Weapon of the Guild cogd-2

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "Amen to that, Brother Mage." The older mage laughed. "Oh, don't trip over that book."

  Grimm picked up the book that he had started to read on the previous night and snapped it shut, placing it on the shelf beside the bed. "Right, let's be on our way, Brother Mage."

  Chapter 22: Xylox the Mighty

  Grimm Afelnor thought he had never been more bored in his whole life. In the six months since his visit to High Lodge and his lucky accession to the Fifth Rank, nothing exciting seemed to have happened. The Prelate had forbidden the Questor leave to visit his grandfather, without giving any reason, and Grimm had nowhere else to go

  Lord Thorn did, at least, send him on two further Quests, but neither brought him much credit or glory.

  The first of the Quests involved nothing more arduous than simple escort duty; Grimm accompanied a shipment of gold on a journey from Sturat Port to Fraasia across the Sturan Sea. His companion mage on this voyage was Gulari Ferat, a Mage Weatherworker of the Third Rank. Gulari remained terse and uncommunicative throughout the journey, preferring to consult his Weatherworking librams and guides. Grimm suffered from seasickness on the first three days, and his stomach remained uneasy for some time thereafter. Grimm understood fully the causes of motion sickness, but he was unable to cast curative spells on himself; this was one of the main limitations of Questor magic. In his uneasy state, he dared not attempt runic magic, which required perfection in every syllable.

  Grimm knew that a small dose of Trina could cure seasickness, but he had no intention of risking re-addiction to that potent substance.

  Gulari called up a gentle breeze to drive the ship when it became becalmed, but this was the only magic cast throughout the Quest. Grimm intended to pursue a rigorous, daily regimen of magical and physical exercise, but he spent most of the time facedown in his hammock, shivering and retching, his face ashen and sweaty. The Quest proved otherwise uneventful.

  On the second Quest, on behalf of High Lodge, Grimm travelled alone to the city of Viere. The city fathers had defaulted on their tithes to the Guild, pleading poverty, but the presence of a full Guild Questor soon persuaded them to admit that the city's financial position was a little more secure than they had claimed.

  With Lord Thorn's permission, Grimm visited his Barony of Crar, but his demon friend, Shakkar, acting as Seneschal, had proved an extraordinarily able administrator during the young Baron's absence. Grimm held an informal meeting with the Council of Crar, but the general opinion seemed to be that the Seneschal was doing a fine job; Grimm's intervention was not required, in any capacity.

  The young mage had hardly seen his friend, Dalquist since their visit to High Lodge; as a full Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, having fulfilled his financial obligation to Arnor House at last, Dalquist was living far away, returning only briefly to be dispatched on a Quest of his own.

  Grimm bided his time. He yearned to be out on the road again, amongst good friends and good companions, using his powers to the full in the defence of Guild values and principles. He was a Mage Questor, not some bodyguard or financial enforcer, but he learned that the valorous exploits mentioned in the Deeds of the Questors were rare exceptions, rather than the rule. He concentrated on becoming as fit as he could be, mentally and physically, ready to take on the rigours of the trail once more.

  His minuscule demon companion, Thribble, did not help matters by reminding Grimm on numerous occasions that he wanted to gather more material for tales with which to bedazzle his fellow netherworld creatures on his eventual return to the demon realm.

  Grimm was now seventeen years old, still slender but wiry, and possessed of considerable strength and stamina, but with no release for it other than his daily exercises. He tried to contact his old Scholasticate friends, Madar Gaheela and Argand Forutia, but both were at crucial stages in their magical training; their respective Magemasters forbade external distractions.

  More than once, Grimm eyed with longing the pouch containing the addictive herbs Trina and Virion, which he always carried with him. He was over the worst of his addiction now, but the ennui brought on by waiting for his next real Quest re-awoke the hunger within him. He felt tempted on many occasions to smoke just a small quantity of the herbs, but he managed on each occasion to leave the pouch unopened. He refused to become a puppet of the substances again, but his lengthening period of inactivity served only to increase the frequency and intensity of the yearning.

  Something must happen soon, he told himself. Any day now; let me just get through today. Tomorrow, something must happen. Tomorrow, or the day after…

  ****

  Lord Prelate Thorn Virias ploughed through his endless paperwork. The financial situation of Arnor House had improved since he had been elected a permanent member of the Guild Presidium and since the House's subsequent rise in reputation, but Thorn still looked for reasons to dispatch his Questors on demanding and risky Quests, so he could enhance his own prestige and status within the Guild and place High Lodge in his debt.

  Lord Prelate Thorn? The mental message emanating from Thorn's scrying-crystal carried greater urgency than might have been expected if High Lodge were requesting triplicate copies of Arnor House's accounting records, and Thorn looked up from his papers.

  Lord Dominie Horin, it is good to hear from you again, thought Thorn, placing his hands on the crystal. What may I do for you?

  Lord Thorn, I wish to acquaint you with a worrisome state of affairs. Guild Mages seem to have been resigning their vocations at an alarming frequency in recent months. We at High Lodge have recently lost a prominent Mage Mentalist, Bronin Wearth, called the Mindmaster, after thirty years of staunch service. He has always been a dedicated, trustworthy servant of the Guild, and his resignation is most out of character for this dependable and loyal mage.

  I see from the records of other Houses that at least five other such occurrences, all equally puzzling, have taken place in the last two months. The only common factor seems to be that all of these mages have resigned after visiting the newly dedicated House at the foot of the Shest Mountains, and that nothing more has been heard of them since. All of the mages who have resigned were either Mentalists or Illusionists; in other words, manipulators of the mind. I am concerned that the mages may be setting up some clandestine activity in opposition to us; there must be some reason for this silence.

  Many Prelates are convinced that nothing sinister pertains to these events, but I am persuaded otherwise. I wish to invoke a formal Quest to investigate these disappearances, and I need the assistance of a Prelate whom I can trust implicitly to implement it; of course, given the apparent risks involved in this undertaking, it will not be held against you should you refuse.

  Thorn had no intention of refusing such an opportunity, but he made as much of the moment as he could, in order to maximise Dominie Horin's gratitude at his eventual acceptance.

  Lord Dominie, I feel indeed gratified by your confidence in Arnor House. However, I am sure that you realise only too well that our resources at this time are limited. We have three Questors available for the service of our Guild, dedicated men who are all eager to serve, but the Quest you have outlined does place great demands upon the House.

  Thorn waited a few moments before continuing, giving the impression that he was in deep cogitation.

  Very well, Lord Domini, he continued, the needs of the Guild must come before those of an individual House; you may rely on me. I will despatch a pair of Questors to the region of Shest at once. We will get to the bottom of this worrying mystery as soon as possible.

  Thank you, Lord Thorn, Horin responded. I have, of course, the greatest faith in you. I will leave the resolution of the issue entirely to you. I would like to clarify one thing: should these mages be engaged in some clandestine enterprise contrary to the aims of the Guild, I authorise your Questors to take whatever action is necessary to settle the matter, up to and including vital termination of any renegade magic-users.

  Thorn started. You wil
l give us carte blanche to execute Guild brethren, Lord Dominie? He felt shocked; such explicit permission was rare, and the idea of the ruthless execution of a group of Guild Mages was distasteful even to the hard-nosed Prelate.

  Only if they are shown to be acting against our interests, you understand, Prelate Thorn. If they have been somehow abducted or duped, then they must be rescued.

  I understand, Lord Dominie. You may rely on Arnor House to provide a speedy and efficient resolution of your concerns, one way or the other.

  ****

  Xylox Ceras, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called 'The Mighty' was no libertarian. Despite the considerable wealth he had accrued over twenty years of Quests, he habitually wore simple woollen robes in grey, black or brown; his tastes were starkly ascetic. In truth, Xylox was a miser, but he regarded himself as an upholder of prudent frugality.

  He felt, therefore, more than a little displeased when he laid eyes upon his fellow Questor, Grimm Afelnor. The young man wore extravagant, brightly coloured silk robes, and Xylox thought he could smell pomade and perfumed soap on the Questor's hair and skin.

  Xylox the Mighty believed that a mage, particularly a Questor, should always project an air of austere gravity, and he had worked hard to achieve this throughout his life as a Guild Mage. As the senior active Questor of Arnor House-since old Olaf Demonscourge was almost in his dotage-Xylox sought to surround himself with a stern aura of mystery.

  "Questor Xylox, I am Questor Grimm Afelnor," the young fop said, rising from his seat and extending his hand. "I feel honoured to make your acquaintance at last. I have read much of your exploits in the Deeds of the Questors."

  Xylox frowned: this Grimm must be at least four inches taller than he, and slender with it; this was another black mark against Questor Grimm, as far as he was concerned.

  However, Xylox was a Guild man, first and last: he automatically took the proffered hand and shook it.

  "Greetings, Questor Grimm," he said in a cool voice. "You are aware that we are to Quest together; I understand that Lord Thorn deigned to brief you in person." Xylox's tone was polite, but cold and distant; the older mage believed Lord Thorn should have trusted him to brief this young popinjay.

  The young man nodded. "I am looking forward to it, Questor Xylox. I am still relatively inexperienced, and I yearn for a chance to prove myself as a Questor."

  At least this Afelnor sounds keen enough, the Mighty thought. He cast an eye at Grimm's staff, noting with some disbelief the five rings of gold adorning its head. Perhaps the boy was older than he looked.

  "Have you no cognomen, Questor Grimm?" he asked, frowning. "I was granted the sobriquet 'The Mighty' after my eleventh Quest, at the age of twenty-seven. Until that time, I was a Questor of the Third Rank, only reaching the Fifth Rank after my cognomen was ratified by High Lodge."

  This Grimm's face seemed to twist in embarrassment. "In truth, Questor Xylox, I have only been on three Quests since my Acclamation. Two of them took place after I had acceded to the Fifth Rank."

  A delicate shade of purple suffused Xylox's ruddy features. "You reached the Fifth Rank after a single Quest?" he almost shrieked. "What did you do? Did you save Lord Dominie Horin's life, or prevent High Lodge from falling? Or do you have relatives at High Lodge?"

  "I had the… good fortune to be called before the Dominie when he was distracted and overworked," Questor Grimm confessed. "He did not check my staff; in fact, he barely looked at me at all. He just pronounced me a Fifth Rank Mage, and Questor Dalquist and I were hustled out of the room."

  Xylox shook with anger. "Why did you not tell the Dominie there had been an error? Bah, those rings on your staff are just a sham! I think this an utter disgrace. You will find to your cost that Xylox the Mighty does not tolerate dishonesty."

  The foppish young man stepped close to Xylox and looked him full in the face, his lids narrowed, his dark eyes blazing. Xylox felt a little uncomfortable that he had to look up to meet his gaze.

  "Questor Xylox, if you are determined to dislike me then there is very little that I can do about it," the jumped-up urchin drawled. "However, will you look me in the eye and tell me that every one of your glorious victories told in the 'Deeds' was merited and without even a little embroidery? Are you trying to belittle me, to put me in what you see as my proper place? If so, I am not impressed.

  "Like all Questors, you must have come here a pauper, just as I did. You went through the agonies of the Questor's Ordeal, just as I did. And you have a hole in your arse, just as I do."

  Xylox snorted in outrage. "Why, you disrespectful little upstart!" he hissed. "Is this how you have been taught to address your elders and betters? If so, standards in the Scholasticate must have slipped considerably since my day!"

  "That you are older than me, I can see," Questor Grimm said. "That you are my better, I would need to see demonstrated before I could pronounce judgement. I am fully prepared to give you all the respect your high stature deserves, but I refuse to stand here to be belittled just because somebody has an inflated opinion of himself."

  The older man found himself dumbstruck at the young Questor's effrontery, and he felt for a moment as if his eyes would explode from his head like miniature cannonballs, but he calmed down at last, recognising a certain humour in the situation.

  He, Xylox the Mighty, prided himself above all on plain speaking, with no frills. Here he was, being confronted by somebody employing his own kind of language against him.

  This young Questor might be a preening popinjay, but at least he had the strength and self-confidence to stand up to Xylox. The senior mage could not ever see himself becoming Questor Grimm's friend, but he could see how the young man might be a useful companion, provided that he remembered just who the senior mage was.

  Taking a deep breath, Xylox extended his hand again, and the younger mage took it, his eyes hooded as he shook it.

  "Questor Grimm," Xylox said after a deep breath. "I am Questor Xylox. We are to be on a Quest together. I am pleased to meet you."

  Questor Grimm smiled. "Questor Xylox, I am honoured to make your acquaintance."

  With the ice at least thawed, Grimm and Xylox sat down to discuss details of the forthcoming Quest.

  Chapter 23: What Happened to the World

  "So we are agreed," Xylox said. "I suggest that we leave in two days. We will make a detour to Drute and seek to hire two or three warriors to accompany us on the Quest, and then move on to Griven, from where the missing mages were all last heard."

  "Two days?" Grimm queried. "I would as soon leave today, even right now."

  "Questor Grimm, I have matters at court to which to attend," the senior Questor intoned in a haughty voice, and Grimm nodded in understanding. He knew that Xylox, with High Lodge's blessing, was the senior magical adviser to the court of King Delamat, far to the north. The King was a staunch ally of the Guild and he only employed Guild Mages, in return for the promise of magical aid from the Houses should his small kingdom ever be attacked. Xylox had a staff of some twenty mages of all disciplines and he was reputed to rule over his staff like a martinet, which Grimm could well believe.

  "Two days it is, Xylox. I am sure that you will leave everything in top shape."

  "My title is 'Royal Questor Xylox'," the older man corrected. "A man with important responsibilities at a Royal Court is accustomed to full protocol at all times."

  Grimm bridled a little, but took care to hold his annoyance at the Questor's fustiness in check. Nonetheless, he thought it would do no harm to bring Xylox High-and-Mighty down a peg or two.

  "As you insist that we maintain full Court protocol, Brother Mage, you should be advised that my correct title is Lord Grimm, Baron of Crar."

  Xylox's eyes narrowed. "Is this some idea of a joke, Questor Grimm? If it is, I fail to understand such asinine levity." He fixed the young man with a piercing look.

  Grimm's gaze remained level. "On the contrary, Questor Xylox, I have full right to the title 'Baron of Crar'. I
have the Council-attested and sealed credential in my room in the West Wing, if you would care to peruse it."

  Xylox suffered a brief paroxysm, his face red as if he was in dire apoplexy. The idea of addressing this recently-Acclaimed youth as 'Lord Baron' was unappealing.

  "I apologise, Lord Baron," Xylox said, after a long pause. The older man even bowed his head, although his face was purple with mortification.

  "I received the accolade from the grateful people of Crar after my first Quest," Grimm continued, turning the knife in the wound; he knew from his researches that Xylox had won many awards and titles over the years, but he had never been awarded the hint of a peerage. Grimm was determined that Xylox not see him as some upstart who had been given everything by lucky chance.

  Seeing that Xylox appeared almost about to explode from the burden of embarrassment that he was carrying, the younger mage relented in his torment. "On the other hand, you could just let me call you 'Xylox' when we are alone together or in the House, and you might then address me simply as 'Grimm'. And perhaps we could even relax the use of Mage Speech on the odd occasion?"

  Xylox straightened up and cleared his throat. "As you say… Grimm, this might make for a more harmonious relationship. Xylox it is. As for using common speech in private, I will have to think about it. Good day to you."

  When Xylox had left, Grimm grinned. At this rate, he might be able to make a human being of his fellow mage within a decade or two.

  ****

  After a day and a half of intense study, Grimm had learnt as much of the missing mages' disappearance as he could. Each of them had sent his letter of resignation from the town of Griven, at the foot of the Shest Mountains, and Grimm knew that the region was known to hold relics of ancient Technology. He had always been interested in the ancient and arcane art as a Student, and the Scholasticate Library held many books on the subject, despite the widespread hatred with which the discipline was regarded throughout the Guild.