The old man set the statue back down with care, and the astonishment on his face was plain to see.
As for a breach of protocol, Lord Horin, I believe it is considered normal practice to inform the members of the Presidium and the Questor's House Prelate of the scope and reasons for a Quest, thought the young mage, although he did not wish to provoke Horin too much by saying so.
"I am a Guild man, Dominie,” he said aloud, “and I reaffirm my Oath in all its solemnity; however, I wish to maximise its chances of success. I fear that Questor Guy has too much personal interest in a specific aspect of the undertaking, and I therefore request that you declare me as senior mage for this uncertain, and possibly hazardous, expedition. If not, I prefer to engage in the Quest without the presence of the Great Flame.
"Am I your chosen weapon or not, Lord Horin?"
His eyes, those dark, impenetrable, implacable Questor eyes, bored into Horin's. The force of a Questor's will was renowned throughout the Guild, and the Dominie, powerful as he might be, was a mere Weatherworker.
"You request this, do you, Afelnor? Well, that makes a change!” Horin said, still fuming; however, he looked away after perhaps five seconds. Only another Questor could hope to meet such a gaze for more than a few heartbeats.
"You are adamant in this ... request?"
"I am, Lord Horin.” Grimm lowered his eyes at last, judging that further continuation of his gaze might constitute a threat.
"You have considered that you may make an enemy of Questor Guy over this? He would expect to have control of the Quest."
"I have, Lord Horin. However, despite the Great Flame's faults, I do not believe he is a man to bear a grudge for long. We have had our arguments before and resolved them. I think we can surmount this particular obstacle, long before we encounter our quarry."
The Dominie blew his nose, leaving a ruddy clot in his brown-stained handkerchief. “In that case, you leave me little option,” he said. “Very well; I'll declare you senior mage for the duration of the Quest only. On your return, successful or not, Guy will revert to the seniority due to him."
"What about me, Lord Horin? You said you would help me to clear my family name."
Horin growled, “I'm beginning to regret saying that, Afelnor, but I'll keep my word. You get this Quest, and I'll do what I can to rehabilitate your lineage."
Grimm nodded. “That's more than fair, Dominie; I thank you."
"Do you have any other stipulations, Dragonblaster? I'd rather get them out of the way now, if you don't mind."
"I will need time to prepare, Lord Dominie. I wish to be at the peak of my power when we encounter the Order. For example, on my previous Quests, I believe I suffered from insufficient preparation; I don't want to make that mistake again."
Horin nodded. “That is only prudent. How long will you need?"
"A week?” Grimm hazarded. “A month? In all truth, Dominie, I don't know. I want to cast a few more spells on my staff and try to lay my hands on a few useful protective periapts: an amulet to ward off missiles, for example; and various types of wards for specific threats. I have little idea where to look for such items, although I know they exist."
"I can help you there,” Horin said, “High Lodge has a large store of such charms. Give me a list of what you think you require, and I'll try to obtain the items for you under the guise of personal research.
"These charms are only loaned, mind you.” Horin wagged his index finger and frowned. “You are not to consider them as gifts. On this, I refuse to negotiate."
Grimm stood, and bowed. “I understand. Thank you, Lord Horin. I also ask that I be allowed to make my preparations from my stronghold in Crar."
"As long as you keep your purpose from as many people as possible, including your ... your paramour.
"I mean it, Questor; keep your mouth closed. Is that understood?"
"Understood, Dominie; it may be difficult to come up with some kind of rationale, but I'll think of something."
Horin lowered himself into the seat opposite the Questor. “This may be the most important Quest you are ever asked to undertake, Questor Grimm. Make it a good one. No record will ever be made of what you do, but it is a vital Quest, nonetheless. Is that all?"
Grimm considered the Dominie's words; it seemed like he might be risking his life, his sanity, for little reward. “With regard to our bargain, Lord Horin: if I should find incontrovertible evidence of my grandfather's innocence, will you consider restoring his name to the Guild roll of honours? That would mean more to me than any other reward."
Horin closed his eyes and meditated for a few moments before he spoke. “I'll do what I can within the strictures of Guild Law; I am constrained by it as much as anyone else. That's all I can promise at this time, but I swear I will explore every possible avenue, including any that may arise due to future changes in the Laws. Is that acceptable?"
Grimm nodded; his heart was full. A tear rolled down the side of his nose, but he paid it no heed. “That's all I ask, Lord Mage. Thank you, with all my heart."
Horin settled back in his armchair; he appeared well satisfied. “You'll have the seventh ring on your staff by noon, and I'll have your cognomen ratified and approved by this evening. Congratulations, Grimm Dragonblaster.
"Now, can I interest you in some of this pickled herring? It's delicious."
Grimm smiled. “Thank you, Lord Horin. Perhaps I am a little hungry, after all."
The young mage felt happy beyond measure. With the possible restitution of Loras’ honour in sight, he would give his utmost to the Quest, and he put all concern for his own safety behind him.
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Chapter 20: Homecoming
Grimm drew the wagon to a halt in front of the gates of Crar. From his vantage point, high above the entrance passage, a guard called out, “Who goes there? What is your business in Crar?"
Grimm swept the cowl from his head and shouted, “I am Baron Grimm, lord of this city.” The title still sounded fanciful and ludicrous to his ears.
"One moment, please, Lord Baron."
A few minutes passed, during which, Grimm had no doubt, a number of weapons were being trained on the vehicle. At the end of this period, a small door in the great gate opened, and the Questor recognised the green-clad form of General Quelgrum.
"General, it's good to see you,” Grimm called. “How goes it?"
As he drew closer, the General's lined, leathery face broke into a broad grin. He stopped several yards from the cart. “Well met, Lord Baron! I must apologise for the delay in your entrance; however, there are a few formalities to complete. With your permission, may I search your wagon?"
Grimm frowned. “This is me, General; Grimm Afelnor. You do remember me, I presume? I'm hungry and tired, and I have two Guild colleagues with me, in a similar state.” He felt little inclination to play army games.
"Your pardon, Lord Grimm. There is sickness in the city of Hagarn; a grave illness, Baron. Doctor Querl is inspecting all incomers for signs of the ailment. I trust you understand."
"Hagarn? I never heard of it, General."
"It's seventy-five miles to the south-east of here, Lord Baron. That may sound a long way off, but it's better to be careful."
Grimm suppressed a smile, despite the torpor that possessed him after the long, hot journey.
Quelgrum's taking his oath to protect the city from all assaults very seriously.
"Very well, General: we'll wait for the Doctor."
"Don't you teach the hired help more respect than that?” Guy hissed from the back of the wagon. “I'm so hungry, I could eat one of these bloody horses, or maybe two. Just tell soldier-boy to step aside and let us in."
"Shut up, Guy.” Grimm knew the sullen Questor responded better to defiance than diplomacy. “The man's just doing his job. You'd be more than ready to berate him if he skimped his duties and you got sick."
He could not hear Guy's sotto voce reply, but the tone of his voice, if fa
r from cheerful, carried a note of grudging, grumbling acceptance.
A strange apparition, dressed from head to foot in a leather cape with a cowl stepped from the portal. A bizarre mask in the form of a bird's face covered the man's face, and he wore heavy gauntlets. The unearthly figure seemed to float over to the side of the wagon, since the cape hid his legs and feet from view.
"Would you mind stepping down, please, Lord Grimm?"
Despite the hollow, ethereal tone caused by the strange mask, Grimm recognised the gentle voice of the man who had nursed him in the aftermath of the final defeat of Starmor in the streets of Crar. The Questor owed Querl a lot for bringing him back to the world of the living, after his prodigious expenditure of energy during that Quest.
"Of course not, Doctor Querl.” Grimm's face crinkled into a smile. He complied with the physician's request, and Querl subjected the mage's mouth, ears and neck to a close examination, his searching eyes just visible through the heavy glass lenses in his mask.
"You seem unaffected by the disease,” the medical man concluded. “May I now examine your companions?"
Numal submitted to his examination without a murmur, although Guy grumbled and complained throughout his own, as Grimm had expected. At last, the doctor declared himself satisfied that all three mages were in good health.
Quelgrum approached Grimm and saluted. “Welcome, Lord Baron. It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back, General,” the young mage replied. “Might I prevail on you to visit me this evening, after I've had a good wash and something to eat? I have an important matter I'd like to discuss with you."
"I'm at your command, Lord Baron."
Grimm nodded. “Perhaps you'd like to accompany us into the city, General?"
"Thank you, Lord Grimm; these old legs aren't what they used to be,” the soldier said in a soft voice; Grimm suppressed a smile, guessing that the General did not want any of his juniors to hear this admission of mortality.
The magic-users clambered back onto the vehicle, and Quelgrum ordered the gates of the city opened.
Grimm flicked the reins, and the wagon trundled into Crar, with the General riding on the foot-rail beside the young Baron.
This isn't the Crar I know!
The Questor's eyes took in the pristine, gleaming buildings and the spotless thoroughfares. Ramshackle ruins had been replaced by new, spotless edifices, and the marketplace, once a dingy, dismal haunt of Starmor's puppets, now sported gaily-caparisoned stalls, by which people chatted, haggled and argued in an animated fashion.
"Not quite how you remember it, eh, Baron?” Quelgrum's voice bore an unmistakeable note of pride.
"Is this all your doing, General?"
The military man, nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
"Can't keep a bunch of soldiers hanging around with nothing to do,” he grunted, his ruddy face suffusing with an even deeper shade of red. “I talked to Seneschal Shakkar, and we agreed the place could do with a bit of brightening up."
Grimm smiled broadly. “Thank you so much, General. Your efforts on behalf of the city of Crar are noticed and welcomed. Well done."
The old soldier shuffled on the wagon's footplate and shrugged. “Here's your tower, Lord Baron."
The mage gasped; what had once been a forbidding, black stump, a huge, rotting tooth presiding over the decay of the city, now glowed with a rich, golden lustre. When he had last left Crar, the turret had just been covered with a coat of white paint, but it now looked transformed in its new, gilded attire. It looked like a beacon of hope, rather than a hastily-repainted bastion of doom.
Guy poked his head from under the cover of the wagon. “Your place, I suppose?"
Grimm could tell the older Questor was trying to smother admiration under a mask of indifference.
"Yes, it's my place, Questor Guy.” He did not try to hide the pride in his voice. “Nice, isn't it?"
Grimm brought the wagon to a halt in front of the magnificent structure. At once, an adolescent boy ran out to greet the wagon, sweeping a shapeless cap from his head and knuckling his temple.
"I'm Ranulf, Lord Baron,” the youth said, his voice breathless. “I work for the town ostler. Look after your horses, milord?"
The mage assumed a serious, forbidding expression. “I want them well fed and watered, groomed, and kept in a clean stall, is that clear?"
"Oh, yes, your Baron-ness, sir! Quite clear, your worshipfulness."
"Good,” Grimm grunted. He fished a silver piece from his robe pocket and showed it to the boy, whose eyes grew wide; the Questor doubted the boy had ever seen such wealth before. “Hold out your hand."
Not taking his eyes from the shiny coin, the youth complied, and Grimm dropped the silver piece into his open hand.
"This is for you, Ranulf. If I'm happy the horses have been well-treated when I need them again, I'll give you another; I'll settle up with the ostler separately."
Ranulf managed a clumsy bow and put his knuckles to his brow once again. “I'll look after ‘em as if they was me own, your Lordshipness. Thank'ee for yer gen ... yer gennyer..."
" Generosity, boy,” Quelgrum prompted in a soft voice, as he stepped down from the wagon.
"Yeah, that,” Ranulf said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “Thank'ee, Sir. If you'd be so kind as to give me the reins, your Baronship?"
Grimm vacated his seat, and Guy and Numal descended from the back step of the vehicle.
"Are we expected to carry our own bags?” Guy grumbled.
"Don't complain; it's good exercise, Brother Mage,” Grimm said in an airy voice, grunting as he hoisted his own pair of bulging, leather holdalls. “We Questors need to stay healthy, after all; the travails of the road can weigh heavily on the unfit."
Once everything had been unloaded from the wagon, Grimm noted with pleasure that the boy, Ranulf, drove away with no more than a flick of the reins and a gentle clicking of his tongue; the youth seemed a confident and considerate handler of horses, despite his callow appearance.
As the wagon moved away, he saw Drex, his love, standing by the turret's entrance, and his heart bounded. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he crushed his burgeoning passion into a tight, fervid lump inside him. A sarcastic, spiteful mage like Guy might make his life as a Guild Mage very uncomfortable, if he were to make it known that Grimm Afelnor of Arnor House had a lover.
Lord Horin might have been indulgent about the knowledge of the young Questor's amorous involvement, but Grimm was only too aware of the prevalent myth within the Guild: sharing physical passion with a woman was supposed to destroy a mage's powers.
He knew, only too well, that this myth was no more than a lie, but such a relationship was still a gross breach of Guild protocol. He saw Drex's eyes flick towards Guy and Horin, and then shift back to his, as the mage gave a slight, apologetic shake of his head.
He moved towards her, and whispered, “I'm sorry, Drex; it won't always be like this, I promise. I just have one more Quest to complete..."
"There'll always be just one more Quest, won't there, Grimm?” The girl's voice was quiet, but hot and annoyed. “It's never going to change, is it? You'll always be at the beck and call of the bloody Guild."
Grimm shut his eyes, as frustration boiled up inside him. “Look, Drex, I..."
"Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?” Guy called in a bored voice. “Come on, Afelnor, I'm not going to hang around here all day. If you've quite finished flirting with the servants, I expect a hot bath and a bloody good meal."
Grimm stiffened, and he felt hot rage flooding into his face. He wanted to pound Guy into the ground until the petty, self-important snob pleaded for mercy. He wanted...
He returned to sanity with a sharp squeeze of his forearm. “It's all right, Grimm,” Drex whispered. “I think I see the real problem here. Just promise me you won't invite this silly, stuck-up little twerp here as a permanent guest, and I'll play along, for now."
Grimm
took a deep breath and allowed his anger to subside. “I'm really sorry, Drex."
"Go on, get on with it,” Drexelica muttered. In a louder voice, she said, “At your service, Lord Baron."
* * * *
Guy gave vent to a fulsome and indecorous belch after the splendid meal Drex had provided. The girl curtseyed and disappeared like the dutiful servant she was supposed to be. In contrast to the older mage's animalistic gluttony, Grimm ate little; the sharp pangs of guilt he felt from having denied his true love dulled his appetite. This is important! he told himself. The Guild is in peril, and I have been chosen as its saviour!
Despite these ringing sentiments, he remained disconsolate. Grimm's large, circular drawing room was empty except for the three mages, who reclined on divans upholstered in red velvet.
"What's it all about, Afelnor?” Guy drawled. “Horin only told me the bare minimum about this Quest. It seems you're flavour of the month right now, so why don't you fill Grandpa and me in on what we have to do?"
Grimm could sense the rising of Numal's ire, along with his own growing annoyance, although the timid Necromancer did nothing more than glare. “For a start, Brother Mage, I don't want you to insult Necromancer Numal anymore. I request that you address him with the respect due to a full Guild Mage."
" You dare to tell me what I can and can't do?” the elder Questor spat. “Who in Hades do you think you are, Afelnor?"
"I'm running this expedition, Brother Mage! Or didn't Lord Horin tell you that?"
Guy guffawed. “Ah, come on, half-pint, he just said that for form's sake! Like it or not, I'm the senior Questor present, and I'm not about to play second fiddle to some jumped-up Adept who's barely got his feet wet!"
Numal started. “Questor Guy! That's too—"
"Stay out of this, old-timer,” the Great Flame interrupted. “This is between me and wonder-boy, here!
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