Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

What would Granfer Loras think of me? Grimm thought. He was a Questor, just like me. He must have killed on many occasions. I'm sorry, Granfer…

The young mage drifted into merciful, dreamless sleep.

When Grimm awoke, he saw Harvel burying the embers of the fire and the remains of the previous night's meal. Crest whistled as he shaved with his dagger, using quick, precise movements. The keen blade never once nicked his olive skin. Dalquist was engaged in a series of stretches and bends to ready his body for the journey ahead. As Grimm stood and stretched, the others acknowledged him with polite nods, but not a word was said.

Grimm still felt solemn after his brush with death. Although no longer racked with guilt, he knew with dread certainty that the innocent, eager child he had once been was no less dead than Harman. However, if there must be regret, there was room for a little pride. He had faced danger and prevailed. He was a Questor; he was a man to be respected and feared.

The party broke fast, still swathed in silence, as the sun rose above the horizon.

Dalquist said, "We'll be in Crar by midday if we start now. That will give us the chance to scout the lie of the land while there is still light."

"A sound plan, Questor Dalquist," Crest replied. "I visited the city of Crar some years ago, and can tell you a little of their ways. They think themselves master traders, and I can tell you there are few places so full of avarice and folk ready to take the last copper from your purse. We'll have to pay well even to enter the city walls; perhaps we'd best take stock of our joint resources first."

Dalquist smiled. "I do have some wealth with me, Crest," he admitted. "However, it is not mine to give as I will. Watch this!"

The mage bent and picked up a handful of pebbles, muttering over them for a few moments. Grimm gasped as each stone took on the colour and shape of a gold coin. With Dalquist's permission, he took one of the coins, scrutinised it and weighed them in his hand. All his senses reported to him that the objects were pure gold.

"I can't tell the difference!" he cried. "That is a marvellous spell!"

"I'm impressed, Questor Dalquist," Crest said, "but if you can do this, why bring real money at all?"

"Ah, Crest, if only these were real gold pieces then we should all be rich!" Dalquist said with a smile. "However, they will revert to stone on my death, or after a delay of a few days. I have no desire to bilk honest traders, but I have fewer scruples when it comes to deceiving a barefaced cheat in mid-swindle. If we are charged fair worth, we'll pay with good gold, but if it seems we're being chiselled, the cheats are welcome to the stones."

"It's so good to travel with magic-users who aren't too high and mighty to countenance a little financial finesse!" The smiling Harvel seemed to hold gold in his pocket in higher regard than that owned by others.

"Wait a moment!" Grimm said, grabbing Dalquist's sleeve as an urgent thought struck him. "I feel a little uncomfortable at the idea of walking into Crar with a Mage Staff and a Guild Ring."

Dalquist smiled. "You're right, Grimm. I should have thought of that. We need a little magical disguise: a simple Glamour should suffice."

After several moments' incomprehensible chanting, Grimm saw Dalquist's fine robes change from green silk to brown sackcloth, and his gold-ringed staff, Shakhmat, took on the appearance of a rough-hewn, gnarled walking-stick. Looking down at himself, he saw his own appearance had changed in a similar fashion. Although he could feel the warm, comforting presence of Redeemer, he saw only a simple length of wood. His marriage finger now appeared to bear a simple, tarnished brass ring.

"Well, I'm convinced," Crest said, blowing out his cheeks and whistling. "You look like simple travellers to me."

"A simple enough spell," Dalquist replied, puffing out his chest a little with evident pride. "However, it should suffice against casual eyes. Let us continue."

The companions mounted their patient steeds and continued west. Grimm, allowing a little more of his weight to rest on Jessie's back, felt pleased that his muscles seemed far stronger today, strong enough to allow a few hours' ride.

Crar appeared as a small jewel on the horizon, gleaming white and polished. Around it were smaller black dots, evidently the homesteads and farms of the barony. After another hour, towers and turrets became evident, the tallest being a twisting black spire. After another hour, the true magnitude of the city became apparent: a fifty-foot stone wall ran around the city, with strategically placed firing-stations at thirty-yard intervals along the perimeter. Access to the main gate was through a long curving tunnel with thick walls, which would admit individuals but would exclude war machines and battering rams. How was this vast place to be supplied with raw materials, food and other supplies?

Then, Grimm noticed a series of derricks arrayed around the wall, some occupied in swaying supplies into the city from the outside. The people of Crar seemed both secretive and cautious.

Crest waved the group to a halt fifty yards from the entrance tunnel. "I suggest you let me do the talking here, gentlemen," he said. "As I told you, I've been here before and I think I know how to wheedle our way in. I ask you to follow my lead, and not to contradict me."

Dalquist nodded. "That makes sense, thief. Very well, then, you are our spokesman. I am sure your silver tongue and ready wits will not let us down."

He frowned when Crest demanded the bag of magic gold, but the elf swore he would only use it when faced with extortion. Dalquist shrugged and handed over the heavy purse.

The party moved in single file into the long tunnel. The horses' gentle hoof-beats were amplified into a cacophony of clatter by the stone walls, and Grimm guessed this to be a cunningly wrought acoustic trap, ensuring no one could sneak up on the city unannounced. After a number of twists and turns, the tunnel opened up like a bottle in front of an imposing steel portal. Above the fifteen-foot door, Grimm saw a viewing-port with an arrow-slit at either side. In the ceiling, he saw a number of gutters for the discharge of burning oil or some other assault.

If we need to get out of here in a hurry, it could be difficult, Grimm thought, feeling a sudden shiver run through his body.

With a swift snick, the viewing-port in the metal door slipped open, and a suspicious, bearded face appeared, looking down at the group.

"What do you want here?" the disembodied head boomed. "We have no time for beggars and wastrels here. If you come looking for charity, you're wasting your time."

Crest spread his arms in disavowal. "We are adherents of the order of Blessed Kuhul, good brother, and we come here to purchase certain items with which to fulfil our pilgrimage to the shrine of our saint."

Grimm heard such a plangent note of piety and deep humility in Crest's voice that he almost felt like dropping to his knees in fervent prayer. However, the gatekeeper seemed made of sterner stuff. The guard stifled a yawn and drawled, "We don't need priests here, traveller, and we don't want penniless pilgrims traipsing the streets, shouting their mindless creed to all comers and window-shopping for items they can't afford. Be off with you"

Crest spread his hands in apparent supplication "Ours is not a poor order," he protested. "We seek to magnify our saint by the magnificence of the items we can bring to his tomb. The rarer and more costly the gift, the greater the indulgence we gain. We came here in order to buy a gem-encrusted solid gold chalice with which to show our devotion, and we have brought good gold with which to purchase it."

Crest opened his purse to show the glint of precious metal, and as quickly closed it. "However, if you have no need of our coin, we will bother you no more. May the blessed Kuhul smile on you and yours, gatekeeper. Farewell."