"Thank you, Mindstealer. My position is no sinecure, you know; I often need to make difficult, sometimes painful, decisions for the good of the Guild. I trust you appreciate that I am not always free to act on my own inclinations and desires, and that I must fulfil my duty as best I am able, regardless of the consequences."
Crohn nodded; Thorn assumed the man was too full to speak, full of emotion at having let down the House. This suited the Prelate's purposes well.
Once Crohn had left the room, Thorn allowed a broad smile to spread across his face. The Magemaster was a valuable asset to the House, and the senior mage wanted to humble the man, instead of destroying him. He knew only too well that Crohn would be forced to step aside in favour of Faffel, but he would still prove a useful Magemaster. In the same manner, he intended to belittle Dalquist, giving him trivial, mind-numbing tasks until he might be needed in his role as a House Questor.
The Prelate took a brandy bottle from a desk drawer and poured himself a generous dose of the fiery restorative.
It's time to celebrate, he decided, downing a mouthful of the warming fluid.
Following an angry, almost incoherent telepathic message from his mother, Thorn knew that Questor Grimm had been instrumental in the dismissal of Lizaveta from High Lodge, and he did not believe, for even a moment, Horin's assertion that Questor Grimm was being employed in some kind of fanciful public relations exercise.
Afelnor must have been sent by the Dominie on a very important mission; only the destruction of Lizaveta and her hateful Order seemed to fit that bill. Thorn had no intention of stopping the youth from achieving the Prelate's ultimate aim: freedom from his despised, interfering mother, who had put him in his current, comfortable position at the expense of his dear friend, Loras Afelnor.
However, there was always the risk that the boy would discover Thorn's relationship with Lizaveta, and he might be tempted to reveal this to others. Worse than that, he might even discover Lizaveta's role in Loras’ disgrace, and Thorn's complicity in this. The Prelate could not allow that to happen; what to do?
Thorn took another draught of brandy and sat in thought. He knew that he would never have enough magical power to overcome Lizaveta's defences, so as to compel the old witch to keep her mouth shut, so the important factor was to silence Grimm Afelnor.
Once Thorn's mother's influence was nullified, the Prelate would be more than happy to shun the dangerous corridors of High Lodge politics, but he knew that he would need a cogent argument to ensure that Afelnor kept his mouth shut. Perhaps it would be best to intercept the hopefully triumphant but weakened Questor on his return from Lizaveta's Priory, in person. By that time, Thorn was sure, he would be able to handle the young mage, and even kill him if necessary.
No; if Grimm was alive on his return from the Priory, he must die.
If Grimm was unsuccessful in his Quest, the Prelate could say that he had rushed to the rescue of his beloved mother, as soon as he had discovered the purpose of the young Questor's mission.
No, I can't do that, Thorn thought. A House Prelate does not Quest; it would raise too many questions. Perhaps Questor Xylox might accept the task.... He's a bit of a prig and a bigot, but he could be just the man I need. He dislikes Grimm intensely, and he's an Arnor man through and through. I'll have to be careful, but I don't think I'll have too much trouble convincing Xylox that Grimm is a rebel and a renegade.
The Lord Prelate of Arnor House drained his glass and poured another. He felt happy to stay just where his was, and he would fight hard to keep that position.
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Chapter 23: Departure
By the end of the third week of preparation, Grimm felt satisfied that the group was ready to leave, and he invited the participants to a meeting in his day-room. The mage regretted that the mighty albino, Tordun, seemed nowhere to be found, although messengers had left word for the titanic swordsman in all his known haunts. Nonetheless, the young mage was not too disappointed; he had a powerful force at his disposal, and, it seemed, even the beginnings of a spirit of camaraderie.
He had always assumed that the main obstacle to forming a cohesive team would be the attitude of his fellow Questor, Guy Great Flame. To his great surprise, despite the haughty avowed disdain for ‘hired help', the Great Flame seemed to have developed a genuine friendship with the warriors, Crest and Harvel. Grimm knew that General Quelgrum thought little of Guy as a human being, and the older Questor seemed to reciprocate this; however, each appeared to hold a grudging respect for the other, since their exchanges were at least polite, if cool and formal in tone.
Even Necromancer Numal seemed to have made an effort to increase his value to the expedition, devoting long hours in perfecting his command of the few spells in his magical armoury. It appeared that the lucky acquisition of the two rings on his staff, after a single action in which he had played only a minor role, had focused his mind on the task at hand.
Even Guy now addressed the Necromancer in a polite manner without overt insults, although the relationship between the two men was never particularly warm.
Eying the assembled group in the day-room, Grimm felt a warm shiver of pride running through him; this was his Quest, and these people were at his command. Nonetheless, he knew that the worst thing he could do to destabilise the coterie was to try to impose his authority as he had tried to do earlier. Each member of the team had a vital role to fulfil, were the Quest to succeed; the opinions of each of these older and more experienced men would be important, and should not be belittled or ignored. Grimm had learned a valuable lesson by trying to ride rough-shod over the feelings of others; he felt profound relief that the people he had offended had chosen to overlook his youthful thoughtlessness.
However, overriding the satisfaction he felt at the efficient preparations was Grimm's impression that his two old friends, Crest and Harvel, felt uneasy at the prospect of attacking a nunnery. Perhaps Harvel's religious upbringing, although subsumed by a life of debauchery, was re-asserting itself; perhaps Crest was unhappy at the prospect of assaulting a group of females. Whatever the reason, the fervid spark he had hoped to see was still lacking.
Grimm saw five pairs of eyes fixed on him as he cleared his throat and made ready to speak.
"Gentlemen, I want to say how much I appreciate the efforts you've all made on behalf of this expedition,” he said, taking care to meet the gaze of each man in turn as he spoke. “Of course, I'm somewhat younger than all of you, and I may make some dreadful mistakes along the way, so please let me know if you think I'm making too much of an ass of myself. I promise to listen to whatever you say and give it a fair hearing, even if I reserve the right to veto it after proper consideration."
Nobody spoke, but the men all gave cautious nods. Crest and Harvel, in particular, still seemed ill-at-ease, and the mage guessed they were remained to be convinced of the danger the Sisters of Divine Serenity might pose to the Guild.
"Now, I know most of you are still a little dubious about the threat this Order presents, but I'll just remind you that these witches’ main talent seems to be mind control, and both Lord Horin and I have felt its very real power. These are not sweet, innocent little nuns, but a major menace to the Guild. I don't know if all the women of the Order are evil witches, or if some or most of them are just blameless dupes, but I'm duty bound to end Lizaveta's manipulative reign one way or the other."
Crest proffered a half-smile and said, “Don't worry, Questor, we're committed to this. We'll be with you all the way, believe me.” Nonetheless, the half-elf's tone sounded anything but enthusiastic.
Grimm knew he could place implicit trust in the warriors, but he would rather have them as fervent allies than as dutiful, resigned friends.
This isn't working! the mage thought, surveying five blank faces. I wanted to inspire them, but I just don't seem to be getting through to them! What's the matter? Do they think I'm exaggerating this situation, or something?
"Do you mind if I
say a few words, Baron?” General Quelgrum drawled.
"Please, go ahead, General,” Grimm replied, only too happy to have someone else take up the slack.
The General stood up, and the young Questor realised for the first time how imposing the broad-shouldered, stocky old soldier's presence was. He wore no medals or badges of rank, and he was dressed in simple robes instead of his normal, form-fitting green attire, but, nonetheless, he seemed to be able to dominate the room through sheer strength of personality.
"I first met Questor Grimm only a few months ago,” Quelgrum said in a pleasant, avuncular baritone. “I tried to control him and his fellow wizard—I'm sorry, that's mage—and they and another colleague fought my army and me to a standstill. I might still have beaten them, but only at the cost of many lives I'd sworn never to waste in a fruitless battle. As I now know, the threat of overwhelming opposing force was untrue. Nonetheless, our confrontation had already cost us dear, so I don't regret the decision I made then."
"I'd have thought you'd have been pretty angry to discover you'd been duped, General,” Harvel said.
“Yet here you are accepting Questor Grimm, here, as your lord and master. It seems a little odd to me."
Quelgrum shrugged. “It was a perfectly legitimate ruse of war, Harvel. I've done similar things myself on occasions, when we were outnumbered or outgunned. In any case, I never wanted to be a mighty warlord; all I ever sought was a home for my charges, somewhere we'd be respected rather than just used. Baron Grimm has provided us with that home.
"Warrior Crest; you were present at that last battle. Did Questor Grimm seem unduly scared or cautious to you?"
Crest snorted. “Far from it, General. He's no coward, I know that, and I don't need you to convince me.
I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust and respect him."
"But perhaps you still think this is overkill, or you're unhappy about the necessity of the Quest."
"It's necessary, General, I'm convinced of that. I've given Questor Grimm my word, and I'll do my utmost to fulfil it. All the same, I don't have to like it."
"I've been fighting all my life for one man or another,” Quelgrum snapped. “Do you think I enjoyed it?
I'm no bloodthirsty sadist, and I hate to waste anybody's life. Of course you don't have to like what's ahead. But you do need to believe in it, heart and soul. If Questor Grimm's worried about this woman and her Order, you can bet that they're not just helpless little old ladies."
"We know that, Quelgrum!” Harvel said. “Sure, she's a menace to society, or whatever, and we'll go along with it. I don't understand what the problem is here. I've offered my sword to this enterprise, and I never do that if I'm not fully committed. What's the bloody issue here? We've said we'll do it, and we will! I don't understand the problem."
"I think I understand the problem, swordsman,” Guy said in a lazy voice, stretching like a cat. “You think my dear grandmother's just a misunderstood, sweet little old lady, don't you?"
"Of course not, Questor Guy,” Harvel said, bristling. “We already know she's a powerful witch, and she's no push-over. You've told us all about her before. It's just that Crest and I prefer a stand-up fight with armed opponents."
"You think that because Grimm and I beat her in High Lodge, we can do it again, don't you?” Guy wore a boyish smile on his face, but his eyes glittered. “That wasn't her main power base; she'll be ten times as dangerous on her home ground."
Harvel sighed. “That's all very well, Questor. Still, it seems to me that you mages will be doing all the glory stuff, and we footsloggers will just be sorting out the local ruffians and riff-raff on the way. Like I said, we'll do it, but we prefer straight stand-up fights like we had here in Crar, where we all pulled together."
"Leave it, gentlemen. I think we'll just have to soldier on as we are, Lord Baron,” the General said, turning towards Grimm. “Crest and Harvel have committed themselves to the Quest, and I don't think we can ask any more of them."
"I know, General, and I am grateful for that,” the young Questor said. For some reason, he felt hot tears rising, and he swallowed hard. “I just wanted..."
The old soldier's eyes fixed on Grimm's. “You wanted a crusade, didn't you, Baron, with flags waving and hearts singing? Just accept that you've got two loyal men with you who don't quite see the righteousness of your cause the way you do. I'm sorry; I felt the same way when I was your age. Just be grateful that they trust you enough to go along with you. Don't try to sell them your dream, your vision.
We're ready to go, so let's do it!"
"Well said, General!” Harvel crowed. “Let's just get on with it. If I'd wanted a bloody sermon, I'd have gone to church!"
"Harvel's right, though I hate to admit it,” Crest said. “Face it, Questor, heroic speeches aren't going to get the job done. Let's go! That's all we want, not some kind of pep talk."
"Amen, padre,” Guy muttered, rising to his feet.
"Wagon's waiting outside, gents,” Quelgrum said, as Crest, Harvel, Numal and Guy rose to their feet and left the room. Feeling empty, Grimm made to follow suit, but the General stayed the mage with a hand on his shoulder.
"Not quite the heroic departure you expected, eh, son?"
Grimm gulped, staying the tears. He had wanted so much to have a triumphant chorus of fervent voices, as he led his men into battle in a righteous confrontation between good and evil. Now it seemed that he had been sidelined and abandoned; Quelgrum, Crest and Harvel were really in charge of the expedition.
He nodded, unable to speak.
"I was about your age when I first led a group of men into battle, and I felt much the same way,” the warrior said. “I was so damned proud to be in command at last. I tried to do the same thing as you did; a vainglorious, silly speech about how good it was to die with a true heart, and about the nobility of our cause. I might as well have been talking to a wall; my little speech fell on deaf ears. My sergeant saved me from making too much of a fool of myself. He said, ‘ Lieutenant, you can tell us what to do, but don't tell us what to think or feel. Don't try to do our jobs for us, please. We know what to do, and we'll do it, no matter what happens. You can't ask for more than that.''
"Being in command means trusting your men; you can't do everything yourself. I believe they told you that at the start. It's not easy to take your hands off, but you'll never be a leader of men unless you learn to do that.
"You can command what they do, but not how they think or feel. Crest and Harvel—well, you may know them better than I do, but they're old soldiers—and I understand soldiers. Just trust them to do their jobs, and don't preach to them. Keep your hands on the reins, but loosely. Give them room to breathe, and to think, and things'll go a lot smoother, I promise you. It can take a while to learn just how loose those reins should be, but you'll learn."
Grimm nodded. “I guess you're right, General. Crest and Harvel must have been in all kinds of battles, and I suppose they've heard it all before. If they just want to get on with it, I can't complain about that. I just wanted to make my first Quest as Senior Mage ... well, special."
Grimm sighed. “Oh, well, I suppose we'd better go. Don't worry, General; I think I may have learnt an important lesson here."
"That's the spirit!” Quelgrum said, clapping an impersonal hand on the young mage's shoulder. “Come on, they'll be getting impatient."
* * * *
Grimm sat beside the General as the older man drove the wagon through the streets of Crar. His disappointment at his failure to enthuse his team dissolved as his eyes took in the glory of the morning; the deep-blue sky, the muted sunlight highlighting the bright colours of the refurbished marketplace, and the sweet smell of the air. Behind him, he heard Crest and Harvel arguing, each trying to out-boast the other as usual, and even Guy seemed to be joining in the impromptu brag-fest. Despite his earlier bleak mood, Grimm smiled.
The city gates opened as the wagon approached. The full light of the sun streamed through, almost
like a celestial benison on the Quest
"It's a good day to be out, eh, Lord Baron?” Quelgrum said, grinning.
"It certainly is, General."
At the foot of the city way-post, Grimm saw a hunched, hooded man, who looked up as they drew near, although his face was in shadow.
Could it be ... it must be!
He knew only one man who would cover himself from head to foot on a glorious, sunny morning like this.
"Hold up, General!” Grimm said, scrambling from the wagon as Quelgrum brought it to a halt.
"Tordun!” he crowed, smiling. “I'm so glad you could make it."
The titanic albino rose to his full height, dwarfing the tall, slender mage with his sheer bulk. “I heard you might need some help, Questor,” the giant warrior rumbled. “So here I am."
"How long have you been waiting here? Why didn't you enter the city?"
"I've been here two days. I thought Miss Drexelica might be around,” the albino muttered, and Grimm understood his reticence.
Despite Tordun's imposing physical presence and battle prowess, the mage knew the muscular swordsman was as nervous and halting as a callow adolescent in the presence of the fairer sex. On their one Quest together, Questor Xylox had decreed that Tordun should share a tent with Drex, pretending to be her lover. This charade continued in Quelgrum's desert encampment. It appeared that the albino was too embarrassed to confront the girl again, despite the fact that he had been a model of propriety in her presence.
"Greetings, General,” the pale titan said, changing the subject.
"Hello, Tordun,” Quelgrum said with a polite nod. “It's good to have you aboard. I'm sure Miss Drexelica will be sorry to have missed you.” The old soldier's eyes twinkled. “She's Baron Grimm's housekeeper now,"
Grimm was sure he had not fooled the General for a moment with this story, and he hid his embarrassment under the guise of suppressing a cough. This was just a little good-natured ribbing.
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