Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

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!"

Harvel puffed up his chest and smoothed his clothes with such a primping, self-satisfied gesture that even Grimm laughed. He laughed long and loud, out of all proportion to the swordsman's posturing, a few tears breaking unbidden from his eyes. He sniffed, still laughing, but then the hysteria left him and he assessed the situation. Whatever else, he, Grimm Afelnor was still alive. He would survive and the murderous Harman would not. He had had no choice.

"Shouldn't we bury him?" he asked.

Dalquist snorted. "He does not deserve it. Leave him here. It will be a good warning to any of his friends, should they come by. If, that is, he had any friends."

Sleep was ruined for all, and brushing the tears from his cheeks, Grimm remembered why he had wandered off in the first place. "I must get some firewood," he said. "This time I'll keep my wits about me."

"And this time I'll take the watch, as I offered earlier," Crest insisted. "You do need some sleep, no matter what you say. You weren't alert enough, letting someone sneak up on you like that."

Grim acquiesced, and went for the fuel, this time keeping his ears open for the slightest untoward sound. This time, he was not molested.

Dalquist approached the young Questor as he delved for wood in the undergrowth. "Questor Grimm," he said, his voice sterner than Grimm had ever heard it. "You have sworn an oath to the Guild. At times, you may be ordered to kill; I have been so ordered in the past. I will never enjoy the act as long as I live, but I know my duty. I hope you never get used to it, but you will have to be impassive and resolute when you have to kill. Just remember your blood oath to the House, Grimm. You are a Mage Questor; that means sometimes you must put aside your humanity for the sake of necessity. The next time you have to kill, I do not want to see a display like that, is that clear?

"In addition to this loss of control, I asked you to confine yourself to Mage Speech when dealing with Seculars, and you have been lapsing into vulgar contractions and slang. You must keep control at all times; is that clear?"

Dalquist had never talked to Grimm in this manner before, but the young mage saw the concern on his friend's face. Dalquist was responsible not only for the success or failure of the Quest, but also for the reputation of Arnor House. Grimm had revealed weakness and humanity; in less tolerant company, the image of the Guild Mage might have been tarnished.

"I apologise, Questor Dalquist," Grimm said, bowing his head. "I know I should be more in control of my emotions by now. I promise you I will be more on my guard next time. It was just so fast that it shocked me. I will not allow myself to lose control again, I promise."

Dalquist nodded, and his expression softened a little. "Sit down."

Grimm lowered himself onto a grassy mound, his friend standing over him.

"To tell you the truth, Grimm, on my first Quest, I killed four armed guards in cold blood. I stood by and watched as a frightened man was flogged and hanged by his brother's men. I maintained a cool pose, but when I was alone, I vomited. I also drank a lot afterwards; too much, in fact. I'm not telling you to be a cool automaton, but sometimes you have to act like one. I'll say no more about it. Let's get that firewood, and I think we can relax the use of Mage Speech with these trusted men."

When the Questors returned, Harvel and Crest were in the middle of yet another heroic dialogue, glorying in death-defying exploits and tales of past loves and battles they had shared. Grimm immersed himself in the tales of gallantry and daring of which two friends never seemed to tire, and eventually he fell asleep. The words "murder", "death" and "killer" ran around his head for a while longer, but soon departed, to become admixed with "Quest", "glory" and "fame".