Important Quest"
Grimm started forward, and almost slid off the slick leather seat. “You want me to confront this nest of vipers directly, Lord Dominie? A single witch of that Order nearly managed to enslave me! I can hardly approach Lizaveta directly; she's already met me. Perhaps it would be better to choose another mage, Dominie, one unknown to her."
Horin again made a show of inspecting his nails, as if embarrassed. “You already know of her ways, Questor Grimm; you are forewarned. I wish as few members of the Guild as possible to be alerted to this Quest, since I have no idea how far Lizaveta's influence has spread ... and I do not wish it known that I, the Master of the Guild, was so nearly enslaved by Geomancy.
"You are not to tell Lord Thorn, or any other member of the Guild, the true purpose of your mission. I don't want it known that there may be a weakness within our Brotherhood."
Grimm leapt to his feet, his face hot and his fists balled.
"Surely you don't expect me to do this alone? You ask the impossible, Lord Horin! I don't know where they are, and I have no idea of what obstacles I might meet on the way!"
"Impetuous as ever, I see,” muttered the elder mage. Then, he raised his voice “Very well, Afelnor. You may recruit a few Seculars to your cause, so long as you tell them nothing of the task beyond what is utterly necessary."
Grimm nodded, relieved. “I have an army under my command, Lord Horin. We'll soon resolve the situation."
Horin sighed. “I'm afraid I can't allow that, Questor Grimm. An army would be far too conspicuous, and word would reach Lizaveta long before you would arrive. Worse than that, a panic might arise within the various Houses; they might assume that Lord Thorn was intending to eradicate his rivals, once and for all.
You are, after all, an Arnor man."
This is impossible, the Questor thought. Horin asks far too much of me. I may have hundreds of miles to travel, perhaps through barren and hostile wastelands, and my power is far from inexhaustible. I'll just have to turn him down.
"Dominie,” he said, drawing himself to his full height. “I thank you for your faith in my abilities, but I must decline; your conditions are too onerous. Please, just erase my memories and send me back to Arnor; reduce me to the ranks if you must. I'm sorry."
Horin said, “I could order you, although I do not wish to do so. Does your sworn Oath mean nothing?
What about your sullied family name?"
Grimm winced, as if a pair of sharp barbs had struck his heart. As the grandson of the despised Oathbreaker, this question pierced him to the quick. Again, hot indignation threatened to overwhelm him.
“I don't think my Oath requires me to commit suicide on your least command, Lord Horin. If you want to interpret my refusal as treason, then I can't do much about it, but what you propose will need more than a Questor and a couple of ignorant warriors. For the record, Dominie: I refuse. Do with me what you will."
He sat back down and crossed his arms across his chest, his face burning with a combination of anger and contrition.
Horin's face was a picture of indignation. “You dare to talk to your Guildmaster in this manner?” he spat.
“By the Names, just who do you think you ar
e?"
Grimm looked directly into the Dominie's angry eyes. “I am the mage you selected as your personal weapon, and I'm more than willing to carry out that role; but I can't do this alone. Without the aid of additional personnel, I believe this is a waste of time."
"Perhaps you're right, Afelnor,” Horin snarled. “It appears that I may have misjudged your loyalty, zeal, gratitude and sense of duty."
The young mage sighed, frustrated; this was getting nowhere, and it might end up with Arnor House or even High Lodge gaining a new scullery servant. Antagonising the Master of the Guild was an ill-advised course of action to pursue. Grimm forced his burgeoning emotions into the back of his mind with the practised self-control of a Questor.
"Please forgive my outburst, Lord Horin,” he said, spreading his palms before him in a gesture of supplication. “I had no right to speak to you in that odious manner. Nonetheless, I do find your conditions impossibly restricting, and I can't pretend otherwise. I recognise the threat to our Brotherhood, and I'm keen to eradicate it, if I can; however, I don't relish the prospect of going on an uncertain journey, to meet an implacable and powerful enemy of unknown resources in her own den.
Remember, if I am defeated, Lizaveta may well gain the weapon she needs to achieve her ends, whatever they may be."
The Dominie seemed almost to suffer some kind of fit; with his face a delicate shade of scarlet and his eyes bulging, the older man bounced and quivered as if possessed.
"You are the most contumacious youth I have ever met! Do you think so little of your powers that one frail old woman can defeat you?"
"She nearly defeated you, Lord Dominie, right here in your own demesne.” Grimm's soft response made a palpable impact on the Guildmaster; Horin's infuriated spasms ceased, and the Questor noticed that the older man's face lost some of its former choler.
"I may have to face a hundred powerful witches, Lord Dominie,” he said, his voice level but tinged with defiance, “each of whom has orders to try to dominate me or destroy me.
"No, Lord Horin, I'm afraid I'm not confident enough to face that test; I'd rather die, or spend the rest of my days as a menial, than lose my mind to some Geomantic puppeteer. If that's my only choice, then so be it; I'll take the scullery over that, every time."
Horin reached for a metal flask of tea at his side, and poured himself a generous measure. “Are you sure you won't have some, Questor Grimm? It's a very good blend."
Grimm shook his head, his stern expression unchanged. Horin swallowed the steaming herbal infusion at a gulp, as if he had not noticed the brew's scalding temperature.
The Dominie put down his empty cup and saucer and looked the Questor straight in the eyes. “I didn't choose to raise you to the Seventh Rank with such unseemly haste only to demote you to the rank of servant, young Afelnor, and I suspect you know it."
Grimm shrugged. “I'm in your hands, Dominie."
The Guildmaster stood up and walked around the room, his expression distant and preoccupied. He rested a hand on a small, exquisite marble statue of a Thulian Troubadour in mid-performance, and muttered, “Shamfar Gurest's finest work, seven hundred years old. It's quite priceless."
The hand lovingly stroked the sculpture's silk-smooth curves and his eyes seemed to drink in the statue's rich detail; the musician appeared almost alive, his head thrown back, his eyes closed in the bliss of music, his hands caressing a stone lute.
This is Horin's form of displacement activity, Grimm thought. He's not a man to make snap decisions he might regret later.
Looking up from Shamfar's masterwork, his hands still resting on the cool marble, the Dominie said,
“Very well, Questor Grimm, I'm prepared to consider any reasonable suggestions you may have. This is a matter of vital importance, and I don't want to rule out anything that might increase the likelihood of success."
"I want to take my friend, Questor Dalquist, with me,” the Questor said. “I would trust him with my life, and his word is his bond."
"No,” Horin replied. “I agree that a pair of Questors might be useful, but you will take Questor Guy with you. He already knows what took place last night. And you may take Necromancer Numal with you, for the same reason; I don't want wagging tongues around here if I can avoid it. I'll brook no argument on this score; neither Questor Dalquist nor any other member of the Guild is to be informed of any details of the Quest."
Grimm shut his eyes, and suppressed a groan; As a young Questor who had risen to the Seventh Rank without Horin's influence, Guy must be a powerful mage, yet he was capricious and unreliable. Numal, on the other hand, was a rank tyro, a ditherer who seemed quite unsuitable as a companion in a dangerous undertaking. Nonetheless, the Dominie seemed implacable in his resolve to inform as few Guild members as possible.
"If there are to be three mages on the expedition, one of whom is a tyro, I want at least three warriors along with us,” Grimm countered. “I have three in mind: their names are Tordun, Crest, and Harvel. All have Quested with me before, and I trust them. They are all more than competent warriors, and they remain cool under pressure. In addition to these men, I request permission to take at least the leader of the Crarian army, General Quelgrum. He may be able to suggest cunning stratagems and tactics that we can employ, so as to avoid unwanted speculation as to our purpose."
Grimm also wanted to take along his fearsome demon Seneschal, Shakkar, but he had to acknowledge that the towering titan would attract far too much attention.
"This is beginning to sound like another bloody army,” Horin growled. “I don't doubt Questor Guy will have his own views on the matter, and he probably has Secular allies of his own that he will want to bring along. How do you suggest we keep such a large party secret?"
"We could take a covered wagon, Lord Horin. One man drives while the rest remain in the back of the vehicle. If we wish to stay in a town, the cart is driven through it until a resting place is found, and the others are put down in inconspicuous locations along the way, so they can make their way there as individuals, rather than as a suspicious group. If the wagon is searched, for any reason, we say that we are on a pilgrimage, or that we have picked up indigent travellers during our journey.
"We may also need to coerce a few Outsiders and take them into our confidence, in order to gain necessary information. However, if necessary, either Questor Guy or I should be able to persuade them to forget. Should any searchers or inquisitors seem unduly suspicious of us, we can do the same thing."
Grimm saw that Horin's eyes were once more distant, wandering, and he guessed the Guildmaster was mentally disassembling his proposal down to its component parts, mulling over each one.
At last, the Dominie nodded. “Very well, Dragonblaster. I have my misgivings, but I accept your counsel.
We'll proceed along those lines."
Grimm knew Horin had only used the cognomen in order to increase the Questor's enthusiasm for the Quest, but the title still sounded fine to his ears, pleasing him.
"What tale do you propose I tell Prelate Thorn?” the older mage said. “I am, after all, depriving him of two valuable mages."
Grimm doubted the term ‘valuable mage’ could be applied to Numal, but he thought it better not to mention the fact. “I'm sorry, Lord Dominie, but I'm no politician or diplomat, and I don't think I ever will be. I owe Lord Thorn a lot, and I don't care to lie to him."
"Are you saying . enjoy subterfuge?” Horin fumed, a trace of his earlier hot temper returning. However, he soon made a placatory gesture with his hands and softened his tone. “I'm sorry, young Afelnor; you're quite right to have such reservations, and I mustn't berate you for the fact. May I assume you have accepted my proposal?"
Grimm nodded. “I thank you for your faith in my abilities, Lord Horin, from the bottom of my heart. Yes, I accept the Quest. However, I ask that you give me absolute authority over the conduct of the mission."
Horin repeated his earlier, humourless laugh. “I can't do that, Questor Grimm. Al
though you are my chosen weapon, Questor Guy must be ten years older than you, and an experienced mage to boot. He must be considered the senior mage."
"Then, why did you ask me first? ” Grimm snapped. It appeared to him that the Dominie revelled in building him up, just so he could knock him back down again. “I refuse to serve under Questor Guy.
Tell him to carry out the Quest under his own terms, and see just how far he gets!"
Horin bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes blazing. “You are just impossible, you impudent young whelp! No doubt, you'll be telling me how to run the Presidium, next!"
He could just have threatened to wipe my memory, Grimm thought, but he needs me.
The old man screwed up his face as if he had just eaten a sour pickle. “All right; I'll consider giving you joint leadership; will that be satisfactory to you, Lord Mage?"
Grimm suppressed a smile. “No, Lord Dominie. You chose me for this mission, and the inclusion of Questor Guy was only an afterthought. At first, you were happy to let me act on my own."
Horin's face appeared to boil, his complexion almost matching the deep red of his sumptuous leather armchair.
The young mage continued, his tone level and implacable: “Joint jurisdiction would just lead to inefficient disputes. There needs to be a clear leader to make the final decision."
The old man appeared to be suffused with frustrated rage. He picked up another small marble piece, as if he might be about to throw it through one of the closed windows, before apparently thinking better of it.
With the statue still in his hand, he said, “What you ask—what you demand— is a clear breach of protocol. Questor Guy is the senior mage; command of the mission should be his. What reason do you, a relatively inexperienced Questor, have, to justify your being given authority over him?"
This is no time to back down, Grimm.
"Lord Dominie, Questor Guy is the grandson of Prioress Lizaveta, or so he tells me. He hates her with a passion for allowing him to spend his days as a Student in penury, and I worry that he will concentrate more on destroying the Prioress herself than eliminating her influence. I fear that he will be moved to take too many risks if left unchecked."
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