Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

The demon lowered his brows as if to protest, but perhaps thought better of it. "I agree, Questor," he rumbled.

"Whenever I am present in Crar, I will consult with you before I make any decisions of my own, to be sure I don't contradict you over some decision you have already made. On the other hand, after any such consultation, I reserve the right to overrule you on any judgement I regard as prejudicial to the harmonious running of the city. You are an intelligent and honest being, so I do not imagine that I will have many such problems, if any."

Grimm looked the demon in the eye. He wanted Shakkar to know just what lay in store for him.

"I will add that you may not resign your position until another has been elected to the position of Seneschal by the Council and the appointment has been ratified personally by me."

Shakkar opened his mouth, but Grimm stayed his words with a wave of his hand.

"This may seem unduly harsh," the mage said, "given the likely duration and length of my enforced absences, but I ask you to remember that, as a Questor, I can exercise powers of insight you and the Council wouldn't believe. I'm sure we all wish to avoid the accession of another Starmor, and I may be able to prevent that.

"Do you regard any of these regulations as unduly onerous, demeaning or otherwise unacceptable to you? I will not impose anything upon you without your full agreement."

****

Shakkar's tail, the barometer of his emotional state, was a blur as he considered Grimm's words. Once, he would have been outraged at the concept of submitting his will to a mere human, and yet he had to admit to himself that he could not see anything that smacked of servitude in Grimm's requirements. He had acquiesced to the young human's requests when they were both confined to Starmor's punishment pillar, and the Questor had not played him false. He had always proved as good as his word.

In truth, the concept of conceding the wishes of the human Council of Crar seemed distasteful to Shakkar, and the pathetic pleas of the citizens often irked him, but he could not deny the pleasure he felt when the mortals included him in conversation and consulted him over some trivial matter they considered as important.

With Grimm absent much of the time, he would be the de facto ruler of Crar, even if only by proxy. That he could effectively oversee the running of Crar by the free will of humans, where Starmor had only been able to do so by subterfuge and enslavement, he found strangely stimulating. Yes, he would be Grimm's Seneschal. Even though his will would be, to some extent, subject to Grimm's, he knew in his heart that the human would never try to belittle him or to humiliate him as had Starmor, one of his own kind. He could think of no more honourable man to become his titular master, with the exception of the courteous and powerful Dalquist. At least, no single human could overrule his decisions except for Grimm, and he would be present in Crar only on rare occasions.

"It will be as you say, Grimm. You are the Baron, and I am your Seneschal, subject only to your will and that of the Council. And the majority vote of the citizens, I suppose. This will be an unusual constraint for me, but I believe that I can live with it. I am your demon, and I will accept your requirements with… humility. I know my temper is severe at times, but I will always remember that the people of Crar are only human, and that such creatures may be broken easily-saving your presence, of course. I will exercise restraint at such times, but I trust that I may be allowed the odd growl or invective from time to time."

"I'm glad to have you on my side, Shakkar," the young human said, smiling. "So long as you don't use these growls or oaths to attempt to coerce the Council or the voters, I have no objection, my friend…

"Please don't look at me in that way, demon! If I'm to rule this city, I want it to be by consent, not by coercion. I won't have it any other way."

Shakkar swallowed his brief eruption of ire, and nodded. He knew he would have to endure far worse provocations in the future, and he undertook within his mind to control his temper from now on. Grimm seemed to be testing him, and he found himself happy to suppress his baser instincts in the interests of harmony.

"Very well, Grimm Afelnor," he growled. "By all means, take your proposal to the Council tonight. I will be your man… or your demon, in any case."

****

Grimm's spirit sang. His body was still a little weak, but he felt buoyed up by the fullness of his heart. He was a Baron! Surely no joy could compare to this, save his Acclamation ceremony. Surely, nothing could go wrong for him on this happy day.

Grimm looked at his reflection in a large mirror at the northern end of Starmor's former bedchamber. Now resplendent in a cowled yellow and deep blue robe with red lining, he looked the very image of magedom, except for the youthful, pale face that gazed from the cowl. Mayor Chod had not lied when he had extolled the merits of Crar's tailors. Grimm's excitement grew as he awaited the call to attend the Council meeting in which he would be declared Baron of Crar. His long, brown hair and his dark beard were neatly brushed, and he had polished the black wood and brass shoes of his staff to a mirror finish.

He had obtained a supply of tobacco to smoke when he felt the pull of the drugs Trina and Virion, and a pang struck him now. As he reached into the pocket of his sateen robe, which he had laid out on the room's huge four-poster bed, he felt a strange tickle at the back of his mind. Dismissing it as an artefact of his weakened state, he filled the pipe and lit it with a gesture of his right forefinger. He drew in the smoke luxuriantly, allowing it to calm his nerves.

Then the tickle returned, irritating and undeniable. This time, he could hear the ghost of a voice, one he recognised only too well: Starmor's voice. It was weak but unmistakable.

Grimm Afelnor. I wish to parlay.

Grimm had had little practice in the art of Telepathy, but he was well used to marshalling his thoughts and energies. After a little experimentation, he managed to produce a clear word-image in his mind.

Starmor, you are where you belong, he thought, with a pang of satisfaction. Nothing you can ever offer will persuade me to release you. Get out of my head, you sadistic, egomaniacal monster!

The Questor could have sworn he recognised a chuckle within the thin tendrils of Starmor's thoughts. Is that any way to talk to an old friend, Grimm? the voice crooned. We are linked, we two, linked through physical contact. Your brief touch before you banished me gave me a mental connection to you; one you can never break.

Grimm felt panic rising within him. Could Starmor possibly access his magical power, or worse his emotions, through the dimensional barrier behind which he was confined? It seemed improbable; Starmor's mental voice was a feeble mental buzzing in the mage's head, at the limit of his perception. Even a small amount of Questor power would amplify this buzz until it was a veritable roar.

Begone, Starmor. Your blandishments will not succeed, for you have nothing I want. Grimm knew that the evil demon-sorcerer must never be allowed to return to the mortal plane, and he meant every word.

The insidious voice in his head seemed to drip with temptation. What would you say, Grimm Afelnor, if I told you I knew what happened to your grandfather, Loras? Would you not like to know what happened to him?

Grimm forced himself to remain calm, although he thrust his hands to his forehead as if he could drive the wheedling voice from his head.

I know what happened to him, Starmor. He tried to smother the old Prelate of Arnor House and was caught in the act. He admitted it, and he was stripped of his powers by a full Guild Conclave. There is nothing more you can tell me, and I suspect that you are just drawing images and impressions from my mind and playing upon them. Go away, I tell you!