Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

The spell-word "K'shaat'ka" escaped his lips, and a tendril of energy entered the collar, travelling around its circumference, feeling the inner structure of the metal. With a blue coruscation, the ugly slave-collar shivered into glittering dust that drifted to the ground. The girl looked amazed.

"There you are," Grimm said in a matter-of fact manner. "Now you are truly free. You can go where you will. Just don't steal any more, and you should be all right."

"Thank you," the grubby girl whispered, bowing her head in apparent sorrow. "I am grateful, really, but I can't stay here. The town watchmen know me as a thief now. I didn't want to steal in the first place, but my parents were killed when our house collapsed in high winds two years ago. I had to get enough money to eat, and I was not prepared to become somebody's doxy. I guess I'm too proud to beg, and beggars are tolerated no more in Griven than thieves in any case. I do have some small talent with witchcraft, but not enough to set up a stall."

At the mention of the word 'witchcraft', Grimm thought of the manipulative Madeleine. "You are a witch?" he found himself asking in disbelief. His tone was harsher than he had intended.

"Not really," the girl said, apparently taken aback, if not offended. "I have the basics, but little more than that. I know a few small healing charms and pot-mending spells, but little else. Don't you like witches or something?"

"I'm sorry if I offended you by the question… what is your name, by the way?"

"Drexelica," the ex-slave replied, pouting. "Most people call me Drex."

"Well, Drex," Grimm said, his hands spread wide in an attempt at conciliation, "I'm afraid my only experience with a witch wasn't a good one. She tried to enslave me with some sort of love spell."

Drexelica snorted. "We aren't all like that, mage. I was taught only to help and heal with magic, and I can't even do much of that. Witches are pretty common around here; it's a perfectly respectable occupation for a woman."

"I'm sorry, Drex. Let's start again, shall we? My name is Grimm Afelnor."

"Pleased to meet you, Questor Grimm," Drexelica replied. "Questor Grimm, I think perhaps I should tell you about a little custom around here. If you save somebody's life, you're responsible for them until they save yours. Now that I can't show my face around here, I need you to take me with you until I can stand on my own two feet again. In return, I'll cook for you and do as you say. Within reason, that is. If you say no, I will follow you anyway."

She crossed her arms defiantly.

"Drexelica," Grimm replied, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot in some embarrassment, "I think you ought to know we are going to a hazardous region to face a powerful and dangerous man who seems to be able to collect mages like other people collect rare bottles of wine. You would be a liability to us."

He tried to sound firm and decisive, but he knew he had failed.

The grubby girl looked unimpressed, and she smiled in a reasonable imitation of sweet innocence. "I've survived two years of living rough on the streets of Griven. I'll bet that was scarier than anywhere you're going, Questor Grimm. I'm going to stick with you, so you'd better get used to the idea."

Grimm pondered. What if Drex was a spy for General Q? He dared not take the risk.

"Drex," he said firmly. "I want to use magic on you, to see if you're telling the truth. If you refuse, I will leave you standing here like a statue until my companions and I have gone, and you'll never find us. I promise not to extract any information other than the assurance that you pose no threat to us. Do you agree?"

Drexelica shrugged. "I don't seem to have any choice."

The girl shut her eyes in apparent resignation as Grimm engaged his Mage Sight. Her aura was as white as snow, featureless and blank. Grimm now knew that this was the mark of a witch, but Drex had already told him that she was a Geomancer.

He groaned: he knew he would have to dig deeper into his depleted reserves of energy. He was glad that he did not have to use as much power as he had on the blade-seller; he would not have to block all memory of the mental invasion from the girl.

To ascertain that she was utterly under his control, he ordered her not to blink, and then touched her eyeball. She did not flinch in the least; this satisfied him that his spell had succeeded. To dispel all doubt, he walked around to her back and pushed her suddenly. Had he not been ready to catch her, she would have fallen flat on her face. She must be at his command.

"What is your purpose with me?"

"You are responsible for me because you freed me. I cannot stay here, and I need protection until I can find a new home."

"What do you know of General Sleafel Quelgrum?"

"Nothing."

"Do you intend any treachery, or theft from me or my companions?"

"No."

Grimm could think of no more relevant questions, and he released the spell. "Drexelica, you said that you are my responsibility until you save my life. That may be sooner than you think."

"How so?" Drex asked, puzzled.

"Because my dear colleague Questor Xylox is going to try to kill me when I bring you with me," he said and sighed. "Come along."

Grimm and Drexelica arrived at the obelisk to find that Crest was already there. Appraising the grubby street urchin with a critical eye, the expert wielder of blades spoke in a slightly disparaging tone.

"So this is your new purchase, eh, Questor Grimm? I hope she's worth the money." With a deft side step, the nimble elf avoided the girl's vicious answering kick with ease.

"Let me make things nice and clear," Grimm said, annoyance clouding his face. "Drexelica is not my property. I have dissolved her slave collar and surrendered the document of manumission to her. She is free."

"Is that the only reason she's still with you, mage? If you've freed her, why is she still with you? Am I expected to believe that it's pure gratitude on her part?" Crest asked with a sly wink.

Grimm felt the hot waves of an incipient blush washing over his face. "By the customs of Griven, it seems I've taken responsibility for her life until she saves mine," he said in a gruff voice. "She travels with us only until I return to Crar. She can find a new life there."

"So it's a business relationship," Drex said, with a slightly pompous air. "I do the cooking, he does the protecting. If you continue to say nasty things about me, I shall spit in your food." She stamped her foot to emphasise her annoyance, and she shot a look of pure venom at Crest.

The whip-master raised his hands in mock surrender. "Very well, lass; I know when I'm beaten."

The elf rolled his eyes as if to say, Rather you than me, mage.

Seeking to change the subject, Grimm turned to the business of the Quest. "Did you learn anything about General Quelgrum?"

Crest glanced first at Drex, and then back at Grimm. In a conspiratorial whisper, he asked "Should we be discussing such matters with this girl present?"

Grimm drew a deep breath: the half-elf was right.

"Drexelica," he said, "would you mind moving out of earshot for a while? We do have business to discuss."

Drex folded her arms across her chest. "I shall go where I want or stay where I am, if I like. It's a free town. You can't make me go if I don't want to."

"You couldn't be more wrong Drex," Grimm replied, just about holding on to his temper. "I can leave you frozen to the spot, dead to the world until I cancel the spell. Or you can do as I ask. It's up to you."

It could not have been easy to flounce in a coquettish manner whilst dressed in patched, dirty rags, but Drexelica managed it. "Very well, mage, I'll do it for you, but not for him."