Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (6 page)

Grimm spent two hours revising from a small book he had taken from his room at the House, but the volume and his eyelids began to grow heavy. The book slipped from his hand to the floor. As he blew the candle out, he felt satisfied at his first day as a true Questor. He knew he had handled himself well in his encounter with Harman, he had made two new friends and earned their respect, and he had some fine new clothes. He fell asleep within moments, dreaming of honours and plaudits.

* * * *

After a fair breakfast, Dalquist and Grimm paid their separate accounts at
The Broken Bottle
and thanked Uril for his hospitality. Shouldering their packs and heading out to the stables, they saw no sign of their horses. Dalquist banged his staff on the ground, releasing a small cloud of blue sparks, and called,

“Boy!"

The stable-boy, Dor, emerged from the stable, his eyes wide and his hair tousled. “Your horses are safe, I swear, Lord Wizard! I spent all the night with them, so nobody could steal them." The boy motioned the mages inside, and Grimm saw he had been as good as his word. The horses’

coats and manes gleamed, their hooves were clean and disencumbered, and they appeared content, whickering gently.

Dor stood to one side, his expression anxious. “Did I do all right, Lord Wizard?"

"The horses are in fair condition,” Dalquist replied after a few moments’ close inspection of their mounts.

“You have done well, Dor. Here is the silver piece I promised you, and five coppers more for your diligence. You would seem to have quite a way with horses. Thank you."

"Thank you, Lord Wizard!” Dor said with a broad grin, proffering a clumsy but respectful bow, his eyes distant. Grimm guessed the stable boy was already dreaming of how to spend the unexpected windfall. Bowing again, the lad made his excuses and scuttled away.

Grimm heard the sound of hoof-beats behind him and turned, to see Crest and Harvel entering the courtyard. Both wore sensible travelling attire, although Harvel's clothes were trimmed with opulent gold and silver piping. The young Questor smiled as he saddled his mount: it seemed the swordsman agreed with the Guild's obsessive insistence on ‘presence'.

As he clambered into the saddle, Grimm noticed the swordsman's swollen left eye, surrounded by a dark-blue ring.

"Are you quite well, Harvel?” he asked, suppressing a smile.

"Quite well, thank, you, Lord Mage. I believe I did mention I had a few odds and ends to sort out. Although I prefer sword and bodyguard work, I'm also called upon now and again to persuade reluctant debtors to part with their money. Last night, one of my clients was none too pleased at my visit, and he hit me across the face with a moneybag. That was a bad mistake; he should have paid up without complaint. It'll cost him even more than he owed to pay a physician to straighten his nose and a dentist to replace his broken teeth."

Crest snorted. “Once, he'd never have come
close
to you,” he said with a laugh. “You're getting too old for this game. I've told you before: you're slowing down, man."

"He was no bumbling duffer, this mark,” Harvel protested. “Inches over six feet, built like an all-in wrestler, and he moved like greased lightning. Any other man would have gone down like a pole-axed steer at the blow he gave me."

A cheerful argument-and-insult session began between Harvel and Crest, to which Grimm was content to listen, marvelling anew at his companions’ mutual talents for self-aggrandisement, poetic insult and vainglory. The tall tales lasted well after the party had left the town and taken the west road leading to their final destination, Crar.

* * * *

A slight mist arose from the ground as the sun began to warm the land. Grimm took care not to press his horse too hard, caressing Jessie with his knees and making appropriate encouraging noises to persuade her to go where he wished. The fierce muscular pains of the day before did not assault him, and he felt much more cheerful than he had only twenty-four hours before.

The prepared route gave way to a simple track, which became at times difficult to distinguish from the barren, dusty plain through which it ran.

On the advice of Dalquist, the party rode all day, making only a brief stop in the early afternoon to rest and to eat. When the sun had dipped below the horizon for a couple of hours and it became all but impossible to follow the vague path, the senior mage finally called a halt. Crest pointed out a stand of trees and bushes some fifty yards off the track, suggesting that this would be a good location to rest for the night, and the senior Questor agreed.

The elf busied himself with setting a fire, using various sticks and branches he found littering the small, welcome copse. He began to search in his pack for a tinderbox, cursing under his breath, when a smiling Dalquist waved him aside.

"Questor Grimm: a little practice for you. Do you think you can light this without setting fire to the entire plain?"

"Can a bird fly, Brother Mage?” Grimm asked, returning the smile with only a little more confidence than he felt. He had practiced the control of his magical power over and over, until even the acerbic, critical Magemaster Crohn had declared himself fully satisfied. He felt certain he could evoke the necessary magic by force of will alone, without word or gesture.

The young Questor extended his Mage Sight into the depths of the woodpile, assessing its fragility and its flammability. He drew just a little power to himself, and clenched his brow and fists for a mere moment. In an instant, the wood burst into lambent flame, launching great curls of orange light into the night sky.

"Perhaps you'd like to use a little less force next time, Questor Grimm?” Harvel suggested. “It's not good practice to let the world know where you are."

"My apologies, friends,” the young mage replied, happy that his spell had succeeded. “Next time, I'll just set a small flame on my finger and light it that way. That was at the lower limit of my projected power, I think."

"May the Names help our enemies, then.” Crest grinned in evident appreciation as he spoke. “Does anybody want to eat now?"

Dalquist withdrew a dry cake of jerky from his pack, but Crest shook his head. “I advise you to save that tack for leaner times, Questor Dalquist. Watch and learn from Crest, the master hunter." After a brief glance over his left shoulder, Crest sent the thin whip streaking out behind him. When he drew it back, Grimm saw a fat rabbit trapped in the coils, its neck broken. Crest repeated the operation twice more, and two more small animals joined the first.

"Heavens help the local wildlife, then,” Harvel muttered in a stage whisper, and everybody laughed. Harvel set to work, expertly preparing and cooking the rabbits.

* * * *

Producing a belch of heroic proportions, Crest offered to take first watch while the rest slept. Grimm shook his head. “I do not feel sleepy,” he declared. “I am happy to take the first watch." The others accepted with grace, and Crest offered to take over in four hours. Grimm asked how he could judge the time without the guidance of the sun, but a military man, Crest explained, needed to be able to wake at will after any specified time interval. Grimm thought this was just part of the elf's habitual bluster, but for once Harvel did not contradict him.

When the others were asleep, Grimm took in the peaceful sounds of the area. Branches gently whispered and creaked in the breeze, and in the distance a wolf cried; an eerie, spectral sound. The embers of the fire changed their glowing patterns as if they formed the parts of a living thing, a luminescent chameleon, and Grimm wandered off for more sticks with which to feed the flames. Was that the sound of the wind, or something more ominous? In an instant, Grimm's strained his sensitive ears until he could hear the blood rushing through his arteries and veins.
There
is
something there
...

He started as a hand caught him from behind, wrapped around his mouth so he could not cry out. An arm that felt like iron clenched his arms to his sides. His heart pounded fiercely, almost deafening him, and then came a whisper that sounded like a storm to his sensitised ears.

"Thought to humiliate Harman Hammerfist, did you? Let's see you try those filthy devil-cursed magic words now, you undersized excuse for a wizard! So you choose to go around with that puffed-up fop and his mutant half-breed friend? No less than I expected. I've tracked you all day, all the way from Drute, waiting for the moment when you were alone. You never even looked around for an instant! Even on the bare plain, you never saw me.

"In the morning, your friends will find you hanging from this tree, a reminder of what comes to them that try to cross Harman. You should never have messed with me in
The Broken Bottle
. Goodbye, wizard, and good..."

The whisper finished in a loud gagging sound, and Grimm felt the hand fall from his mouth. Leaping forward, the Questor spun around, calling Redeemer to hand. He saw Harman clutching frantically at his throat, his eyes bulging, as Crest stepped from the shadows.

"You're a good tracker, Harman,” the elf said, “and you skulk well in the dirt where you belong, but you make a lousy assassin. You should have made your kill quickly and got out. But you had to tell the mage your life story first. That was a bad move; a very, very bad move." Crest released his whip from the big man's neck, and Harman's whooping gasps for air soon brought Harvel and Dalquist. The would-be assassin was now surrounded.

"I thought we'd see this piece of semi-human scum again sooner or later,” Harvel spat. “He's obviously the forsworn traitorous bastard I took him for, but I never gave him the credit for being able to sneak up on us this easily. Well done, Hummer-pissed; you're easily one of the best crawlers I've ever met."

"Who's going to do the deed, eh?” Harman blustered, his eyes flicking from side to side like those of a cornered animal. “You think you're big enough to carry it off with that pig-sticker, you walking clotheshorse? Or let's see if that pointy-eared imp can take me on. Or are you all too scared to take on a real man, one-to-one?"

Dalquist made a show of inspecting his nails. “I would not sully my hands with you, Harman,” he said.

“The honour of ridding the world of your odious presence belongs to our friend Grimm, here." Grimm gaped. “I can't just kill him in cold blood, Dalquist! I just can't!" Harman jeered. “No, of course not, you'll get your fellow bugger-boys to do it for you, won't you? You couldn't dirty your hands with the murder of someone who's more of a man than you'll ever be." Dalquist looked hard into Grimm's eyes, the two mages’ noses almost touching. “You have to do it, Grimm,” he muttered, his tone low and urgent. “There's no way out of it. This isn't murder: it's an execution. You vowed what you'd do if our hot-headed friend tried anything more. I told you just what a vow means in Drute; it's a solemn covenant. This scum needs a dose of his own warped justice"

"I know, Dalquist, I know!” Grimm wailed. “But this is just plain slaughter. I can't do it!"

"You must, Lord Mage.” For once, Harvel seemed in deadly earnest, and Crest nodded in stern agreement.

As Grimm struggled with his doubts, Harman spoke up. “Well if you won't do it, and the child won't do it, I guess that's about it. Goodbye, all.” He turned on his heel, and Harvel reached out a hand for the failed murderer, only to find himself sprawling in the undergrowth. From the corner of his eye, Grimm caught the bright glint of steel flying towards his throat.

The young mage, caught by surprise, screeched “
Sh'slach'tera't'ye!
” The giant tottered and sprawled at Grimm's feet, his own dagger embedded deeply in his left eye, a thick rope of spittle hanging from an open mouth.

"Now
that's
the way to do it, Questor;” Harvel said with an approving nod, “quick and clean." Grimm stood aghast, his mouth gaping. Nausea took his entrails in an iron grip. Hysteria flickered within the Questor as it had only ever done once before, unwanted and unbidden. Blue motes of magic flickered around him to no effect as he struggled with the enormity of his act. “He's dead!"

"Grimm, listen to me!” Dalquist hissed. “If you had not done what you did, it would be you lying dead on the ground now. You know it! You did not launch the missile; you only turned it back against its homicidal owner!"

Grimm wrestled with the torrent of emotion rising within him like a frigid, bubbling mountain stream. “I know, Dalquist, I
know!
But I've killed another
human being,
no matter how evil he was. I could have restrained him. I could have disintegrated the dagger harmlessly. I could have done any number of other things to stop him. Instead, I reacted without thought, and I
killed
him!" Harvel clapped a hand on Grimm's shoulder. “None of us condemns you for what you did, mage. I've killed many men, and it's never easy. If it were, then I'd be no better than the vicious scum lying here. I don't like to do it, but I kill when I must.” He fixed Grimm's wide-eyed gaze with steely eyes.

"I would have killed this man, if my reactions had been as swift as yours. Do you hate me?" Grimm shook his head. “You're a warrior, not a wanton assassin, Harvel. It's your trade, and I respect your abilities. You're right; I had to kill Harman, I know it in my head, but my body doesn't see it that way. Maybe he had a wife, a family, loved ones. They'll never see him again."

"And the families of his other victims?” Harvel demanded. “You can bet this wasn't the first time he sneaked up on someone to kill them. I say this with all respect: maybe you're too wrapped up in your emotions to realise it, but you've done the world a service.

"It's as simple as that: you killed when you had to, and I know what that can feel like. I still remember my first kill. I was no older than you, and my tongue got away from me after a drinking session. I might have inflamed the situation a little, but it wasn't my fault someone else's ego was a bit too sensitive. When my back was turned, he drew a dagger and lunged at my back. If I hadn't dropped to one knee and thrust my own blade between his ribs, I wouldn't be here today. A horde of gorgeous women would never have known the tender touch of Harvel, the best lover in the Northern Lands! Aye, and what a tragedy
that
would have been!"