"Numal, we're saviours of the Guild now,” Grimm said. “If being a part of this doesn't get you that first ring, I don't know what will."
Numal looked dubious, but he nodded. “All right, Grimm. I just hope you know what you're doing."
* * * *
With the invaluable aid of his borrowed Location Gem, Grimm found Lord Horin's private chamber with ease. Two men-at-arms stood by the door, but they paid little attention to the approaching mages; rather, they seemed drawn by the sounds of a loud altercation from inside the room. The sentries seemed uncertain what to do, their jaws slack and their eyes wide.
"Better open up, boys,” Guy drawled. “It sounds as if Lord Horin may be in danger."
Flicking the least glance at the gaudily-attired mage, one of the guards, a grizzled, battle-scarred man rapped on the door.
"Lord Horin! Is everything well with you?"
"Get in here at once!” a voice from within screamed, and the guard opened the door. The two warriors stormed inside, followed closely by Grimm and Numal, while Guy remained outside, the hood of his robes pulled over his head.
Grimm saw a sumptuous room lying in complete disarray. Two tables lay on their sides, and broken glass and crockery littered the floor. In the centre of the chamber stood Lord Horin, his face flushed and his robe dishevelled, and Lizaveta lay sprawled at his feet.
The Dominie's mouth quivered for several moments before any sound came out. What emerged was a shriek of outrage.
"Get her out of here!” cried Horin. “This filthy creature tried to beguile me by means of magic. She might have caused me to flout my sacred Oath, had I not managed to collect my wits in time!"
"Lord Horin, I beg you to reconsider!” Lizaveta pleaded, and, from the corner of his eye, Grimm looked over his right shoulder to see a broad smile spreading across Guy's face as he waited in the corridor.
“You always seemed so comfortable in my company before, and I found myself entranced by your commanding manner—"
Horin's sweaty face was the colour of an embarrassed beetroot, and his eyes bulged from their sockets.
“I command you to leave, witch! Guards, get her out of my sight!"
The guards seemed uncertain about just how to deal with a prostrate, pleading old lady, and Horin turned his eyes to Grimm and his companions.
"What are you two doing here?” he demanded.
Grimm sank onto one knee and bowed his head. “Lord Horin, this woman is a witch who sought to gain control over you."
As the guards dithered, Horin snapped, “I know that!"
"My lord Dominie, my colleagues and I suspected her of foul magic. We located her chapel and base of power within the crypts of High Lodge. We destroyed it, fearing that you might be compromised. She was using the very structure of the Lodge and the captured souls of human sacrifices to augment her power. Here is one of the sordid fetishes she used to accomplish her evil deeds."
Without raising his head, Grimm held out the bloody fragment of Madeleine's dress to the Lord Dominie.
He did not need to look in order to know that Horin had touched it; the spastic tremble in the cloth was evidence enough that Horin had sensed the power within it. He looked up, to see a new fury rising in the Dominie's flushed face.
"You, outside the door!” Horin snapped. “Do not skulk in the shadows; come in here at once!"
Guy bowed and entered the room, making the required obeisance. His hood still obscured his features.
"Is this true, Brother Mage?"
Guy nodded. “Far be it for me to traduce a religious lady, Lord Dominie, but it is true in every respect. I was a part of this—"
"You are banished!” Horin screamed at Lizaveta. “I want you and your filthy Order out of the Lodge by the morning, and you will visit any other Guild House only on pain of death. Count yourself fortunate that I do not blast you into a million fragments where you lie! You have twelve hours, and no more, to quit our demesnes. After that time, you and your loathsome Sisterhood will be declared Enemies of the Guild, subject to summary termination on sight by any servant or mage of this Guild."
Lizaveta rose to her feet, all pretence of coquettish bewilderment abandoned. Slapping aside the hesitant, flapping hands of the guards, she faced the Dominie.
"Your hands felt like a brace of dead fish, Horin, and your pitiful fumbling bored me to the core. Enjoy your books, your papers and your cold baths. They are all the love you will ever know.” She blew a kiss towards the elder mage and strode to the door.
"Get out, before I change my mind and have you executed instead, witch!"
"As you command, Lord Dominie.” Lizaveta's cold eyes focused on Grimm's for a few heartbeats. “You and I will meet again, young Afelnor; I prophesy it. I do not ignore a slight, as I once told you"
With that, she stormed from the room, her white robes fluttering like a dove's wings in her wake.
Horin motioned Grimm to stand. “Young Questor: you have done me a signal service, and I thank you for it. I command that you be elevated to the Seventh Rank, and I would take it as a singular favour if you would accept a position on my staff as my personal Questor, the first such accolade to be bestowed.
I will not see such selfless service to the Guild go unrewarded."
Grimm, although suffused by the joy of triumph, considered his response with care. “Is it permitted to refuse, Lord Dominie?” he asked.
Horin's brows rose. “You refuse the seventh ring?"
"No, Lord Dominie, far from it. It is a prize beyond my wildest dreams, and I thank you for your bounty from the bottom of my heart."
That statement was easy, but Grimm knew the next would need all his powers of diplomacy.
"Lord Dominie, I thank the Names that I have been fortunate enough to become a member of an establishment as egalitarian and just as the Guild. However, I am still a very young Questor, and my heart still yearns to find glory in the fulfilment of arduous and challenging Quests, to the honour of the House that raised me."
"Do you regard saving your Dominie from disgrace as insufficiently glorious for your ambition?” Horin's expression turned as dark as a thunder-cloud.
Grimm drew a deep breath. “On the contrary, Lord Horin; I regard it as the pinnacle of my career,” he found himself saying, “and I am grateful that I may have aided you in your deliverance from malicious influence. Nonetheless, I wish to prove myself further, by confounding additional threats to the Guild as an active Questor, rather than by stultifying in an office. I accept, with heartfelt gratitude, your offer of promotion, so soon after my last elevation, but I believe I can serve you better by remaining a simple House Questor."
Horin stood and stared, but, to Grimm's immense relief, he laughed. “I like your spirit, Questor. I am sure you will go far. Very well: I will grant you the Seventh Rank and allow you to go back to ... what House is it?"
"Arnor House, Lord Dominie."
"Ah, yes, Arnor House: one of our oldest and most respected establishments. That is fitting.
"Very well, my headstrong young sorcerer, I'll grant you that."
Grimm felt astonished that the austere Lord Dominie had used a common contraction, in clear violation of Mage Speech, but he said nothing.
"What is your cognomen, young Questor?” Horin said. “A mage needs a Patent of Puissance before he can obtain the Seventh Rank."
"I have no cognomen, Lord Dominie,” Grimm admitted. “I have been on only two, or maybe three, Quests, depending on how you count it."
"Oh, that won't do!” Horin looked at the floor. “All right, I was threatened by some old dragon, and you blasted her; you will be called ‘the Dragonblaster’ from now on. Is that acceptable?"
Grimm bowed. “More than acceptable, Lord Dominie. Now I will be able to hold my head up in the company of other Questors, a few of whom seem shallow and puerile at times."
He did not look at Guy, but he felt the Questor's eyes boring into his back.
"Well, that is decided!” Hori
n said. “You will be ‘Questor Grimm, called the Dragonblaster’ from now on. I trust the cognomen will inspire you to fight with even greater ferocity for the Guild."
I'd find even more inspiration from Drex's kisses, the young Questor thought, although he said nothing. Despite the ransomed Dominie's current generous mood, to ask for the annulment of one of the Guild's most severe dicta would be pushing things a little too far.
Horin leant close to Grimm. “What about these two mages? What was their part?"
Grimm looked at the pathetic Numal, and he could not find it in himself to leave the Necromancer out of the congratulations, ineffectual though he had proved.
"Lord Horin,” he said, “although I felt uncertain of my initial visions of Geomantic depredations, Necromancer Numal confirmed that they were prompted by astral projection: that my visions were true.
Without him, I would have imagined that it had been only a dream. Without Necromancer Numal, I would never have embarked on this mission at all.
"His insight has therefore proved vital."
Horan smiled. “Necromancer Numal, you will become a Second Rank Mage. Does that not please you?"
Numal nodded, but he remained wordless, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.
"What did he do?” Horin asked, indicating Guy. “Why did he not join with you in vanquishing the witch?"
Grimm suppressed a shrug and spoke with care. “Questor Guy offered his full aid without hesitation, Lord Dominie. However, in the event, it was not needed, thanks to your strong recovery from the witch's influence."
"I dislike the idea of a Questor who lacks the courage of his convictions,” Horin glared at the older Questor. “Why did you fail to enter the room with your companions? I might have been in great danger!"
Guy pushed back his hood and said in a voice as smooth as silk, “I judged it advisable that the corridor not be left unguarded, Lord Dominie."
Horin snorted. “The danger was in this chamber, Questor. You also showed disrespect towards me by approaching with your head covered."
Grimm knew just why the sarcastic Questor had hidden his features, but he did not say so, as Horin glared at the hapless Guy.
"If you have no objection, Lord Dominie,” an embarrassed Grimm said, “it has been a long night, and I beg your permission to take my leave."
Horin waved his hands, and Grimm left, with Numal just behind him.
At the age of seventeen, he had reached the peak of his Speciality, and he had a full Guild cognomen. He was happy, and he did not care in the least what meagre titbits the Dominie might or might not choose to cast Guy's way.
As Grimm passed, Guy whispered, “Help me out here, youngster! You owe me."
Grimm ignored him and stepped out of the chamber, happy and fulfilled. He hoped he had seen the last of Lizaveta, and he could not bring himself to care about the unreliable Guy.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 16: Nocturnal Interruption
Grimm slept well; his dreams were filled with images of triumphal parades, through which he rode astride a splendid, gleaming, black steed.
He moved through streets thronged with cheering bystanders, who threw handfuls of rose petals at him and cried out, “Hail, Grimm Dragonblaster!"
Drexelica rode at his side, clad in a sheer gown of white silk, her hair garlanded with flowers and her face enraptured. She held out her slender hand and he took it, returning her warm, loving smile as the beat of a ceremonial drum began to mark their progress through the nameless city.
The drum grew ever louder, beginning to cloud his thoughts. I wish whoever was banging that bloody drum would shut up, he thought, as his head began to ache. “SHUT UP!"
* * * *
With that shout, the young mage awoke, realising that the sound of the drum in his dream was, in truth, the sound of someone knocking impatiently at his door. The room was still dark, so Grimm evoked a standard runic spell of Illumination to dispel the gloom. Collecting his thoughts, he raised himself from his bed and called out, “Come in." The door swung open to reveal Guy Great Flame standing in the doorway. In marked contrast to his usual immaculate finery, the Questor's clothes hung in disarray, and his hair dangled in a matted mess. His face was suffused with scarlet, and his eyes bulged. Grimm noted how the mighty mage needed to hang onto the door-frame just to remain upright. In the quaint vernacular of Grimm's home town of Lower Frunstock, Great Flame might have been described as 'grape-eyed', ‘hop-headed' or even the less polite 'piss-foundered' .
Whichever phrase one chose to employ, the man was, to say the least, somewhat the worse for wear.
"You!” shouted Guy, weaving from side to side and waving his free hand at Grimm. “You ... you total bashtard! "
Making a particularly violent evolution, he lost his hold on the door-frame and slipped to the floor, loud and inarticulate curses spilling from his lips in a jumbled stream of venom.
Grimm heard the sound of the connecting door, between his room and Numal's, opening and turned around to see the Necromancer, standing, bleary-eyed in a ridiculous, baggy night-shirt.
"Would you please keep the noise down in here, Grimm? I'm trying to sleep! What the..."
The Necromancer's voice tailed off as his gaze switched to the prostrate figure of Guy, and then to the younger Questor.
"Our friend here is a little pickled,” Grimm said, returning Numal's puzzled gaze. “There's only one thing for it, I guess. Redeemer! "
The staff flew to his outstretched hand, and Grimm accessed the spells within. The only magic resident within Redeemer concerned the resolution of drunkenness, and the young mage assessed its effect, which would be simple enough for a Questor to cast even without recourse to his personal spell-language. He pointed his left index finger at the sprawling Guy and squeezed.
The Great Flame ceased his scrabbling attempts to rise to his feet, and raised his head, his eyes red but sober. Despite the removal of the alcoholic toxins from his body, his face had lost none of its anger.
"You look a complete mess, Questor Guy,” Grimm observed in a cool voice. “Would you care to tell me why you considered it necessary to disturb Numal's rest and mine, at this hour?"
Guy rose to his feet. “You know full well what the matter is,” he fumed, although in a more moderate tone than he had used for his earlier outburst. “You took all the bloody credit for that little operation and left me with nothing! I was lucky to get away without a damned official censure from Horin, thanks only to some very quick thinking on my behalf, I might add!
"You two fumbled around like a pair of bloody debutantes trying to find out who farted, until I had the idea of searching in the throne. You got the seventh ring, a cognomen and the thanks of Dominie Horin, Useless Granddad here got two rings, and what do I, the senior mage, get? A boot up the arse, that's what!"
"You got what you deserved,” Grimm snarled. “Would you rather I'd told Horin about your relationship with his would-be lover? Do you think he'd have kept back his censure then?"
"He's right, Questor Guy,” Numal said. “You were only looking for treasure, but Questor Grimm's insight provided the means to Lord Horin's deliverance from an evil enchantment, and his magic achieved it."
Guy snorted.
"Oh, listen to the mighty Necromancer! Butt out, old man: those promised rings must have gone to your head. This is between me and wonder-boy, here."
He drew back his right fist and spat out the word "Goo-elliya!" At once, his hand was awash with green flames.
Grimm shouted, "Sh'k'kat!" In an instant, his own right hand blazed with blue fire.
"Duelling between Guild Mages is forbidden,” Numal declared in a tremulous voice.
Grimm felt himself seized by a violent rage, a strong desire to teach this presumptuous, self-possessed, sarcastic mage a lesson he would never forget, but the truth of the Necromancer's fearful words poured cold water over the hot fires of his anger.
"He's right, Guy. We could face the Presidium
for fighting within High Lodge."
"Then let's take it outside!” the older mage snarled. “Just you and me, sonny boy; Grandpa here can stay behind, where he can't bother us with his windy twittering."
The young mage opened his mouth to try to reason with the angry thaumaturge, but he found the anger rising within him anew.
The arrogance of this man! Wouldn't Guy just love it if I backed out now? He may think he's the stronger Questor, but I'll lay any odds he likes that I've got him licked on control! He can't even control his mood from one moment to the next. I can take him! I can...
Control: that was the word.
Grimm had no real desire to fight, so why should he? Just because this self-important oaf felt annoyed because he hadn't been given the lion's share of the credit in thwarting Lizaveta? No.
He turned his anger; directed it, controlled it.
"Bugger you, Guy Great Flame; no, I won't fight you! You had your chance, and you threw it away. You can always take it out on the servants, or the beggars in the village, or any of the thousands of other people you see as inferior in your twisted little mind.
"That's just about your style, isn't it, Mister Mighty Mage? I've met your sort before, only happy when everyone bows to you as top dog. Well, just sod off and lord it over someone else; there seem to be plenty to choose from. I may not be as powerful as you, although I doubt it, but at least . have friends who care for me. It seems to me that your only friend is a bottle; go back to him if you want, but leave me in peace! Go on, just piss off and bother someone else!"
He stuck his tongue out at Guy. A juvenile gesture, perhaps, but it summed up his feelings for the older man, and it satisfied him. The blue flames on his left hand disappeared as if a candle had been snuffed, and he turned his eyes towards the ceiling. A few moments later, he faced the Great Flame again.
Grimm Dragonblaster 4 Page 14