Alastair Archibald: Weapon of the Guild

She stuck her tongue out at Crest and moved away while remaining in full sight.

"You've certainly got your hands full with that one, Questor," the elf observed, blowing out his cheeks. "If you're ever bold enough to let that little spitfire cook for you, I'd advise you to check for poison before you eat it."

"All right; that's enough, thank you very much!" Grimm snapped, eager to get away from the subject of the troublesome girl. Inside, he quailed at the thought of explaining to Xylox that the group would be taking on another member, in the form of the hot-tempered Drexelica. He fixed Crest with a stern eye. "The Quest; you do remember that we're on a Quest, don't you, Crest?"

"I remember perfectly well, mage," Crest answered. "I was able to glean some information indicating that the mages have all visited Griven within the last few weeks, and that they all left in the direction of the Shest Mountains. I'm sure I didn't arouse any suspicion; I just listened to the gossip around the town. These pointed ears serve me well," he added with some pride.

"I found out where the General has his camp," Grimm said, glad to be back on firm ground. "He's buying a large number of weapons, and I assume he's preparing for some kind of war. The disappearance of the mages must be connected with that in some way."

At that moment, Xylox and Tordun arrived together, the haughty mage dwarfed by the giant albino swordsman.

"Greetings, Questor Grimm; greetings, Master Crest," cried Xylox. "Tordun and I have obtained some interesting information…"

He stopped and swung around to face Grimm. "Why is that street-slattern here, may I ask?"

Xylox's tone had cooled noticeably, and his expression was dark.

"I can't seem to get rid of her, Questor Xylox," Grimm replied, on the defensive. "It's a long story."

"Tordun, Crest, kindly go and watch over the girl while I have a quiet word with my esteemed fellow mage." Xylox's tone of voice was low and dangerous, indicating anything other than admiration for his younger colleague.

The warriors shuffled off, and Grimm could see a cool smile of amusement on Crest's face as he walked away.

"Questor Grimm," Xylox hissed. "Is this some kind of pleasure trip, a jamboree for all-comers?" His eyes were narrowed and angry. Before Grimm could defend himself, the senior mage answered his own rhetorical question. "It is not. It is a solemn, sober expedition for the good of the Guild we both serve. How dare you discuss details of a Guild Quest in full sight of a Secular vagabond?"

"I made sure she would not hear any of my discussion with Crest," came the weak reply. Grimm felt as if he was on the receiving end of one of Magemaster Crohn's verbal assaults, and just as insecure as he had felt on such occasions. He switched to the starchiest Mage Speech, almost as a form of defence.

"The woman-child is free now. She chooses to stay with me rather than to take her chances in a town where she is known as a thief. I make no claim upon the girl, but I cannot stop her. I have warned her of the potential risks of the Quest without giving any details of its aim, but she is undeterred. I would also remind you, Questor Xylox, that the valorous Crest is a skilled thief as well as a warrior."

"You cannot stop her?" Xylox's tone was scornful, disbelieving. "Here is a Guild Mage, a Questor whom our esteemed Lord Dominie, in his wisdom, has seen fit to honour by accession to the Fifth Rank of our order, and yet such a powerful thaumaturge cannot stop an adolescent female urchin from following him!"

The senior mage's scornful tenor indicated that, had he been the Lord Dominie, Grimm would have been censured rather than promoted.

"Questor Xylox, I could have blasted the girl into a million fragments or turned her into a mindless zombie, had I so wished. However, it was I who drew the attention of the town watchmen by remonstrating at her attempted theft of my money-pouch, an act of desperation prompted by poverty and the indifference of the townspeople of Griven towards the plight of the needy. I therefore felt considerable guilt at the prospect of the girl being sold, like prime livestock, to the highest bidder. I feel no shame at this. Having purchased her freedom, I felt I could not ignore her heartfelt plea for a better life or, at least, a different one."

"Guilt? Shame? Feelings? Such vague and emotional motives should not be part of the lexicon of a full Guild Mage! Have you forgotten your solemn Oath?" Xylox's voice trembled with rage, but Grimm felt his own ire rising within him like hot, acidic bile, and he looked his senior directly in the eye.

Humility, be damned!

Xylox's talk of the Guild Oath brought thoughts of Grimm's disgraced grandfather Loras Afelnor, the hated Oathbreaker. The young mage had sworn to redeem his family name, and he would let no man call him traitor.

"I am a Guild Mage, Questor Xylox, and I have sworn a blood oath to uphold the principles of the Guild, just as you have; an oath I will never forget or betray. But I have not surrendered my humanity, nor will I ever do so; not for you, not for my revered Magemaster, Crohn, not for the Lord Dominie. I have killed, and I will doubtless kill again some day, perhaps far sooner than I would wish; but I swear on my life and my soul that I will never snuff out the life of a human just in order to remove some trifling inconvenience. I will not push or bully another human being just because I can do so with ease. A Questor is supposed to be a paragon amongst mages; a gentleman, a scholar, a weapon of the Guild to be directed towards only its vilest enemies."

Grimm raised his voice almost to a shout. "Are you trying to tell me that this insecure, helpless young girl is a worthy target for such a weapon? If so, I invite you to vent your wrath upon her; know, however, that if you do so, you will earn nothing but my rankest contempt, Xylox the Mighty. You will deserve nothing more."

Grimm now straightened up to his full height, forcing the senior mage to look upwards in order to meet the younger Questor's censorious gaze. Long moments passed as the each magic-user attempted to stare down the other to no avail; each possessed willpower beyond the comprehension of most mortals. Finally Xylox spoke, but his voice was not one of surrender or conciliation.

"Very well, Questor Grimm," he said. "You will have your way for one last time. As senior mage, I rebuke you for your weakness, and you may be sure that I will include this censure in my report to Lord Prelate Thorn on our return. However, I have decided to allow this… this street creature to accompany us, as long as she does not pose a threat to the potential success of our Quest. I make this decision because I feel it is bad for discipline to override the decision of another Mage Questor in the face of mere Seculars.

"As a last remark, I will declare that I regard you as quite unfit to hold the staff and the ring. I will tell Lord Thorn as much when I return to the House, and I will recommend that you never be sent on another Quest for as long as you may live. After many years of loyal service, Prelate Thorn listens to my advice, as you will find. You are finished, Questor Grimm; enjoy the title while you still hold it. I will not seek to embarrass you by mentioning this to the warriors, but I will not forget how you have spoken to me, your senior mage. You can be sure that I will also keep a close eye on your friend Dalquist, who chose to heap such extravagant praise on such a recalcitrant excuse for a mage after his first Quest."

Grimm shrank from the wrath of Xylox's verbal onslaught. With a hot shock of dismay, he realised he had gone too far by confronting the proud senior mage. After all his suffering, all his struggle, he knew that the older man could destroy him with a word, and that he would do so without the slightest qualm.