Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

"I don't think that there's any harm in that, Grimm," Dalquist said. "At least you'll know what Thribble's up to all the time."

"I suppose you're right, Dalquist. Thribble, you may accompany me as long as you stay out of sight. Some mages don't like the idea of humans consorting with demons."

The tiny imp nodded vigorously. "Many of my kind harbour similar feelings, good mortal. I'll be quiet, I promise."

Resigned, Grimm held open a deep pocket in his yellow-and-blue robes, and the underworld creature hopped nimbly into it. As he did so, there came a polite knock at the door, which Dalquist opened. The visitor was Assistant Sub-Vice-Facilitator-in-Chief Shael.

"Greetings, Questors. I am here to accompany you to the banquet."

"Ah, Facilitator Shael, it is good to see you again," Dalquist said. "I trust you have enjoyed your unscheduled break from your doubtless onerous duties."

"Thank you, Questor Dalquist. I am afraid I have been unable to enjoy it as fully as I might have. I have been scared to leave my room, in case I should bump into the Senior Doorkeeper or one of my superiors; I was, after all, instructed to accompany you everywhere during your stay here. I trust you, at least, spent an agreeable time in the House?"

Dalquist looked at Grimm with a raised eyebrow, and the young mage rolled his eyes.

"No problems at all, thank you, Facilitator Shael," Grimm said with a smile. "High Lodge has been a never-ending source of wonder and fascination for us both."

Shael looked a little anxious. "I am happy to hear that, Questor Grimm. Um… gentlemen… may I relieve you of the Gems of Location I loaned you? There might be all sorts of trouble if it were discovered that I had surrendered them to you."

Both Questors handed over the small jewels. Grimm, for one, felt happy to do so, since he had no intention of remaining in High Lodge for longer than was absolutely necessary. Relief was apparent on the nervous Mage Facilitator's face. "Thank you so much, Brother Mages. If you would now be so good as to accompany me, we may make our way to the Hall of Celebration."

****

Richly panelled in dark wood, the hall was brightly illuminated by twinkling crystal chandeliers high above. A lush, crimson carpet covered the floor, and Grimm saw tables filled with extravagant delicacies, viands and liquors along each wall. Several mages were already present, helping themselves to sweetmeats or chatting in small cliques around the hall, each group seeming to maintain the maximum possible distance from each other.

At the far end of the hall rose a marble dais with a gilded lectern. Portraits of various Guild notables hung on every wall, and a large picture of Lord Dominie Horin hung behind the dais, a stern, wise face that seemed to survey the room from every angle.

"Well, doesn't this looks like fun?" Dalquist muttered to Grimm, in a resigned manner. "I hope they don't keep the jolly revelries going all night. We've got to be up early tomorrow."

"Please excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, I have to circulate," Shael said, his voice filled with an air of self-importance. "Do, please, enjoy yourselves."

"Be sure of it, Facilitator Shael," Grimm said, sighing. Turning to his friend, he muttered, "Look at all these old fossils, Dalquist. It doesn't look like there are any Questors around here."

"High Lodge doesn't have any," Dalquist replied. "All the Students here are of the paying kind; they rely on the loyal Houses to fulfil their Questing needs. This lot have got 'High Lodge' written all over them.

"Oh, there's a familiar face at least. It looks like old Thruwell Drought-breaker over there. He's a Weatherworker from our own House; he used to teach us Runes before you came to Arnor, until the high and mighty bloody Lodge poached him. Lord Thorn was none too pleased, I can tell you; but what High Lodge asks for, High Lodge gets."

Grimm followed his friend towards the grizzled mage, and Dalquist introduced him to the ancient Weatherworker, who was stuffing his face like a starving man. "Weatherworker Thruwell, it's good to see you again," Dalquist said, bowing. "May I introduce my associate, Questor Grimm Afelnor?"

The old mage peered at Dalquist through bleary, myopic eyes. "Rufior, isn't it?" he mumbled, through a mouthful of food. "I took you for Runes, as I remember," he continued, after a mighty swallow. "A waste of my time, by the looks of it. You Questors don't seem to have much use for all that hard-learned wisdom. You are a Mage of the Seventh Rank, I see. It took me forty years of hard work to win that accolade, and it doesn't please me to see some young whipper-snapper throwing it all back in my face."

Dalquist laughed. "Magemaster Thruwell, you haven't changed in the slightest. You're as friendly as ever."

The wrinkled pedagogue fixed his disapproving gaze on Grimm. "A child like this, with five rings on his staff; what is the world coming to?"

Grimm felt defensive. He knew his rapid succession to the Fifth Rank had been a lucky break, and yet he knew he had faced travails worse than any Magemaster had ever had to bear. "Weatherworker Thruwell, I-"

Dalquist interrupted, smoothly. "Questor Grimm proved instrumental in the defeat of a demon magic-user who was intent on stealing the innermost secrets of the entire Guild. Neither of us should have prevailed without the wise counsel of Magemasters such as you, and we thank you."

He bowed respectfully, and Grimm followed suit with alacrity.

Mollified, Thruwell nodded. "I should think so, too," he muttered, and shuffled over to one of the other groups.

"Well, it's always nice to see a friendly face," Grimm said, with an ironic smile.

Now, quite a few mages were milling around the hall. One of them, a tall, pale-complected individual with a bald head, looked around to as if to assess the level of attendance, then strode to the dais and rapped his staff three times on the lectern.

"If I might have your attention, gentlemen?

"Thank you. I would like to welcome you all to the Hall of Celebration. All of you have in some way recently distinguished yourselves in your service to the Guild, and we of High Lodge like to ensure that those rewarded by it will have a celebration to remember. I am Doorkeeper Shree, and I am to be your master of ceremonies for the evening. Perhaps we could all take a few moments to introduce ourselves and say a few words… perhaps you would like to start the ball rolling, so to speak, Brother Mage?"

Shree indicated a tired-looking middle-aged man with three rings on his staff and a mottled, discoloured complexion that said more about his Speciality than words could.

"Er, thank you, Doorkeeper Shree. Er, my, um, name is Argul Trug, and I am an Alchemist from Husel House. I like to cultivate flowers in my spare time. I was recently elevated to the Third Rank after discovering how to convert gold into pure lead."

"Why, thank you, Alchemist Argul. And what about you, sir…"

Several people were already edging towards the door and Dalquist nudged Grimm in the ribs. "We said we'd be here, and we are. Did anybody say anything about being here all night?"

"They did not," Grimm replied. "What about you, Thribble? Can you bear to be dragged away from all this revelry?"

The small demon's head popped up from Grimm's pocket, bearing a somewhat annoyed expression. "This is a snare and a delusion. These people are boring; I don't want their stupid stories."

"I couldn't agree more, Thribble. What do you say that we go back to our room? I'm sure I have some good brandy in there, and I know how you like a drop of that."

The demon looked pleased at the idea, licking his lips with his forked tongue in anticipation.

"Just one problem," Dalquist said. "How do we find our way back without the aid of one of Shael's wonderful little gems?"