Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

Would such a mage have attempted to murder an old man, merely in an attempt to gain accession to a title? To Grimm, the idea seemed ludicrous, if one was to judge from the annals of the High Lodge records. The written career of his grandfather suggested an almost fanatical dedication to the ideals of his Guild, paramount amongst which was a deferent acknowledgement of one's seniors and betters. Grimm, himself, had found little pleasure in his rapid advancement to the Fifth Rank, knowing that it had only been granted due to the Lord Dominie's extreme diversion at the time, thanks to the return of the worrisome Eye of Myrrn and the heavy demands on his time. The young Questor would not have considered refusing or questioning the honour for a single moment, but he would, in truth, have preferred an honest promotion based on his actions alone.

Grimm sighed to himself, and his eyes brimmed with tears. Loras must have felt compassion for the old, ailing Prelate of Arnor House and tried to bring a merciful end to the ancient mage's confusing and painful life. Although such an act was treason, Loras' motives could only have been those of compassion and pity for a man he revered; a man whose cruel suffering Loras had become unable to bear.

Grimm could stay his bitter tears no longer, and he let them fall in a silent stream down his cheeks as the distant Scholar worked through his papers. In part, the tears were for Grimm himself: for the lowly status that he had been forced to accept because of his grandfather's misjudged acts; but also for a wronged man he loved with all his heart.

He grasped Redeemer to his side and considered the name he had given the staff, and the private oath he had sworn.

Grandfather, the name of Afelnor will shine again within this Guild, on my life. I will not allow our shared name to remain a synonym for treachery and betrayal.

Grimm heard the tolling of a distant bell and realised that the hours had flown by. He replaced the last volume in its appointed place, and he dashed from the library to meet Madeleine.

****

She was there, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a desolate expression replaced in a swift heartbeat by a warm, beautiful smile of greeting. Madeleine wore a long, violet dress that clung to her splendid figure, hinting at pleasures of which the inexperienced Grimm could only guess.

Madeleine was beautiful, and Grimm could not tear his gaze from her.

Her sweet voice and the long, fluttering lashes over sapphire-blue eyes came like soothing balm to his troubled soul. "Grimm, thank you so much for coming to meet me. I was getting worried that you might not show up."

Grimm found himself giggling like a child. "Madeleine, Madeleine, I would have crawled over hot coals to reach you. You mean so much to me."

Her warm smile suffused his very being. "And you are very dear to me, too, my Grimm. I don't know what I might be without you."

She was like sunshine in summer, warmth in winter, happiness and joy. Grimm marvelled at how quickly his earlier dark mood had passed. He felt so carefree and unrestrained in Madeleine's presence; it was like…

With a decisive thump in some deep region of his mind, Grimm realised the truth.

It's just like being drunk.

He clutched Redeemer to himself and accessed the spells within the staff, the spells he had once thought frivolous and unworthy of a Guild Mage, and the scales fell from his eyes. Madeleine was indeed a beautiful girl, but she was not worth his life, his soul, his oath. He now realised he had been ensorcelled, rather than entranced.

Grimm felt as if icy needles were being inserted into his spine.

"What's the matter, Grimm? Don't you like my new dress?" Madeleine asked.

"Never mind that," the young Questor snapped, "What have you been doing to my mind?"

His tone had become icy cold; he knew what it had been like to lose control of his senses from his addiction to the herbs Trina and Virion, and he was determined that he would never again voluntarily surrender his will to another, or to external forces.

Madeleine's eyes widened, uncomprehending: a picture of baffled innocence. "I don't know what you mean, Grimm. I guess you haven't had much sleep recently, so I forgive you for…"

Grimm did not listen to her. Instead, he concentrated on his thoughts. Remembering what Dalquist had said to him the day before, Grimm engaged his Mage Sight and studied the young nun's aura. He had been aware of the colours surrounding living creatures since he had been a small child, and he recognised at once that Madeleine's was unlike any he had ever seen before.

It was as if the young nun were swathed in a perfect, uniform, white shroud, without the slightest flaw, wrinkle or blemish. If the hurt, stunned expression on her face were a genuine window to her inner feelings, the aura should be suffused with crackling, roiling, ice-blue bolts, regardless of any lack of malice or duplicity in her soul. The aura was a shield, a sham construction designed to withstand only the most cursory inspection.

"Grimm, darling, what's come over you? Please, let me help." Madeleine took his right hand, gently caressing it, and she tried to lock his gaze with her large, sapphire-blue eyes. A few moments before, Grimm would have lapsed into a dreamy delirium, lost in those azure pools of loveliness, but now he felt suffused with real, naked anger. He snatched his hand from her grasp, and thumped Redeemer on the floor with a loud noise that made the other people in the bar stare.

"Stop this sweet, innocent act, Madeleine," he growled. "You have somehow been manipulating my will. I don't know how you've been doing it; I can only assume that it's some kind of witch magic. However this little trick is done, you can stop it right now; it won't work on me any more. What I want to know is why you were doing it."

The seraphic, dazzling smile dropped from the girl's face, as if a blind had been drawn, to be replaced with an ugly, sneering grimace. The transformation was sudden and shocking.

"Look at the great mage, Gur-Grimm Afelnor-hah! A pathetic, panting little boy playing a man's game. Your friend Dalquist is twice the man you'll ever be." She laughed.

Grimm snatched Madeleine's small hand, none too gently.

"While we're on the subject, what did you do to Dalquist?" he hissed. "I thought his rapid acceptance of our loving little tryst was suspicious; now, I am convinced you were behind it."

The girl tried to wriggle her hand free but could not do so. Madeleine gasped in pain as Grimm tightened his grip, grinding the small bones together. A well-dressed, burly Secular man stepped up and clapped his hand onto Grimm's shoulder.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. "Release that girl at once!"

Without letting go of Madeleine's hand, Grimm turned his head to look at the would-be hero. "This is between the lady and me, friend," he said in a calm voice. "I advise you to mind your own business."

The man's face turned a little pale as Grimm showed his Guild Ring, but the bravo seemed to be no coward.

The Secular turned to Madeleine. "Everything all right, Miss?"

"Like he said, it's nothing to do with you, moron," she hissed at him in a hateful, vindictive tone. "Now, kindly crawl back under whatever stone you came from!"

Affronted, the man stormed off, shaking his head as if wondering at the fickle ways of women.

Grimm nodded. "A wise decision, Madeleine. I'm sure you don't want the whole of High Lodge hearing how you ensnare men's minds… but let's get back to business. I want to know what you did to Dalquist and me, and why. I have no desire to hurt you, but I will if I must, and I can assure you there are things far worse than physical pain."

"All right!" she snapped, wincing. "Please, let go, Grimm. I won't run, I swear. I am sure you could catch me before I escaped, in any case." It seemed as if she had abandoned her pretence at toughness.