Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

"If I were to offer a bid of ten gold pieces," the mage said, "I feel sure I could rely on a loyal public servant like you to ensure the relevant forms and bills of sales were completed."

The guard cast a few furtive glances around him. "Fifteen," he muttered.

"Thirteen," Grimm countered.

"Done," the guard whispered. "Thirteen golds, six to be paid in advance."

"Done," Grimm agreed, holding out the requisite six gold pieces.

"Meet me at the town guardhouse in three hours," the guard whispered. "I'll bring the signed and stamped ownership papers, and you bring my… our seven pieces."

"I'll be there," Grimm said. "Just remember one thing, my friend. Attempting to cheat a Guild Questor could cost you a lot more than thirteen pieces of gold. This is just a friendly warning. I trust you will regard it in that light. I also want your assurance that I will receive untouched goods for my money."

The guard nodded earnestly. "I know better than to mess with men like you, Lord Mage. She'll be waiting for you, just as she is.

"Come along, girl," he said, yanking the girl's wrist. She went along with him, but she cast a look of purest hatred over her shoulder at Grimm.

"What are you doing?" Xylox demanded. "A Guild Questor buying a street urchin as a concubine-the concept is outrageous!"

The Senior Questor's knuckles were white as he gripped his staff. Tordun and Crest seemed no happier than Xylox, their expressions dark.

"Oh, come on, fellows!" Grimm protested as soon as the guard had left. "What sort of person do you take me for? The moment the papers are handed over, I will give them to the girl. She will be free to go; perhaps she will choose a more lucrative and licit career from now on."

The two warriors looked relieved. "I never really doubted you, Questor," Crest said, embarrassed. "But you were a very convincing actor."

A sudden thought seemed to flit across his brow. "It looks like I'd better keep my more larcenous talents well hidden round here. The thought of being sold off as a pet stud to some bloated noblewoman doesn't appeal to me!"

Xylox snarled, "So, are you going to spend your money on every thieving little waif or stray who comes your way? Thirteen gold pieces to buy freedom for a reprobate girl who will doubtless end up in the same predicament a week from now; hah! I take no pleasure in saying this, Questor Grimm, but you have been spendthrift and reckless."

"With respect, Questor Xylox," Grimm retorted, "it is my money to spend as I see fit. Call it a moment of madness, if you wish, but I will not have you as my conscience. The girl was caught because I was intent on teaching her a lesson; my mistake, my expense."

"I will not have a female vagabond discommoding our mission," Xylox grumbled. "We have a Quest to complete."

"Do not worry," Grimm assured him. "After this evening, we will never see her again. I suggest we scout the area and see if we can learn anything about the whereabouts of this General Q."

At Xylox's suggestion, the members of the group had separated, so as to maximise the chance of gleaning relevant information about General Quelgrum; they were to meet at a stone obelisk in the town centre in five hours' time. Each member of the team was expected to garner at least one relevant fact concerning the mysterious General.

For a while, Grimm wondered just how to pose appropriate and useful questions without arousing suspicion. He decided to engage some of the Grivense townspeople in casual discourse, including the apparently innocuous word 'general' in his speech, while using his Mage Sight to study the aura of each person to whom he was talking. It made him uneasy to do so, but he guessed this was the only way to elicit the information he required without giving away his true purpose.

It took some effort to approach each stranger whilst maintaining a spontaneous, innocent, carefree air, but Grimm managed to do so.

"Greetings, friend; a lovely day, is it not?" he carolled cheerfully to the thirtieth person or so, a surly-looking, one-armed individual sitting at an isolated knife and sword stall.

The knife-seller shrugged. "It's all right, I suppose. Have you come to buy, or just to pass the time of day?"

Grimm smiled. "That depends on the quality of your wares, good stallholder. I find myself in need of a decent hunting knife, like that one."

He indicated a blade near the front of the display. It was a fine piece of workmanship, with an ebony haft and a blade of fine-grained blue steel with a gold inlay in the shape of a fire-breathing dragon. It looked very expensive.

At once, pale-green tendrils of avarice flickered through the stallholder's aura, and the man's smile showed that he sensed the prospect of a lucrative sale.

"Ah, yes, that's a lovely piece of work, Lord Mage; you have a keen eye for quality. It was one of the last pieces forged by the great Amar Strufel before he died. Blades like this are rarely seen since the death of Amar, I assure you. Please, pick it up and feel the fine balance in the knife. Note the keen edge. Such a blade will stay sharp when inferior examples would become dull and notched."

Grimm did as the stallholder suggested. The man had not lied; the workmanship was superb. He hefted the blade, turned it this way and that and rubbed his forefinger along the wide blade. The steel bore the texture of the finest silk, a texture he knew well from his youth in the smithy.

"It is indeed splendid," he said, "a marvellous piece of work. I have an idea of the prices of blades for general use, but I imagine this would cost a little more."

Grimm noted a definite surge in the knife-seller's emotion at the use of the word 'general'.

Interesting, he thought. Perhaps I'm getting somewhere here.

"Of course, the knife is a little more expensive than your ordinary blade," the stallholder said, with the confident patter of a salesman who senses a big sale. "Nonetheless, it is a bargain at three gold pieces; you will never have need of another. Three golds; say it quickly. Not too much for a piece of this quality, is it?"

"Indeed, the offer does seem tempting," Grimm said, rubbing his bearded chin. "I had not expected to come upon such a fine blade so easily, without having to fight through a crowd of eager buyers. It makes a pleasant change to be able to do so, rather than to have to wait in a general line."

Grimm saw a massive, unmistakable spike of naked fear flower in the stallholder's aura before it was subsumed by the swarming tentacles of avarice. As the knife-seller opened his mouth to close the sale, Grimm looked around himself to verify that nobody was close, gathered his will into a tight knot in his sensorium and projected it at the vendor with the force of a cannonball. No magical word or gesture was necessary; this was a naked contest of wills, and the mage felt confident of success.

He needed a fair amount of energy in order to crush the hapless man's will, but he did not begrudge it.

After a few moments, the knife-seller's eyes became blank, staring orbs and his body relaxed.

"Your will is mine," Grimm droned. "You will do as I command."

"I'll do as you command," was the lifeless response, devoid of personality.

"What do you know of General Sleafel Quelgrum?" Grimm asked, in a pleasant, conversational tone.

"I sell weapons to his army," the one-armed man replied. "I make little, if any, profit from the sales, but he isn't a man to be trifled with. He frightens me. I'm not supposed to tell anybody about him."

"Do you know what his interest might be in controlling a group of Guild Mages?"

"No. He has an army, but I don't know anything about any mages."

Grimm paused a moment as a man-at-arms strode towards the stall, but the guard seemed uninterested in purchasing weapons, and he passed on by.