Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

"What do you say, Sister?"

"Forgive me, Reverend Mother," the nun whispered, her face ashen. "Show me, I beg you, the error of my ways…"

****

Dalquist, sitting with Grimm in the bar, whistled in disbelief at the younger mage's revelations.

"Who would have thought you could escape a witch ensorcellment with the aid of spells to ward of drunkenness?" he said, shaking his head. "I guess Madeleine made a bad mistake in trying to get the better of a Guild Questor."

A dark look flitted over his face. "I hope the Order's punishments aren't too severe, though. I'd hate to think she'd be badly hurt, even after what she's done."

Grimm laughed, taking a draught of ale from his glass.

"I don't want that, either," he said, "but the Sisters of Divine Mercy don't sound too severe if they allow the nuns to mingle with members of the opposite sex and wear Secular clothes. I'd imagine the worst Madeleine will get is a tongue-lashing and a long prayer session.

"Even so, I'll bet Madeleine must be kicking herself every time she tries to work out what happened. Books on Guild magic never talk about lowly spells like those for relieving inebriation! I bet that girl will be kicking herself for the next year or more."

****

Lizaveta kicked the prostrate, bloodstained form once more, without response. "Girls these days," she said, "have no stamina or endurance." Using her scrying-crystal, she summoned a pair of trusted Sisters to remove the corpse in a large laundry-bag. Two further nuns entered and began to scrub the red-stained floor.

The Prioress watched the women labouring to restore the pristine whiteness of the carpet and her thoughts turned to young Afelnor.

This youth was not as broad-shouldered and muscular as Loras had been, but she recognised the immense power behind his dark eyes. She had been a fool to think that she would be able to control such a potent Questor with such hasty preparation. Without trying to match wills with Grimm, she had realised that, alone, she would not have stood a chance. It might take a little more effort to bend him to her will than she had imagined, but she thought that the challenge might be worthwhile. Wiping a drop of blood from her brow, she smiled. She was patient, and she could wait. Without doubt, another opportunity would assert itself to avenge her further against the man who had refused her advances so long ago.

Grimm felt in fine humour the next morning. This was to be his last day at High Lodge, and he felt far from unhappy at the prospect of leaving. The sumptuous appointments of the establishment might be impressive and luxurious, but the young mage found he preferred the more basic comforts of Arnor House.

He agreed with his fellow Questor, Dalquist, that something seemed a little sick and decadent about this magnificent, ancient institution, and he knew he would feel happier back home.

At first, he had no idea of how he would spend his day until the evening's feast, but he eventually decided on visiting the library dedicated to Thaumaturgical Research, the study of the principles and practice of magic. Having been so easily gulled by the young witch, Madeleine, he felt determined to avoid being trapped in a similar fashion at a later date. He hoped that this library might furnish him with more understanding of witch magic; how to recognise and counter it, should he ever meet it again.

****

The Location Gem led Grimm to another anonymous door. On opening it, he felt that this was a much more convivial place of learning than the library he had visited the day before. This room seemed far more in keeping with the musty, comfortable Scholasticate Library to which he had become accustomed.

Wood-panelled and thickly carpeted, it seemed as if the room somehow exuded silence from its mute, ordered ranks of books, standing like proud sentries at attention in a vast parade of knowledge. The books Grimm could see were mostly old and well-thumbed, with cracked spines and faded titles. These leather-bound tomes seemed to be a well-loved and well-used resource.

Behind a well-worn, cluttered desk sat a slender mage with silver hair and lines on his face that bore mute testament to a humorous nature.

"May I help you, Questor?" he asked, in a warm and amiable tone. "I am Scholar Pruell Margat, the custodian of all books of Thaumaturgical lore in this establishment."

He extended his hand, and Grimm took it, finding Pruell's grip firm and dry.

Grimm no longer felt surprised when mages guessed his Speciality; the sight of a mere boy bearing a Mage Staff could only mean one thing.

"I am Questor Grimm Afelnor, Scholar Pruell," he said, smiling. "I'm honoured to make your acquaintance. To be frank, I'm pleased and surprised to see such a friendly face in here."

Pruell's face crinkled. "We're not all high-and-mighty types here, Brother Mage," he said. "I come from Girard House, to the north of here, where we're a little more relaxed and a little less haughty in our dealings with the Craft than some I could mention." His face assumed a mock expression of mournful exasperation.

Grimm would never have considered Arnor House as relaxed, but he sympathised with the Scholar's sentiments.

"I am from Arnor House, Scholar Pruell, and I, too, yearn to return home, even though I have only been here for two days. Things here are a little too spit-and-polish for me."

The Scholar nodded. "What is your interest here, Questor Grimm? I hold volumes on all aspects of magical lore."

"Do you hold any volumes on… on Geomancy that I might peruse?" Grimm asked, remembering Prioress Lizaveta's term from the night before.

Pruell rubbed the angle of his jaw. "I have a few books on the subject; theory only, I'm afraid," he said. "There isn't much call for that subject here, but I know you Questors are a little different from the rest of us.

"Rack 17, just over there," Pruell said, indicating the relevant area with an outstretched hand. "I hope you find what you are looking for. I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but my knowledge and education are, of course, limited to sleights of a more runic persuasion."

"I understand, Scholar Pruell," Grimm said. "Thank you very much for your help." With a polite nod, he headed for the relevant rack of books.

****

Scholar Pruell had not lied about the paucity of books on Geomancy in the library; Grimm could find only five such volumes. However, 'Geomancy; Principles of the Art' seemed more than adequate for his needs.

As he read, he found that a fundamental difference between the magic of witches and mages was the source of power. As he knew well, mage power came from within the body of the mage, whereas it seemed that the power of a witch was drawn from the living earth itself. A mage spell patterned the mind in order to give form and effect to the marshalled energies of the body, and witch spells seemed more like a form of meditation, opening the mind to act as a conduit for Geomantic forces. In both cases, the amount of energy that could be controlled was a function of the caster's will.

Mage enchantments generally acted on objects, either as a means of destruction or transformation, or as a way of giving form to naked energy. The spells of witches, however, acted directly on living creatures, seeing beneath the flesh and accessing the target being's inner drives, emotions and motivations, changing and controlling aspects of its actions, or even enabling the witch to transfer her consciousness to the mind of the spell target.

As Grimm read on, he began to see how Madeleine had been able to manipulate his emotions, changing his very brain chemistry without his knowledge. The book implied that this was a basic form of the art, equivalent in status to the Minor Magics practiced by Guild Mages, but very effective, nonetheless.