Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

"I wish to add that this is not all. You and Questor Dalquist have been invited to present the Eye to High Lodge in person. This is, of course, a great privilege, and I will not need to tell you that you will be expected to display the highest decorum and presence during your stay. I think you will find that the Dominie will not be unappreciative of your efforts; the loss of the Eye has been a major concern to us all. I am sure that Lord Horin will wish to place at least one more ring on your staff, and possibly more, in his gratitude and, indeed, relief."

Afelnor's face was like stone. Thorn thought he might as well have been discussing the price of fish with the youth.

"I wish also to tell you that, as a result of this Quest, I have now been elected a permanent member of the Guild Presidium. This is a great honour for the House."

"I offer you my heartiest congratulations, Lord Thorn!" At last, some animation had appeared on Grimm's face. He appeared genuinely pleased at Thorn's advancement.

"I understand that congratulations are also due to you, Questor Grimm or, should I say, Baron Grimm?"

"Thank you, Lord Prelate. This was indeed great fortune, for I am now a wealthy man. However, I am more content to be fortunate enough to be able to think of myself as a full-blooded Guild Questor. The wealth into which I have come is, of course, welcome."

Perfect modesty, Thorn thought. That is just what I might have said to my Prelate as a youth, you lucky little urchin.

"May I assume, Questor Grimm, that you will be authorising the free passage of Guild Mages into and out of the city of Crar?"

Afelnor can hardly refuse, Thorn thought.

"Indeed, Lord Prelate, I have already given such instructions to my Seneschal, Shakkar, to ensure that fair tolls are charged for entry to the city. Bearers of the Guild Ring are, of course, exempt from such fees."

Thorn's brow furrowed. "Ah, yes; this Shakkar must be this demon with which you have been consorting. I trust you do not intend to make a habit of associating with such creatures. Some of us in the Presidium are nervous of their motives."

A polite smile split the Questor's stony face, transforming it. "The solemn word of a demon is, as you know, inviolate, Lord Prelate. I have been most careful to ensure that Shakkar will do nothing inimical to the aims of the Guild. I will, with your permission, make periodic visits to Crar to ensure that my instructions are being carried out to the letter."

Thorn shook his head. "Although you are no longer a Student, Afelnor, I regret that this is a most critical time in your vocation. Having seen some of the outside world and its baser temptations, you may feel seduced by it. I regret that you must remain resident at the House for the nonce."

The Prelate watched the slender youth for a few moments, searching for any sign of annoyance or petulance, but he saw none, even though he knew Afelnor must be disappointed.

The boy's self-control is exemplary. I must find another Quest for him soon.

"I will, however, review this situation after your next Quest, Afelnor, subject to a satisfactory report from the senior mage."

"Thank you, Lord Prelate," Afelnor replied, bowing. "I appreciate your generosity."

"A carriage will arrive here in the morning to convey you to High Lodge. I am advised that you will be staying there for three days. There may be dances and festivities which you will be expected to attend during this time."

"Thankfully, Lord Prelate, I now have plenty of changes of clothes, and I will ensure that I heed Magemaster Faffel's kind advice concerning proper deportment at such affairs." The quirky smile flitted briefly once more across Grimm's face.

"Thank you, Questor Grimm, and well done. I will expect a report from you on your visit when you return. Enjoy yourself. That will be all."

At Thorn's usual peremptory dismissal, Grimm stood, bowed with immaculate courtesy and exited the room.

The Prelate, full of his election to the Presidium, drew his scrying-crystal to him. Lizaveta would surely be pleased at his news.

****

Grimm made his way down the stairs to the Great Hall to where Dalquist was waiting, and he blew out his cheeks in an explosive exhalation.

"Dalquist, I never want to go through that again! I felt like I was in front of some damned inquisition!" He shivered in mock terror.

"Did he accept your report, Grimm?"

"I think so, Dalquist. I was nervous as Hell, but I don't think I showed it. I was sitting straight as a ramrod."

Grimm swiped his hand through his hair in relief.

"That's the only way to deal with Lord Thorn," Dalquist said and chuckled. "I think the old sod's got 'Power and Presence' tattooed on his backside. You'll do. I was worried that recent events might have got the better of you, which is why I gave you that little test yesterday. If you can face down Thorn, then the Broken Bottle should be a cakewalk from now on."

"Dalquist, does the Refectory have any alcohol?" Grimm asked. "I could do with a little restorative drink right now."

"I think we could get the staff to come up with something," the older Questor replied, smiling. "I could do with a stiff medicinal dose as well."

A small head, like a fuzzy, horned marble, arose from Grimm's left pocket.

"What about me?" a familiar voice twittered.

Grimm started. "I'd all but forgotten about you, demon. I trust you'll keep your mouth shut about what you've heard over the last couple of days?"

Thribble licked his tiny lips with a minuscule forked tongue. "If you were to obtain a minim of peach brandy, human, I might be persuaded to forget my own name."

"We'll see what we can do, Thribble," Dalquist said, with a broad smile.

****

Grimm felt more than satisfied. His Mage Staff, Redeemer, was no longer naked. A smart, indelible gold ring now signified his full acceptance into the ranks of the Guild Questors, and he had eaten a splendid lunch. He liked to take a short nap after a heavy meal when he was able to do so, but he always needed a little literary diversion before he could drift off to sleep. Since he had read all the books in his room, he went in search of new inspiration in the Scholasticate Library.

As usual, the labyrinthine room was all but deserted. A young Student was diligently studying a text that Grimm knew only too well: 'Mental Control and Mediation; Finding One's Inner Self.'

An old mage, an Alchemist, to judge by his mottled and stained skin, sat snoozing at one of the corner tables.

Grimm moved to a rack of books labelled 'Guild History', and he climbed atop a set of wheeled steps in order to reach the top shelf. He reached out to take a tome called 'High Lodge: Flower of the Guild' when he noticed that the book to its right was inverted. Long schooling in decorum and neatness had led him to deplore disorder, and he removed the book in order to replace it in the correct orientation. As he did so, a small sheet of paper, too large to be a page marker, fluttered to the floor.

Intrigued, he climbed down to retrieve the page. The paper was crisp and slightly yellowed, implying that it might offer a view of olden times in the House, and he opened it with care. Maybe this was some secret note from one miscreant Student to another, outlining some prank that they might play on one of the Magemasters; perhaps it was merely a set of revision notes for some long-since Acclaimed Neophyte. Either way, it might prove interesting.

L.A.,

I feel constrained to bring to your awareness some most urgent news of which I have recently become aware. Not all of this House are as trustworthy as they might appear; vile intrigue is afoot. Speak to nobody of this note. I entreat you most urgently to meet me outside the West Wing at midnight tomorrow, when I will acquaint you with some disturbing information of the greatest import to your well-being.