Grimm found the anticlimax almost as satisfying as a climatic victory might have been. He administered an oath to the General, scrutinising his aura with his Mage Sight, finding only signs of relief at a long struggle ended. It was evident that the young mage's offer of a permanent home for his men had been accepted with gratitude by the old soldier, who said he would make immediate plans for the departure of his army to Crar. The Questor knew, beyond doubt, that Quelgrum's oath was good.
In the presence of Grimm's group, the General gave strict orders to Perfuco and his four fellow slaves that their primary loyalty was to the Guild alone, completing his instructions with the word "persimmon". This, the soldier avowed, was a post-hypnotic word that released the men from their Technological ensorcelment.
From the confused, lost expressions on the mages' faces, and after scanning the mages' auras, Grimm could see Quelgrum had been as good as his word. The thaumaturges seemed free from their former influence.
Noting a familiar pendant around Perfuco's neck, Xylox held his hand out to the Mentalist.
"I think you are wearing something that belongs to me, Mentalist Perfuco," he growled. "I would be grateful for its return."
Perfuco seemed baffled, but he looked down to see the red gem hanging over his chest. The mage removed the pendant and surrendered it to Xylox, an apologetic expression suffusing his face.
"Forgive me, Questor Xylox. I was not responsible for my actions when I took this."
Replacing his prized amulet, which had the power to repel a speeding projectile back to its sender, around his neck, Xylox grunted.
"No apology is necessary, Brother Mage. Welcome back to our beloved Guild."
The Mentalist bowed. "Questor Xylox; if you would be so kind as to excuse me, I would like to exchange this green garb for something better befitting a Guild Mage."
Perfuco's acolytes found their voices, and they echoed his sentiments.
Grimm realised he knew none of their names and nothing about them. This was quickly remedied, as the Mentalist introduced Grimm and his companions to the other mages.
As they made to leave, Xylox called out to Perfuco. "Mage Mentalist! My companions and I are without suitable apparel, having left our effects in the Shest Mountains. I would take it as a singular favour if any of you could rectify our current lack; I should hate to present myself before my House Prelate in my current state of dress."
Grimm had all but forgotten his revealing, embarrassing robe, but he echoed the senior mage's concern, as did Drexelica, who now stood with her back to the wall.
One of the Illusionists, a tall man named Mattas, nodded. "I brought several changes of clothes with me from Haven, and I would be happy to help-you have delivered us from dire enslavement, and such a token of gratitude would be the least I could do for my rescuers."
Within ten minutes, Grimm was wearing a simple brown robe, which, at least, left him decently covered. Mattas offered Xylox a similar robe that swamped the Questor, but he was able to cut it down to size with a pair of shears from his pack. Drexelica opted for a blue cloak, which covered her back despite leaving the lower parts of her legs exposed to view.
Hands were shaken, and vows of eternal friendship exchanged, but it was all a blur to Grimm. Questions whirled within the Questor's brain: how had his deception been concealed from Perfuco? How had Dalquist latched onto Quelgrum's plot? How had Grimm maintained his preternatural confidence in his eventual success when faced with such insurmountable odds? These questions demanded an answer, but the young mage waited until Perfuco and his companions left the room.
Dalquist beamed at Grimm, and the two Questors embraced as brothers while the other adventurers looked on. All appeared bemused, except for Crest, who offered the thaumaturge a hearty greeting. This was returned with equal enthusiasm. When the junior mage was sure that no ears outside the room were listening, he addressed his brother Questor.
"Dalquist, it is so good to see you!" he crowed. "How on earth did High Lodge become aware of the General's plans?"
His friend laughed long and loud. "It didn't, Grimm!"
Xylox shot a hard look at the mage, perhaps for Dalquist's omission of Mage Speech, but it seemed he felt powerless to criticise a fellow Questor who bore as many rings on his staff as he.
"Lord Thorn has a few Secular spies in Griven, Grimm," Dalquist continued. "They reported that you had departed for the mountains, and they guessed your eventual destination. When the town was flooded with refugees from that mountain complex-Haven, is it?-he dispatched me to Griven to gather information. It didn't take too long to guess what had happened. The rest, as they say, is history."
"What about this mage army of yours, Questor Dalquist?" Xylox demanded. "Where are they?"
"I don't have one," Dalquist admitted. "I assembled a small group of warriors and misfits and pretended they were the avant-garde of a mighty force. It seems your attack was just in time to convince these people that they were besieged, and that your attack must be of a diversionary nature."
"How did Illusionist Stepan fail to see through this illusion?" Grimm demanded, frowning. "You must surely have known that Quelgrum had mages under his command."
Dalquist chuckled. "Of course I did, Grimm, but I also knew they were all Specialists skilled in the beguilement of the mind; once they encountered a verifiable Guild Mage, I knew they would be on their guard for a magical deception. I gambled that such men would rely on their Sight to tell them of any Glamour or Illusion, to the exclusion of all other considerations. My companions' staves were simple lengths of wood, stained and painted, and their fine robes were supplied from my wardrobe and the Grivense tailors. There was no magical illusion.
"I know Mage Sight cannot distinguish the details of auras beyond a few yards, so I kept the men at a good distance. This Stepan spent all his effort on seeking a magical deception that was not there, so I only had to work to conceal my own deceit. It cost me a fair amount of energy, but it worked."
The normally saturnine Xylox grinned and clapped his hands. "Well done, Questor Dalquist! That was an ingenious stratagem!"
Seeming to remember the dour image he had cultivated at such length, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, Brother Mage; you have done well," he added, in a more restrained tone.
Grimm suppressed a smile.
Our impenetrable super-mage seems to become more human with every hour! Grimm thought.
Xylox turned to face his junior. "Are you not nurturing a viper in your bosom, Questor Grimm? This man, Quelgrum, should not be allowed to live; he has enslaved Guild Mages, and he threatened High Lodge!"
"I think I can best answer that, Questor Xylox," Dalquist said, inspecting his fingernails. "I Saw the General's aura as he assembled his cadre: he radiated relief and happiness, and he is no mage. I would have been able to See any external spell cast on him, and I didn't.
"I Saw some chagrin, to be sure, but not the slightest hint of treachery or deceit. I think Grimm's fiefdom will be well protected, and that the Guild may well have an army on which it can call in times of dire need. Isn't that so, Grimm?"
Grimm smoothed his hair over his pate. "I have not… I haven't even thought about it, Dalquist," he confessed, daring to discard the irksome, formal Mage Speech in the manner of his friend, despite Xylox's disapproving glare.
"I'm just tired, and happy that we've succeeded on this difficult Quest. I think… I know we can trust Quelgrum to carry out his duties to the letter. His men will follow him. If they don't, they'll have to answer to my demon Seneschal, Shakkar. If Shakkar had been here with us, I don't think Quelgrum's soldiers would have stood a chance."
"You seem to have amassed an interesting collection of friends, Grimm," Xylox said, for the first time failing to keep the young Questor at arms' length by the use of a formal title.
"What do you think, Questor Xylox?" Dalquist asked. "Has the boy done well?"
Xylox snorted. "He was an impertinent, insolent renegade. I was ready to have the whelp sent back to the scullery at one stage," he said, his face dark and threatening.
"And now, Brother Mage?" Dalquist's tone was as smooth as wet ice. "Are you still as determined to condemn him to eternal servitude?"
Xylox cast a critical eye at Grimm. "I had already decided to limit my recommendation to a simple rebuke, but Questor Grimm is still impertinent and insubordinate. He lacks discipline, and I cannot be expected to ignore that."
"I served under Questor Olaf, on his last Quest," Dalquist said, and Xylox blinked. "He regaled me with tales of how a young Fourth Level Questor once defied him during a Quest. The same Questor negotiated a trade deal with rebellious Therian merchants who had threatened to blockade all Guild shipments, despite Olaf's explicit veto on any such agreement.
"Questor Olaf told me how that young mage defied him and even swore at him, yet I understand he recommended to Lord Thorn and High Lodge that this callow, insubordinate mage be elevated to a higher rank. That Questor was rebellious, and yet he succeeded-I believe the appropriate term is 'lucky'. Is this Questor not lucky?"
"Perhaps… perhaps he is, at that." His discomfiture was plain to see, but even Grimm admired how the proud mage fought to retain his dignity in spite of Dalquist's baiting.
"Perhaps?" Dalquist said. "Perhaps I could discourse with you at length later, Questor Xylox? I heard many interesting tales from Questor Olaf that I would gladly share with you. Do you care to hear them? Some are quite amusing; even graphic. The dear man can be so garrulous when in his cups."
The older mage sighed, and his eyes blazed. "Questor Dalquist; I would gladly exchange reminiscences with you, but perhaps it should wait until we are safely back at Arnor."
Grimm affected a fit of coughing to cover the broad smile he felt spreading across his face. He knew the senior mage would prefer some of these memories and perhaps Dalquist, too, to be dead and buried.
"We have more urgent matters to discuss, such as the completion of our Quest," Xylox said, resuming his arrogant, overbearing role as Senior Questor.
"My first duty is to return to High Lodge with Perfuco and his fellows, in order to requite our obligations to the Guild. Questor Grimm, I suggest that you accompany Quelgrum and his army to Crar and deliver a solemn oath of fealty to each man, binding him to the defence of your Barony and the greater needs of our beloved Guild; I trust you to inspect each man's aura, and to dismiss or destroy any whose motive is not true."
Grimm felt gratified that Xylox had modified his opinion of his junior Questor to the extent that he would trust him to carry out such an onerous and responsible duty. Nonetheless, one thing remained to settle.
Drawing the older mage to one side, the young thaumaturge whispered, "Your report to Lord Thorn, Questor Xylox, have you decided what you will say in it?"
Several seconds of silence crawled past.
"I still consider you a disrespectful, impetuous whelp, Questor Grimm," Xylox growled, "but I acknowledge that you are a resourceful and powerful mage, and that our Quest might have been less successful without your aid."
Grimm fought to keep the astonishment from his face; from Xylox, this was high praise, indeed!
"After deep consideration, I find that your contributions to this enterprise have been of some value to the aims of the Guild," the mage continued, in a conspiratorial tone, almost as if discussing treason. "I feel duty bound to declare your many shortcomings in comportment, but my report with regard to your performance will be, on balance, favourable. You need fear no longer for your continuance as a Guild Questor; I feel now that our House would be the poorer for your loss. I shall report that you are injured and exhausted after your efforts on behalf of the Guild. I will recommend that you remain in Crar for a period of at least two months. You have my implicit trust, and I assure you that I have sufficient honours heaped on my name not to exaggerate my own role in our victory. I will also recommend Questor Dalquist for his resourcefulness."
It felt as if a ton weight had been removed from Grimm's shoulders, and the young Questor fought welling tears.
"Thank you, Questor Xylox," he whispered.
"Well met, Questor Grimm," the senior mage drawled. "Now we must arrange our transport. I have no intention of travelling to High Lodge in one of these cursed, Technological vehicles, and so I trust to Questor Dalquist to provide a more suitable conveyance. I leave you to your own conscience in this regard."
"I shall accompany the General and his men in their metal contraptions," Grimm declared. "They will need direction, and I do not propose to walk to Crar"
"What of these Technological weapons and machines?" Xylox demanded. "What will you do with them?"
"I have decided to retain them," Grimm said, meeting Xylox's stern gaze with equal intensity, "but only to be used in the case of direct assault on the Barony of Crar, or on the Guild. I will fulfil my sworn Oath in all regards; these men and their resources are at the disposal of the Guild whenever they may be required."
"Very well, Questor Grimm," Xylox growled, shaking his head. "Much though I loathe all ramifications of this ancient art, I would rather it were used in our service than in the hands of a renegade. I offer you a free hand in this regard. However, I will deal with the detestable Armitage myself; he will die at my hands, but I shall be merciful."
An automatic reaction arose within Grimm to reject this proposal, but he quashed it. Armitage was too dangerous to live; he did not care what he did to any being, so long as it advanced his knowledge. The man was evil, and Grimm could not find any objection to the prospect of Armitage's death.
"Good hunting, Brother Mage," he said. "Armitage may be considered dead already, and I will not weep for him."
Although Grimm had left far behind the insecure boy he had once been, a small segment of his conscience nagged him over his rapid acceptance of the cool murder of a fellow human, no matter how callous.
The large train of vehicles stopped short of Crar, at Grimm's command, and the Questor walked the last quarter-mile to the formidable city gates alone.
"Who goes there?" came the challenge from the bastion.
"I am Baron Grimm," the mage replied. "I have brought an army with me. I bring Crar security and safety against any foe. Starmor is dead, and this force will preclude invasion from any other of his ilk. I request free passage for our protective force, which is under my complete command. Send the Mayor; he should vouch for me."
The suspicious face at the ramparts disappeared, to be replaced in due course by that of Mayor Chod.
The Mayor peered at Grimm from the high walls and commanded that the gates be flung wide, without delay.
The Questor breathed a deep sigh of relief. At least he had not been forgotten!
Grimm felt irritable and befuddled. All he wanted was a soft bed and surcease, after five exhausting days of interviews at the side of his trusty demon Seneschal, Shakkar. Crar was safe, and the mage wanted nothing more than a comfortable bed, content in his successes. He wanted to be alone.
However, when he finally climbed the winding, softly singing staircase to his chamber, he saw Drexelica standing just inside the open door.
"It's all right," she whispered to him.
Grimm blinked, fighting torpor. What did she mean?
"We all need somebody else in our lives, boy-mage," she said, her voice as beguiling and as entrancing as any Mentalist's.
He recognised the power her voice had over him, even though he knew she was using no magic on him. This did not feel like the frantic, desperate passion he had felt when the witch-nun, Madeleine, had attempted to control him at High Lodge.
Grimm's feelings were as strong now as they had been then, but he knew that his confused emotions were at least his own, and very different from those he had felt just before the reckless battle against Quelgrum's forces.
"You masked my aura from Perfuco, didn't you, Drex?" he said, without a trace of condemnation.
Drex shrugged. "I can't deny it, Grimm," she said, smiling. "I tweaked your self-confidence, too, but just a little. I did use witch magic, but does that make it bad? I did it for you, not for me."
Her arms were open, and Grimm found himself unable to resist. He said nothing, launching himself into her embrace and kissing her with a fierce passion, born of the release of tension after a long, hard struggle. The kiss seemed to last forever, but it came to an end at last, and he looked at the beautiful girl, a nervous expression distorting his features.
"It's all right," she whispered, as Grimm trembled, his breath rapid and shallow. "It's all right, my baby."
Grimm reached for her again, as warm waves of long-pent, physical need washed through him, but he stopped short, groaning in frustration.
"I can't, Drex," he moaned, although he wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted. "I can't. It'll destroy my magic. I have a vow not only to my House, but to redeem the Afelnor name in the eyes of the Guild, for my grandfather's sake. I want you, more than anything else, ever, but I can't have you."
"Is that what they tell you, Grimm?" she snorted, stamping her foot. "I don't believe it. I think they just say that to make you put all your energy into their bloody Quests. They think your having someone more important than them weakens their hold over you. I don't believe this fairy tale at all."
Grimm screwed up his eyes in agony. "I… I can't take the risk, Drex. This ring means so much to me." The words were strong, but he knew his voice was weak and uncertain.
"More than me?" she asked, dropping her blue gown to the floor.
The voices of passion screamed ever louder in his head, overwhelming everything else: his oath, his duty, his very name. He fought as only a Questor could, but this new magic seemed more powerful than any spell he could cast.
The girl lay on the bed; open, inviting, infinitely desirable, and he surrendered. Damn Thorn! Damn the Guild! Damn this lonely, monastic life!
Grimm growled and approached her, his heart pounding like a steam-hammer.
In his passion, Grimm reached his hot, sticky climax in only a few minutes. Drex bit her lip and closed her eyes. Grimm knew she had found little physical pleasure in their frenzied, animalistic coupling, but the burgeoning needs of his body took him beyond all care and reason. A detached part of the mage's brain reeled in horror at this unaccustomed loss of control, but it was unable to restrain him.
When his lust abated and rationality returned to him, Grimm saw blood on the sheets, and he recoiled.
"Drex, Drex, I'm so sorry!" he blurted, horrified. "I hurt you! How can you ever forgive me?"
"That was my first time, too, Grimm Afelnor," Drex replied, her face calm. "I was told the first time would hurt a little, and that a little blood is normal. But you did nothing to me against my will; I wanted you and nobody else. I'm happy."
"It was worth it; losing my power, I mean," the young Questor said, trying to be gallant, but he felt a vague unease rising within him, growing stronger by the minute, belying his brave words.
I'm no longer a mage! his mind screamed. I've lost everything, everything! I'm a forsworn Oathbreaker, just like they called Granfer Loras! Only this is my fault!
Post-coital tears prickled at the margins of his eyes as the gravity of his offence began to hit home. Cold panic welled up as Grimm realised he was naked inside as well as out.
Hoping against hope, he tried to summon his power, but his efforts resulted in a confused tangle of magical skeins. Trembling, he tried again and again, but his inner force was no longer under his command.
"It's all true, Drex!" he cried, shaking with horror. "I can't do it anymore. I'm no longer a mage!"
"I meant what I told you," Drexelica said, her tone level but urgent. "I'm a witch; not a very strong one, but a witch, anyway. Sometimes, we can see things ordinary people can't, just like you mages can. You're as powerful as you ever were."
Grimm tried to meet her gaze, but he could not do so.
"I don't think you'll be able to cast spells as long as you tell yourself you can't," she continued, "but I don't believe for a moment that our love will take your strength from you, or I wouldn't have done it, I swear!"
"It's all true!" Grimm repeated, hearing the note of rising hysteria in his trembling voice. That frightened him almost as much as the loss of his power, and he fought to control his emotions.
"Look at me, Grimm Afelnor."
Drex's words were sharp and harsh, striking home with the force of a hard slap to the face, and Grimm complied with her command.
The girl lifted the Questor's left hand and touched the blue-and-gold Guild ring on his third finger. She rolled it around his finger; it revolved with ease. Still looking into his eyes, she took firm hold and pulled it. In an instant, the ring closed on the mage's finger, making it impossible to remove.
"Does that happen to-what do you call them-Seculars?" she demanded. "Even mages who've lost their powers?"
Grimm shook his head, listless. "It doesn't work that way, Drex," he sighed. "A Guild Ring has its own magic, and it doesn't depend on whether you still have powers. This is my Granfer's ring, and even the Conclave that destroyed his powers couldn't take it from him."
"Well, then, try something else," Drex said with a snort. "What about your staff? Doesn't it come whenever you call it?"
"Redeemer," he muttered, expecting no response, but the staff leapt to his outstretched right hand, as it always did when summoned. So swift was Redeemer in its progress that it might have brained his lover if he had held out his left hand.
I'm pretty sure you have to be a mage to do that, he thought, his heart pounding with hope. Could Drex be right and the Guild wrong, after all?
The girl said nothing, but she raised a quizzical eyebrow, challenging him.
Grimm looked into his psyche, gathering the tangled threads of power, arranging them into orderly rows. He felt sweat dripping from his chin as he carried out what had once been an operation as simple to him as breathing, but he succeeded.
Drawing a deep breath, he drew the pale tendrils together and compressed them into a tight, golden sphere. Breathing out, he released a tiny amount of inner energy and uttered three syllables: "Sh'k'kesh!"
For a moment, he feared the spell would fail, damned by his attack of animal passion, but an obedient, blue flame flickered into life at the end of his left index finger without burning him.
Willing the flame to die, he gathered his powers again, this time with his accustomed ease. He did not cast his spell for a few moments, contenting himself with the feeling of strength that now coursed through him.
A different burst of nonsense from his lips brought the flame back, and he willed it higher and higher, until it almost reached the ceiling.
Grimm laughed for the first time since he had embarked on his last Quest, a month before.
"You see?" Drex crowed, her eyes moist and glittering. "You see, Grimm? You haven't lost anything. You're still a Questor; my Questor, if you'll have me."
"They lied!" Grimm whispered, staring in disbelief at the cold flame dancing on his fingertip. "The Guild lied to me."
The young sorcerer knew the life of a Questor often involved subterfuge and deceit, but he took it as an article of faith that openness and honesty within the ranks of the Guild were sacrosanct.
'Women are dirty and feral, seeking only to steal a mage's power. Stay away from them.'
'A single kiss, a single careless moment of passion will destroy all you have worked for. Keep your distance from the temptresses and harlots.'
'A passionate woman is a poisoned chalice, seeking to steal your strength and your manhood.'
How many times have I been warned about the pernicious effects of women? Grimm wondered. Is Drex some scheming whore or a manipulative trollop? Was she only trying to destroy me as a mage?
No! She had worked to convince him of the falsity of these beliefs, which were pounded into every single Student, Neophyte, Adept and Mage from the age of seven onwards.
What other lies had the Magemasters pounded into him during his painful conversion from a sensitive, introverted boy to a mighty Mage Questor? From what he had learned from the demon, Starmor, and the cryptic note he had once found in the Scholasticate Library, Grimm began to suspect that Lord Thorn knew far more about Loras' disgrace than he had admitted, and he vowed to get to the bottom of the matter, sooner or later.
However, it could wait, for tonight, at least. Drex's eyes were warm and inviting, and Grimm felt invigorated; joyful; powerful. He vowed to learn the truth about his grandfather's disgrace, but later.
As Grimm Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank, Weapon of the Guild, pressed his open lips against Drexelica's and lost himself in her warm gaze, he forgot all the lies.
He now knew a magical truth that transcended all others.