Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

"Does the General, or one of his acolytes, buy the weapons in person, or do you ship them to him?"

"He made the first few purchases in person. I think that was just so he could scare me; it worked. Since then, I have had the blades and other weapons shipped directly to him at Glabra."

"Glabra? Where is that?" Grimm asked.

"It's thirty miles to the northwest of here, as the crow flies but, of course, I have to send the wagons around the Shest Mountains, through the Grunet Badlands. That adds another forty miles to the trip. I lost several good men there; they got sick and died."

Grimm had read of the Grunet Badlands during his researches. He knew that a vile, wasting sickness resided in the desolate region; a reputed legacy of the Final War.

He furrowed his brow. From his limited knowledge of the local geography, there seemed to be a far more direct route.

"Why don't you ship over the mountains?" he asked, puzzled. "That way, you could avoid the Badlands."

"I can't get a wagon train through the mountain pass," the knife-seller replied, his eyes still glassy and dispassionate. "A pack-horse might get through, I suppose, but not a caravan of heavily-laden carts. The General wants his weapons on demand, and I'm scared to refuse him. After I sent a few loads to him, he gave me some metal… clicky things he said would help in Grunet. When it clicks a lot, you move until it clicks less; then you don't get so sick. I don't lose nearly so many men now."

The knife-seller's talk of 'clicky things' meant nothing to Grimm but, from what the vendor had said, crossing the mountains on horseback seemed to be a valid means of access to Glabra.

"How far is Glabra from the other side of the mountain pass?"

"I don't know," the ensorcelled man admitted. "But my men tell me they can see the General's camp from miles away. There's a great big curved wall you can't miss. It should be easy to find."

Grimm decided he was unlikely to glean much more from the knife-seller. He hoped Xylox would approve of the information he had gathered.

The mage glanced at a large clock-face on a nearby building; he was supposed to pick up the girl from the guardhouse in ten minutes.

Drawing a deep breath, he began to withdraw the sharp strands of his will from the glassy-eyed stallholder. As the first vague signs of self-awareness began to show on the man's face, Grimm said, "You will remember nothing of what has just passed between us. All you know is that I am interested in the blade. Is that understood?"

The one-armed man squirmed as Grimm lanced into his mind a blade keener than any on his stall.

"You only want to buy the knife," he moaned, as if caught in the crossfire of pain and ecstasy. Grimm sighed in relief as he drew his mind back into his own head. The knife-seller was disorientated for a few moments, but he soon gathered his wits with a shake of his head.

"What was I saying? Oh, yes. You will never find a blade of this quality for such a low price," he said, recovering his confident sales patter. "It is a bargain at three golds."

"I might pay three if you were to include a good quality leather scabbard," countered Grimm, maintaining an even tone despite the painful pounding in his temples.

"Three-fifty," the stallholder replied.

"Three-twenty-five. That is my final offer."

"Are you trying to steal the food from my children's mouths?" the vendor cried, but he paused for a few moments. "Very well; the blade is yours. You drive a hard bargain, Lord Mage."

****

Grimm was out of breath by the time he reached the guardhouse, a squalid little ivy-infested rotunda at the southern side of the market square, and he took a few moments to compose himself. He made to open the heavy oak door when he saw a movement in the bushes to the left of the building.

"Lord Mage!" A harsh whisper came from the greenery. It was, of course, the guardsman with whom he had arranged the transfer of the girl to his ownership.

"Why are you skulking there in the undergrowth? Is there some problem?" Grimm snarled.

"No problem, Lord Mage," the guard assured him. "I have the papers of ownership ready, signed and sealed, and the girl is in one of the cells, untouched as you requested. However, I would be very grateful if you gave the remaining seven golds to me now, outside the guardhouse. Some of the boys inside are asleep, and I don't want to disturb them."

Grimm smiled. No doubt, the guard had told his cronies little if anything of the offer. Suppressing a grin at the man-at-arm's evident discomfiture, he handed over the gold coins, which rapidly disappeared inside the man's jerkin.

"If you'd be so kind to wait here, Lord Mage?" The guard all but skipped into the rotunda, now apparently unconcerned for the slumber of his fellow watchmen. Several minutes passed, and Grimm began to wonder if he had been duped, despite his earlier warning of dire retribution, but the guard emerged at last, dragging the kicking, cursing girl behind him.

"You've got a live one here, mage," the man gasped, jerking his arm away from the girl's mouth as she attempted to bite him. "All I can say is 'good luck'. I reckon you'll have your hands full."

"Oh, I like a good fight," Grimm said. "Do you have the papers?"

The guard, still struggling with his captive, managed to produce a pair of documents from his jerkin with his free hand.

"Paper-quieten down, you minx! — of ownership, five years-ouch! Five years, but if you don't say anything, I won't either. Look here; grab hold, will you? She's eating me alive!"

Grimm took the girl's wrist, and he had to force her to the ground to stop her trying to sink her teeth into his arm.

"All right, just hand them over. I haven't got all day," he grunted.

"Would you sign here, please, Lord Mage?" the guardsman asked, grinning at Grimm's predicament and holding out another scrap of paper and a pencil. The Questor saw that the sum written on the bill of sale was five gold pieces, but he pretended not to notice. With some difficulty, he transferred the fiercely struggling girl to his left hand.

"Lean over, please, guardsman." As the guard obligingly bent down, Grimm felt tempted to ram the pencil into the loathsome man's back, but he restrained himself and signed the receipt, using the obligingly offered expanse of leather-armoured skin as an easel.

Straightening up, the watchman pocketed the slip of paper, smiling.

"She's all yours, Lord Mage. Enjoy yourself."

With a repulsive wink, he excused himself and headed into the town square, doubtless in search of Griven's fleshpots. The girl continued to squirm and spit at Grimm, and he subdued her with an intense push of Questor power combined with the Minor Magic spell of Inner Quietude.

"Listen, girl!" he whispered. "You're free. Your life is your own again. Take it, and find a better way of living; one that doesn't involve trying to steal from Guild Mages. Most of them aren't as forgiving as I am.

"If you need money to rebuild your life, I'll give you money. Take the paper. You are your own person once more. I have no claim upon you. You're free."

Recovering her senses as the spell wore off; the girl stared at the paper in her hands.

"I have this collar round my neck," she said, in a quiet and surprisingly educated voice. "It marks me as a slave, no matter what pieces of paper I have. The guards put it on me; they say even a blacksmith couldn't cut it without cutting my head off."

The collar was an ugly, heavy brass ring, hinged at the back and welded at the front.

Grimm shrugged. "Perhaps a blacksmith couldn't get it off, but maybe the son and grandson of blacksmiths can do better," he said. He had expended a considerable amount of his inner store of energy that day, but he knew that he had more than enough in reserve for his spell of Enhanced Disintegration.