Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

"Ah, yes-'an undertaking of the gravest import for the security of the Guild', Lord Thorn called it," the old man said, beaming. "I'm to take you at once."

Things may be looking up, the Questor thought, feeling his heart beat faster as he followed Doorkeeper out of the cell.

This doesn't sound like another sewer expedition.

The balding, red-faced Thorn Virias' outward semblance gave the impression more of a harried clerk than the Prelate of a Guild House. Nonetheless, Dalquist gave a courteous, sincere bow on entering Thorn's private chamber. The Prelate was a full Questor of the Seventh Rank, a veteran of dozens of Quests; a man to be respected.

The Prelate dismissed Doorkeeper with a nod and a wave of his hand, leaving Dalquist alone with his lord and master.

"Greetings, Questor Dalquist," Thorn intoned, leaning back in his ornate throne, which stood behind a large desk festooned with an untidy profusion of scrolls and books. "I trust you are well rested after your recent Quest?"

The younger mage yearned to dispense with small talk and cut to the heart of the matter, but he knew the Prelate regarded protocol as essential to the harmonious running of the House. Too direct and blunt an approach might be taken as an insult.

"Quite well, thank you, Lord Prelate," he replied, standing erect and rigid. "The task was not too arduous."

Disgusting, yes, but not physically arduous, he added as a mental codicil to his statement.

"I must congratulate you on gaining the fifth ring to your staff, Brother Mage," Thorn said. He smiled and opened a desk drawer, from which he withdrew a green bottle and two glasses. "May I interest you in a modicum of this brandy? It is an excellent vintage, I assure you."

Dalquist had heard tales of the senior mage's fondness for strong drink, and he took care to keep his response polite and neutral.

"Thank you, Lord Prelate, but I was brought up in the ways of the Molachian Church, which forbids the consumption of alcohol before sundown. Old habits die hard, as they say."

In truth, Dalquist had abandoned his religious observances at the age of fourteen, after seven years in the House, but he deemed it impolitic to mention the earliness of the hour.

"A pity," Thorn said. "I trust you will not object if I celebrate your promotion with a small glass?"

Dalquist felt the blood pounding in his veins, and he yearned for Thorn to tell him the details of the Quest. Nonetheless, he smiled.

"Of course not, Lord Prelate," he said. "I appreciate the gesture."

The Prelate poured a good two inches of the golden liquor into a glass and took a healthy draught, smacking his lips.

"You have no idea what you are missing, Questor Dalquist. Do sit down while I savour this excellent liquor: it is too good to hurry."

Dalquist felt his teeth clenching in frustration as he lowered himself into a brown leather chair in front of Thorn's desk, while the senior mage tipped the remainder of the glass's contents down his throat by degrees.

At last, the Prelate put down his empty glass and said, "The House wishes to call upon your services again, Questor Dalquist, as you may have guessed."

Dalquist leaned forward, his blood quickening.

"Have you ever met Prelate Zhar of Brelor House?" Thorn asked.

Dalquist shook his head, tension tightening his throat.

"Lord Zhar states that he wished to give Lord Dominie Horin a special gift to mark his accession to the apex of the Guild. He ordered the construction of a charm he dubbed the 'Eye of Myrrn', after the seventh-age seer. This gem was supposedly intended to allow Lord Horin oversight of all of the Guild Houses at all times. It permits the user to focus on any location or individual of whom he has knowledge."

Dalquist suppressed a smile at the stressed words, 'states' and 'supposedly'; Lord Thorn, it seemed, did not believe his fellow Prelate's stated intentions.

"Brelor House recently played host to a deputation from the city of Crar," Thorn continued, "headed by one Baron Starmor. Zhar is unclear about what happened, but the Eye was found to be missing after the visit. It now transpires that this Starmor is a powerful magic-user who is not allied to our Guild."

Dalquist gaped. "I take it this gem would allow Baron Starmor to spy on the Guild itself, Lord Prelate?"

"Exactly, Questor Dalquist!" Thorn banged his fist on the desk for emphasis. "The consequences of this theft could be incalculable. We need the Eye of Myrrn returned to High Lodge without delay. Lord Horin demands the gem be retrieved or, at least, destroyed without delay. He gave me his personal order to see that his instructions are carried out. I feel sure I do not need to tell you how privileged we are that Lord Horin selected our House for the honour of undertaking this vital Quest."

Dalquist nodded. "Indeed, Lord Prelate," he said, smiling. "I thank you for giving me the honour of leading it."

Thorn shrugged. "I must admit, Questor Dalquist, I would have preferred Xylox the Mighty to take on such a responsibility. However, he is indisposed after his previous Quest and must rest."

Well, that's candid enough, Dalquist thought, but his joy at being given a chance to show his mettle eclipsed any indignation he might otherwise have felt.

"I should like to take several House Mages with me, Lord Prelate," he said, "and also some local men-at-arms. If-"

"Impossible, I am afraid," Thorn interrupted with a shake of his head. "We have no idea what defences Baron Starmor may command. Crar is a walled city with battlements and turrets. A large force would surely be spotted far from Crar. Lord Horin believes a covert operation by the smallest number would be best. You have shown yourself adept at such clandestine operations in the past."

Dalquist gaped. "You said Baron Starmor is a powerful magic-user, Lord Prelate," he expostulated. "Am I expected to enter his demesnes alone?"

The Prelate snorted. "Starmor may be a sorcerer of some repute among the ignorant, Questor Dalquist, but he is no Guild Mage. Could it be that a Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank is afraid of a mere dilettante?"

Dalquist felt his face redden, but he kept his tone civil. "I am only anxious for the success of the Quest, Lord Prelate," he said. "In an unknown city with unknown defences I might be taken by surprise. I cannot countenance entering Crar without some magical assistance and without armed support. A thief might also be of use, to spot non-magical traps and to pick locks."

"Very well, Questor Dalquist," Thorn said after a long pause. "You may select one other mage of this House to accompany you, and one or two Seculars. The responsibility for selecting the Seculars will be up to you and no House funds will be disbursed for their payment. You will need to settle their accounts from your own money or from the monetary proceeds of the Quest. You are not, under any circumstances to discuss the purpose of this expedition with anyone inside or outside the House, except for your chosen companions. You are to swear them to the strictest secrecy, using magic to compel compliance if necessary."

Dalquist suppressed a groan. He had expected that such an important expedition would offer proportionate rewards. He had garnered little wealth from most of his Quests, since the chance to acquire booty had been small, and the Guild had taken most of what little he had managed to obtain.

Thorn twisted his mouth a little in what the Questor took to be a smile. "Lord Horin is not without generosity, Questor Dalquist. Although he wants this embarrassing loss kept secret, the Dominie has granted Arnor House a loan of one thousand gold pieces. The official purpose of this loan is to allow the refurbishment of the House Refectory, but a regrettable accounting error has resulted in its misplacement."