"I'm worried that I'm going to make an awful mess of the whole thing, Lord Mayor," he said, feeling tears beginning to prickle his eyelids. He took a deep breath until sure his emotions would not betray him.
"It's going to take a lot of getting used to," he said, with a weak smile. "I'm accustomed to being Grimm, the Pauper. 'Grimm, Baron of Crar' sounds like somebody else, but I'll do my best to be what you expect of me; assuming that Shakkar is willing to represent me, of course."
Mayor Chod gave a deep, courtly bow.
"Thank you, Lord Mage, from the bottom of my heart," he said. "I feel sure the other members of the Council will agree with your stipulations, and we will all be awaiting your word." He bowed again, and left.
Dalquist turned towards Grimm, looking a little amused at his young friend's discomfiture.
Annoyed at Dalquist's slight smirk, Grimm snapped, "Don't you dare call me 'Lord Baron', Dalquist. The title of Questor means more to me, in any case."
Dalquist laughed, and Grimm frowned.
"Look here, Brother Mage! If you want to laugh at me-"
Dalquist shook his head. "I'm sorry, Grimm. I wasn't laughing at you; only at your face. I can assure you, Harvel and Crest will be more than happy to accept their prizes, and I hanker for a little of the easy life myself A few decent changes of clothes for me, say, five or six, would be welcome, and I've been trying to scrape up enough for some cloth-of-gold robes for some time. A Questor needs to impress his audience, and good clothes can do a lot to grease the wheels during a hard Quest. I'm well pleased with Chod's terms."
"Dalquist, you couldn't take all that with you on a Quest, anyway. It's all very well to sport such finery within the House, but I want to be out and about, Questing as I should. You'd never fit all that in a holdall or rucksack."
Dalquist smiled, with just a little smugness playing momentarily on his face. "The secret dimensional cubby-hole that I used to secrete the Eye can have other uses. It draws no power from me to maintain it, and I can access it as easily as turning a corner. It is large enough to hold a whole rack of clothes. I'll be happy to explain how I did it, and you should be able easily to procure your own."
Grimm drifted for a moment in idle reverie at the concept.
No more itchy homespun for me! he thought.
However, he felt unease beginning to grow within his entrails.
"This all sounds so good, Dalquist," he said. "But it also sounds too good to be true. I'm not sure Chod's offer was… well, untainted. Why would these people be so keen to make me their Baron?"
This time, Dalquist exploded into laughter, tears bursting from his eyes.
Grimm glowered, clenching his fists at his sides. "I really don't see the joke, Dalquist! If you'd care to share it with me-"
"Your face, Grimm!" the older mage spluttered, dabbing his eyes with a blue handkerchief. "If you could… if you could only see it! Of course Chod's proposal's isn't all it seems! He wants you to agree to represent Crar, giving the city all the protection of the Guild, without being here. He wants to tempt you with all the wealth of the city, knowing you'll never be here to spend it."
Grimm felt his jaw dropping, and he just managed to stop himself from appearing like an idiot by lowering his brows and growling, "Are you saying I'm being a fool here, my friend?"
Dalquist smiled and said, "Only if you want to be one, Grimm. It's not your fault-you're still very young."
Grimm drew a deep breath, trying to keep his expression casual, although he felt as if a gallon of boiling water had been poured over his back.
"Brother Mage," he said. "May we work on the basis that I know somewhat less of the wider world than you for just a few moments? What in the blessed Names are you talking about?"
Dalquist, still laughing, waved his hands as if to drive away a mass of flies.
"This is as good as it gets," he said. "You don't have to do anything, Grimm! Just say 'please' and 'thank you' in the right places, and take what they give you. Chod will pay plenty just to be able to say that a Guild Mage is Baron of Crar-an attack on the city might then be regarded as an assault on the Guild itself.
"It's not true, of course, but it doesn't do any harm to let our good Lord Mayor think so. Enjoy yourself, my friend, at his expense. He thinks he has the better part of the deal, so let him think so."
****
Shakkar strode into Starmor's-Grimm's-bedchamber after a perfunctory, yet thundering, knock that threatened to burst the thick oaken portal off its steel hinges. The demon grasped Grimm in his massive arms, and the mage had to fight for breath.
"Easy, Shakkar," he gasped, "I'm not made of stone. Or do you just want to tenderise me before eating me after all?"
"Questor Grimm, I'm glad that you have recovered," the giant rumbled, extricating himself. "Now I find I have a true human friend, I do not wish to lose him. Perhaps I should call you 'Lord Baron' now?"
Grimm shook his head. "Please don't, Shakkar. My name is sufficient address, truly. In fact, I'd rather you dropped the 'Questor' title; plain 'Grimm' will be fine. How are you getting on with the Crarians? I hear that they appreciate your help a lot."
Shakkar grunted. "They were terrified of me at first, but now they seem friendly enough. I think this may be quite a pleasant city when I have finished. Much remains to be done, and I feel at ease when dealing with these mortals, now that they seem to trust me."
The demon lowered his head, and Grimm could have sworn that Shakkar's grey-green face bore a faint pink flush of embarrassment.
"Would you… would you have any objection if I remained here for a few months, Lord Mage? These people seem to need me."
Grimm smiled; the angry, destructive demon seemed to be enjoying his work.
"Do you not wish to return to your own kind, Shakkar?" he said in a tone of mock-horror.
The titan shrugged. "At first, I despised these people," he muttered, his head still bowed, "and I felt contempt at the ease with which Starmor was able to enslave them. Now, I see them almost as equals. They struggle to regain their lives after a decade of bondage. It is a task worthy of even a demon, let alone a human. I think I would like to tarry a while, to help these people to regain their self-respect… with your permission, Grimm."
Shakkar's response cheered Grimm, yet the Questor felt uncertain as to how the demon would react to the offer of even nominal servitude to a human.
"Shakkar, I have not yet accepted the post of Baron," he said. "I am, first and last, a Guild Mage, and I cannot commit myself to constant vigilance over the city of Crar. I need a representative, someone to exercise a stern control over the finances of the newly-reborn city and to take care of the citizens' needs."
Shakkar's head flicked up an iota, revealing his blood-red eyes, but he said nothing.
"I will be unavailable for long periods of time," the mage continued, "and I need someone strong-willed enough to make his own decisions in the face of uncertainty and confusion, without the need to consult me first.
"In short: I need a Seneschal to administer the city in my absence, Shakkar. Not a servant, not a vassal, but an equal. Are you he? Will you commit yourself to the administration of Crar when I am away?"
The demon threw back his head and bared his teeth, an awful sound emerging from his throat. At first, Grimm thought Shakkar offended and on the point of attacking him. Then, he realised the truth; the underworld behemoth was laughing.
"You humans take a long time to say very little," boomed Shakkar, his vast shoulders heaving in amusement. "Once, that annoyed me, but now I see it is just one of your quirks.
"Very well, human, I will be your Seneschal. I think I know what these people need, and the lure of gold will not tempt me. I will represent you here, and I will protect the City as best I can. I think you can take care of yourself without me, while these people cannot. I accept the post of Seneschal."
Grimm craned his neck and wagged a warning finger at the towering behemoth, feeling the absurdity of the image he
must be presenting. "I do have a few ground rules, Shakkar: you are responsible for the equitable disbursement and safeguarding of City funds, and the Council of Crar will make their representations to you for any financial support. You must consider these fairly, and allot resources without prejudice. If you feel uncertain, the will of the Council will prevail. I will not have a dictatorship here.
"You will make no alliance with any other city, trading organisation or military group without the majority consent of the Council, freely expressed by means of a secret ballot. You will oversee civil elections to ensure that no unfair pressure is brought to bear on the voters by any party. Fairly fought campaigns with slogans and debates are acceptable, but threats of physical violence, undue duress or bribes are forbidden."
Shakkar frowned, looking a little disappointed, but he made no comment.
"The Baron and his Seneschal are just as bound by the laws and customs of Crar," Grimm continued, "as all other citizens, subject to whatever penalties may be assessed for any transgressions. You have no vote in Council meetings except in the event of a tied result, in which case you have a casting vote.
"As a final comment, I would add that the world of politics is a mystery to me. I'm sure there will be times when these simplistic rules will break down, and some issues may require your direct intercession. At these times, some tact, discretion or judgement may be necessary, and I trust that you will be just and humane in your decisions."
The demon lowered his brows as if to protest, but perhaps thought better of it. "I agree, Questor," he rumbled.
"Whenever I am present in Crar, I will consult with you before I make any decisions of my own, to be sure I don't contradict you over some decision you have already made. On the other hand, after any such consultation, I reserve the right to overrule you on any judgement I regard as prejudicial to the harmonious running of the city. You are an intelligent and honest being, so I do not imagine that I will have many such problems, if any."
Grimm looked the demon in the eye. He wanted Shakkar to know just what lay in store for him.
"I will add that you may not resign your position until another has been elected to the position of Seneschal by the Council and the appointment has been ratified personally by me."
Shakkar opened his mouth, but Grimm stayed his words with a wave of his hand.
"This may seem unduly harsh," the mage said, "given the likely duration and length of my enforced absences, but I ask you to remember that, as a Questor, I can exercise powers of insight you and the Council wouldn't believe. I'm sure we all wish to avoid the accession of another Starmor, and I may be able to prevent that.
"Do you regard any of these regulations as unduly onerous, demeaning or otherwise unacceptable to you? I will not impose anything upon you without your full agreement."
****
Shakkar's tail, the barometer of his emotional state, was a blur as he considered Grimm's words. Once, he would have been outraged at the concept of submitting his will to a mere human, and yet he had to admit to himself that he could not see anything that smacked of servitude in Grimm's requirements. He had acquiesced to the young human's requests when they were both confined to Starmor's punishment pillar, and the Questor had not played him false. He had always proved as good as his word.
In truth, the concept of conceding the wishes of the human Council of Crar seemed distasteful to Shakkar, and the pathetic pleas of the citizens often irked him, but he could not deny the pleasure he felt when the mortals included him in conversation and consulted him over some trivial matter they considered as important.
With Grimm absent much of the time, he would be the de facto ruler of Crar, even if only by proxy. That he could effectively oversee the running of Crar by the free will of humans, where Starmor had only been able to do so by subterfuge and enslavement, he found strangely stimulating. Yes, he would be Grimm's Seneschal. Even though his will would be, to some extent, subject to Grimm's, he knew in his heart that the human would never try to belittle him or to humiliate him as had Starmor, one of his own kind. He could think of no more honourable man to become his titular master, with the exception of the courteous and powerful Dalquist. At least, no single human could overrule his decisions except for Grimm, and he would be present in Crar only on rare occasions.
"It will be as you say, Grimm. You are the Baron, and I am your Seneschal, subject only to your will and that of the Council. And the majority vote of the citizens, I suppose. This will be an unusual constraint for me, but I believe that I can live with it. I am your demon, and I will accept your requirements with… humility. I know my temper is severe at times, but I will always remember that the people of Crar are only human, and that such creatures may be broken easily-saving your presence, of course. I will exercise restraint at such times, but I trust that I may be allowed the odd growl or invective from time to time."
"I'm glad to have you on my side, Shakkar," the young human said, smiling. "So long as you don't use these growls or oaths to attempt to coerce the Council or the voters, I have no objection, my friend…
"Please don't look at me in that way, demon! If I'm to rule this city, I want it to be by consent, not by coercion. I won't have it any other way."
Shakkar swallowed his brief eruption of ire, and nodded. He knew he would have to endure far worse provocations in the future, and he undertook within his mind to control his temper from now on. Grimm seemed to be testing him, and he found himself happy to suppress his baser instincts in the interests of harmony.
"Very well, Grimm Afelnor," he growled. "By all means, take your proposal to the Council tonight. I will be your man… or your demon, in any case."
****
Grimm's spirit sang. His body was still a little weak, but he felt buoyed up by the fullness of his heart. He was a Baron! Surely no joy could compare to this, save his Acclamation ceremony. Surely, nothing could go wrong for him on this happy day.
Chapter 11: The Dark Chapel
Grimm looked at his reflection in a large mirror at the northern end of Starmor's former bedchamber. Now resplendent in a cowled yellow and deep blue robe with red lining, he looked the very image of magedom, except for the youthful, pale face that gazed from the cowl. Mayor Chod had not lied when he had extolled the merits of Crar's tailors. Grimm's excitement grew as he awaited the call to attend the Council meeting in which he would be declared Baron of Crar. His long, brown hair and his dark beard were neatly brushed, and he had polished the black wood and brass shoes of his staff to a mirror finish.
He had obtained a supply of tobacco to smoke when he felt the pull of the drugs Trina and Virion, and a pang struck him now. As he reached into the pocket of his sateen robe, which he had laid out on the room's huge four-poster bed, he felt a strange tickle at the back of his mind. Dismissing it as an artefact of his weakened state, he filled the pipe and lit it with a gesture of his right forefinger. He drew in the smoke luxuriantly, allowing it to calm his nerves.
Then the tickle returned, irritating and undeniable. This time, he could hear the ghost of a voice, one he recognised only too well: Starmor's voice. It was weak but unmistakable.
Grimm Afelnor. I wish to parlay.
Grimm had had little practice in the art of Telepathy, but he was well used to marshalling his thoughts and energies. After a little experimentation, he managed to produce a clear word-image in his mind.
Starmor, you are where you belong, he thought, with a pang of satisfaction. Nothing you can ever offer will persuade me to release you. Get out of my head, you sadistic, egomaniacal monster!
The Questor could have sworn he recognised a chuckle within the thin tendrils of Starmor's thoughts. Is that any way to talk to an old friend, Grimm? the voice crooned. We are linked, we two, linked through physical contact. Your brief touch before you banished me gave me a mental connection to you; one you can never break.
Grimm felt panic rising within him. Could Starmor possibly access his magical power, or worse his emotions, thr
ough the dimensional barrier behind which he was confined? It seemed improbable; Starmor's mental voice was a feeble mental buzzing in the mage's head, at the limit of his perception. Even a small amount of Questor power would amplify this buzz until it was a veritable roar.
Begone, Starmor. Your blandishments will not succeed, for you have nothing I want. Grimm knew that the evil demon-sorcerer must never be allowed to return to the mortal plane, and he meant every word.
The insidious voice in his head seemed to drip with temptation. What would you say, Grimm Afelnor, if I told you I knew what happened to your grandfather, Loras? Would you not like to know what happened to him?
Grimm forced himself to remain calm, although he thrust his hands to his forehead as if he could drive the wheedling voice from his head.
I know what happened to him, Starmor. He tried to smother the old Prelate of Arnor House and was caught in the act. He admitted it, and he was stripped of his powers by a full Guild Conclave. There is nothing more you can tell me, and I suspect that you are just drawing images and impressions from my mind and playing upon them. Go away, I tell you!
So, our frightened little child wizard thinks he knows the truth, does he? Poor, witless, benighted infant.
This was more like the true Starmor that the Questor and his companions had come to loathe with such a passion since their first encounter.
Grimm remained defiant, but he felt his ire beginning to rise like steam from a cauldron. He could not force the insistent voice from his head, and he began to wonder if it would remain with him to the end of his life.
An ever-present, immortal demon might drive him to madness, given sufficient time Perhaps Starmor was trying to goad him into magically striking him through the link. Would such a spell, sent in a spirit of hatred, carry sufficient emotion within its structure so as to give the demon the energy he needed to escape?
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