Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (40 page)

Grimm drew a deep breath: the half-elf was right.

"Drexelica,” he said, “would you mind moving out of earshot for a while? We
do
have business to discuss."

Drex folded her arms across her chest. “I shall go where I want or stay where I am, if I like. It's a free town. You can't make me go if I don't want to."

"You couldn't be more wrong Drex,” Grimm replied, just about holding on to his temper. “I can leave you frozen to the spot, dead to the world until I cancel the spell. Or you can do as I ask. It's up to you." It could not have been easy to flounce in a coquettish manner whilst dressed in patched, dirty rags, but Drexelica managed it. “Very well, mage, I'll do it for you, but not for
him.
" She stuck her tongue out at Crest and moved away while remaining in full sight.

"You've certainly got your hands full with that one, Questor,” the elf observed, blowing out his cheeks.

“If you're ever bold enough to let that little spitfire cook for you, I'd advise you to check for poison before you eat it."

"All right; that's enough, thank you very much!” Grimm snapped, eager to get away from the subject of the troublesome girl. Inside, he quailed at the thought of explaining to Xylox that the group would be taking on another member, in the form of the hot-tempered Drexelica. He fixed Crest with a stern eye.

“The Quest; you do remember that we're on a Quest,
don't
you, Crest?"

"I remember perfectly well,
mage
,” Crest answered. “I was able to glean some information indicating that the mages have all visited Griven within the last few weeks, and that they all left in the direction of the Shest Mountains. I'm sure I didn't arouse any suspicion; I just listened to the gossip around the town. These pointed ears serve me well,” he added with some pride.

"I found out where the General has his camp,” Grimm said, glad to be back on firm ground. “He's buying a large number of weapons, and I assume he's preparing for some kind of war. The disappearance of the mages must be connected with that in some way."

At that moment, Xylox and Tordun arrived together, the haughty mage dwarfed by the giant albino swordsman.

"Greetings, Questor Grimm; greetings, Master Crest,” cried Xylox. “Tordun and I have obtained some interesting information..."

He stopped and swung around to face Grimm. “Why is that street-slattern here, may I ask?" Xylox's tone had cooled noticeably, and his expression was dark.

"I can't seem to get rid of her, Questor Xylox,” Grimm replied, on the defensive. “It's a long story."

"Tordun, Crest, kindly go and watch over the girl while I have a quiet word with my esteemed fellow mage.” Xylox's tone of voice was low and dangerous, indicating anything other than admiration for his younger colleague.

The warriors shuffled off, and Grimm could see a cool smile of amusement on Crest's face as he walked away.

"Questor Grimm,” Xylox hissed. “Is this some kind of pleasure trip, a jamboree for all-comers?” His eyes were narrowed and angry. Before Grimm could defend himself, the senior mage answered his own rhetorical question. “It is
not
. It is a solemn, sober expedition for the good of the Guild we both serve. How dare you discuss details of a Guild Quest in full sight of a Secular vagabond?"

"I made sure she would not hear any of my discussion with Crest,” came the weak reply. Grimm felt as if he was on the receiving end of one of Magemaster Crohn's verbal assaults, and just as insecure as he had felt on such occasions. He switched to the starchiest Mage Speech, almost as a form of defence.

"The woman-child is free now. She chooses to stay with me rather than to take her chances in a town where she is known as a thief. I make no claim upon the girl, but I cannot stop her. I have warned her of the potential risks of the Quest without giving any details of its aim, but she is undeterred. I would also remind you, Questor Xylox, that the valorous Crest is a skilled thief as well as a warrior."

"You cannot
stop
her?” Xylox's tone was scornful, disbelieving. “Here is a Guild Mage, a Questor whom our esteemed Lord Dominie, in his wisdom, has seen fit to honour by accession to the Fifth Rank of our order, and yet such a powerful thaumaturge cannot stop an adolescent female urchin from following him!"

The senior mage's scornful tenor indicated that, had he been the Lord Dominie, Grimm would have been censured rather than promoted.

"Questor Xylox, I could have blasted the girl into a million fragments or turned her into a mindless zombie, had I so wished. However, it was I who drew the attention of the town watchmen by remonstrating at her attempted theft of my money-pouch, an act of desperation prompted by poverty and the indifference of the townspeople of Griven towards the plight of the needy. I therefore felt considerable guilt at the prospect of the girl being sold, like prime livestock, to the highest bidder. I feel no shame at this. Having purchased her freedom, I felt I could not ignore her heartfelt plea for a better life or, at least, a different one."

"Guilt? Shame? Feelings? Such vague and emotional motives should not be part of the lexicon of a full Guild Mage! Have you forgotten your solemn Oath?” Xylox's voice trembled with rage, but Grimm felt his own ire rising within him like hot, acidic bile, and he looked his senior directly in the eye.
Humility, be damned!

Xylox's talk of the Guild Oath brought thoughts of Grimm's disgraced grandfather Loras Afelnor, the hated Oathbreaker. The young mage had sworn to redeem his family name, and he would let no man call him traitor.

"I am a Guild Mage, Questor Xylox, and I have sworn a blood oath to uphold the principles of the Guild, just as you have; an oath I will never forget or betray. But I have not surrendered my humanity, nor will I ever do so; not for you, not for my revered Magemaster, Crohn, not for the Lord Dominie. I have killed, and I will doubtless kill again some day, perhaps far sooner than I would wish; but I swear on my life and my soul that I will never snuff out the life of a human just in order to remove some trifling inconvenience. I will not push or bully another human being just because I can do so with ease. A Questor is supposed to be a paragon amongst mages; a gentleman, a scholar, a weapon of the Guild to be directed towards only its vilest enemies."

Grimm raised his voice almost to a shout. “Are you trying to tell me that this insecure, helpless young girl is a worthy target for such a weapon? If so, I invite you to vent your wrath upon her; know, however, that if you do so, you will earn nothing but my rankest contempt, Xylox the Mighty. You will deserve nothing more."

Grimm now straightened up to his full height, forcing the senior mage to look upwards in order to meet the younger Questor's censorious gaze. Long moments passed as the each magic-user attempted to stare down the other to no avail; each possessed willpower beyond the comprehension of most mortals. Finally Xylox spoke, but his voice was not one of surrender or conciliation.

"Very well, Questor Grimm,” he said. “You will have your way for one last time. As senior mage, I rebuke you for your weakness, and you may be sure that I will include this censure in my report to Lord Prelate Thorn on our return. However, I have decided to allow this ... this
street creature
to accompany us, as long as she does not pose a threat to the potential success of our Quest. I make this decision because I feel it is bad for discipline to override the decision of another Mage Questor in the face of mere Seculars.

"As a last remark, I will declare that I regard you as quite unfit to hold the staff and the ring. I will tell Lord Thorn as much when I return to the House, and I will recommend that you never be sent on another Quest for as long as you may live. After many years of loyal service, Prelate Thorn listens to my advice, as you will find. You are finished, Questor Grimm; enjoy the title while you still hold it. I will not seek to embarrass you by mentioning this to the warriors, but I will not forget how you have spoken to me, your senior mage. You can be sure that I will also keep a close eye on your friend Dalquist, who chose to heap such extravagant praise on such a recalcitrant excuse for a mage after his first Quest." Grimm shrank from the wrath of Xylox's verbal onslaught. With a hot shock of dismay, he realised he had gone too far by confronting the proud senior mage. After all his suffering, all his struggle, he knew that the older man could destroy him with a word, and that he would do so without the slightest qualm.

"I care not what happens to you, or to this girl; I hope that you are happy together,” Xylox said with an air of deep satisfaction.

"From this point on, I wash my hands of you. Do whatever you want, because your days as a Guild Mage are numbered. When I have finished with you, she may be your only friend in the House scullery, where you belong. The proud and lucrative Barony of Crar may well await you, but you are not yet free to pursue your own desires. You still owe the House and the Guild the considerable cost of your scornfully rejected education, and you will repay it, my friend, I assure you. I will recommend that you pay with servitude rather than cash. I suspect Lord Thorn will agree with me." Xylox stretched and assumed a satisfied expression, indicating that he knew full well that he had won the final victory over his upstart junior. “For the nonce, we have a Quest to complete: your
last
Quest, I am afraid, Questor Grimm. If you carry out your remaining duties in a satisfactory manner, I may recommend that you be allowed a dishonourable discharge from the Guild, rather than condemning you to servitude. It is up to you. I, at least, know where the best interest of the Guild lies. Acknowledge my superiority, and you may be allowed to bask in your unearned wealth. If you attempt to balk me again, you will learn what it means to try to oppose a true, loyal, Questor of the Seventh Rank." Grimm said nothing. His lofty ambitions, his heartfelt dreams, had all been scotched by a moment's hot-headed opposition to a vain, yet influential and powerful, man. At that moment, he knew himself damned.

"Tell me what you have learned concerning the Quest, Brother Mage, and you may yet raise yourself in my estimation."

The older man's voice bore a tone of quiet triumph.

Numbly, Grimm told him all he had learned, as Xylox made notes on a paper pad.

"Questor Xylox,” he whispered. “I am your man for the remainder of this Quest. I spoke to you in an unforgivable manner and I accept your judgement, whatever it may be. My Oath still binds me, and I offer my life for our Quest. I beg you to spare this girl, no matter what may happen. She is even more wilful than I, but she seems to have no malice in her. Pray, do not destroy her for youthful impetuosity." Xylox indicated assent. “We must move on; time is of the essence. Kindly make the necessary orders, Questor Grimm."

Grimm nodded, feeling as if scalding water had been poured across his back. He now knew that he had made a huge mistake in standing up to the powerful, older man, but he swore to fight to the last. Assuming a confident air, he shouted “All right, everybody, it's time to go. Let's fetch the horses, and head up into the mountains. Look lively now; we haven't got all day." Xylox smiled, as if bestowing some benison upon his junior mage. He looked as if he had had a very good day.

"Lord Mage, what's the matter?” Drexelica asked in a soft, concerned voice. She clung to the young mage as he rode out of Griven at the rear of the party, having no horse of her own. Grimm could think of nothing but his folly in opposing Xylox in such a bullish, confrontational manner; he felt tired and crotchety after a sleepless night. His confident, angry, defiant words rattled around inside his head, battering against the inner walls of his skull and becoming more strident and louder by the minute. He ignored the girl's solicitous question, excoriating and berating himself for having tossed away his heartfelt dreams in a moment of idiocy.

How could I have been so
stupid?

"Questor Grimm, is it me? Are you in trouble? Is it my fault? Please say something.” Drex's tone was more urgent, almost pleading.

"Just call me Grimm,” he grunted. “That's my name, not ‘Lord Mage’ or ‘Questor'.

"Yes, I am in deep trouble, Drex, and it
is
over you. Still, don't blame yourself; it was my decision to take you with us and nobody else's.” He returned to his self-pitying reverie.

"It's that horrible man, Xylox, isn't it?” the girl said, denying Grimm the solitude he sought. “I couldn't hear what he was saying to you, but I could see the way he looked at you and me. If you like, I'll tell him that the whole thing was my fault and my idea. You were just being kind." Grimm turned his head as far around towards Drex as he could. “Don't you dare to say anything to Questor Xylox,” he hissed. “You'll only make things worse.

"If that were possible,” he added with a deep sigh.

He had visions of a High Conclave like the one his grandfather, Loras, had faced, with stern-faced, nameless mages joining in a Great Spell to strip him of all his magic. Grimm imagined the final step would be the reduction of his staff, Redeemer, to a simple wooden rod, after which he would then be ordered to smash the baton into ineffectual splinters against the preternaturally sharp Breaking Stone, in a parody of his proud Acclamation a scant twelvemonth before.

He groaned at the thought of being forced to work in the kitchen or the scullery, open to derision and contempt from the lowliest Student. This could become as bad as his Questor Ordeal, but it might last for years, without any prospect of an end until his eventual, ignominious dismissal from the Guild. The day was fine, with warm sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky but, to Grimm, the sun in all its majesty seemed to be mocking him. Nothing could bring light to the dark gloom in his soul.

"I can make you feel better,” Drex whispered. “My mother taught me a few spells—"

"I don't want any witch magic!” Grimm said, his voice harsher than he intended. “My mood may not be bright, but at least it is
mine
, not some bloody fantasy. I won't have anyone tampering with my emotions again."