Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

Seeing that Xylox appeared almost about to explode from the burden of embarrassment that he was carrying, the younger mage relented in his torment. "On the other hand, you could just let me call you 'Xylox' when we are alone together or in the House, and you might then address me simply as 'Grimm'. And perhaps we could even relax the use of Mage Speech on the odd occasion?"

Xylox straightened up and cleared his throat. "As you say… Grimm, this might make for a more harmonious relationship. Xylox it is. As for using common speech in private, I will have to think about it. Good day to you."

When Xylox had left, Grimm grinned. At this rate, he might be able to make a human being of his fellow mage within a decade or two.

****

After a day and a half of intense study, Grimm had learnt as much of the missing mages' disappearance as he could. Each of them had sent his letter of resignation from the town of Griven, at the foot of the Shest Mountains, and Grimm knew that the region was known to hold relics of ancient Technology. He had always been interested in the ancient and arcane art as a Student, and the Scholasticate Library held many books on the subject, despite the widespread hatred with which the discipline was regarded throughout the Guild.

Knowing he might encounter Technology on the Quest, he renewed his childhood interest in the subject, haunting the Library like a wraith whilst waiting for Xylox to return from court. Grimm also researched the potential hazards and problems that might lie ahead of them, immersing himself in geography, politics, culture and other dull subjects.

Late on the second day, Grimm found his vision beginning to swim after his day's studies.

"That'll do for today, I think," he muttered, and began to replace the books he had been perusing on their respective shelves. As he replaced the last volume on the top shelf, he noticed a book with the faded title 'Magical Life from Technological Death' It was dusty, and looked as if it had not been read in decades, or even centuries.

Intrigued by the title, he carefully took down the book, blew off the worst of the dust and took it to a table. Laying it down carefully, reverently, he eased open the dry leather covers to reveal yellowed paper which bore neat but faded handwriting. The flyleaf told of how the contents of the book had been handed down and updated for six hundred years, and the tome's dilapidated condition showed that it was even older than this.

Taking great care not to damage the brittle pages, he began to read a fascinating and terrible story of pride, suffering and painful rebirth. Many of the names and references were beyond his ken despite his earlier studies, but he felt unable to tear his eyes from the delicate pages. This was the story of the death of a proud, mysterious world, and the birth of his own familiar world.

He felt his eyes growing wider and his hands beginning to tremble as he read. As he had been taught, Technology had indeed wreaked grievous destruction on the world, but it had also given birth to his own way of life.

Before the Final War, there had been no elves, dragons, witches or mages in the world. Grimm could not comprehend many of the details, but it seemed that the awful flames of destruction had somehow brought about a change in humans and animals. Death had brought forth new life, but only at the expense of countless millions. The Technologists might have died in that conflagration, but they took with them carpenters, mothers, babies, nurses, blacksmiths… the pages told horrifying stories of the awful aftermath of the deluge of flame.

****

Grimm closed the book and held it in palsied hands, as if it were some small, venomous beast. All he had ever read of the art of Technology had concentrated on the functions and attributes of the astonishing machines that had once held sway over the world, and he had mourned its demise. Now, he began to understand the detestation with which the Guild regarded Technology; it had proved a useful tool but a callous, unfeeling master. Were it ever to rise again, his familiar world might be destroyed, and who could guess what might replace it?

I wouldn't be alive without that awful war, he thought. Everything I know would never have come to be. I always thought the Magemasters were exaggerating when they said that Technology had destroyed the world, but they weren't. We daren't let that happen again. It was marvellous while it lasted, but it mastered even its own masters. They died at the hands of their own creation…

He put down the book with a shake of his head, and Xylox entered the room. "Questor Grimm, I am ready to leave. Have you gleaned all that we need to know about the regions through which we will pass?"

Grimm nodded, mute with emotion, tears glittering in his eyes at what he had just read.

"What affects you so, Questor Grimm?" the older man demanded. "Is it that book you were reading?"

"The book is about Technology," Grimm said, a heavy lump in his throat.

"Technology?" Xylox seemed to grow six inches in height in his indignation. "You are a lover of Technology?" His voice scorched the word with an avid flame of anger and contempt.

Grimm shook his head, fighting his turbulent and conflicting emotions. Then he collected himself and looked the senior mage straight in the eye. "Questor Xylox, why do you hate it so?"

Xylox almost recoiled at the question, but he had been forced to consider his motivations. "To be blunt, Questor Grimm, I detest Technology because the art is hated throughout the Guild, and because I have been taught to share that view. However, that is sufficient reason for me, and it should be sufficient reason for you."

"Questor Xylox, words cannot express the loathing I now feel for the art." Grimm's words were hot and venomous. "Those arrogant bastards, the scions of Technology, nearly destroyed the world. You and I were born from that awful conflagration, but only at the cost of untold suffering, death and misery. I will fight Technology to my last breath, but to fight it, one must understand it. We may meet it on this Quest, and I wish to be able to recognise it when I see it. I am ready, and a new fire burns in my heart. Believe me, I was once interested in Technology, but I hate it now."

Grimm's words were fervid, intense and quavering with suppressed anger, but his gaze did not waver in the slightest. At last, Xylox nodded. "That is as it should be, Questor Grimm. If you are ready, we will leave in the morning."

Grimm nodded. "I'll be ready, Questor Xylox. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

It seemed to Grimm that the disreputable-looking tavern in Drute, the Broken Bottle, must be a popular one with Questors. The landlord, Urel, had recognised Dalquist on Grimm's first Quest, and he now recognised Xylox.

"Questor Xylox, Questor Grimm, it is good to see you again; welcome back to the Broken Bottle. What may I offer you to wash the dust of the trail from your parched throats?"

"Do you keep any ten-year Turaz Red in your wine-cellar, landlord?" Xylox asked. "I find it a particularly fine vintage, and it suits my palate well. I allow myself few pleasures in life, but I confess to a fondness for this noble blood of the grape. I seem to remember that I first sampled it in this very hostelry, many years ago."

"I keep a few bottles of it especially for your consumption, Questor Xylox," Urel said, with a respectful bow; he seemed familiar with the older mage's rather pompous wiles.

The landlord placed an ornate goblet in front of the older mage and brought out a green bottle, making great show of displaying the label to Xylox. Either by chance or artifice, the portion of the label with the year of vintage was scuffed and illegible. The hosteller poured a small quantity of the clear, ruby liquid into the goblet and offered it to the senior mage.