"Why in the world would she want to hide away a heap of worthless junk like this?" Guy railed, tossing a handful of the rags onto the damp flagstones.
"Excuse me, Questor Guy," Grimm said, pushing past the foppish mage.
"Oh, feel free to hunt for pearls in this pile of garbage for as long as you like," Guy muttered. "I'm off." He sounded to Grimm like a petulant child denied a second slice of his favourite pie.
"Hold on, Guy. Just a few more minutes, please." He began to search through the pile of rags, inspecting each scrap of cloth in turn.
That's what I was looking for! he thought, eying a fragment of rich, purple velvet. As he picked it up, he felt a sharp thrill run through him, and the name, 'Madeleine', came into his head, unbidden.
With a shock of realisation, he stood upright, holding the violet rag high. "It's hers. I'm sure of it," he gasped. "Madeleine: the girl I saw murdered in my dream. This is just what we need!"
He turned to the Necromancer. "Can you contact the dead through their possessions, Numal?"
"Not yet," Numal confessed.
Guy snorted, "No surprises there."
"But any Necromancer of the Third Rank, or above, could do it. There's a standard spell for it, although I don't know it yet."
"This explains everything!" Grimm declared, suffused with satisfaction.
"Oh, good," Guy said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll let you carry on with your needlework. Doubtless, you intend to make a patchwork quilt in honour of my sainted grandmother. Enjoy yourselves, and good riddance to you." He turned on his heel and began to walk away, his staff bobbing behind him.
"This is her power base!" Grimm cried. "If we destroy that, she's all but powerless within High Lodge. This 'garbage' is what allows her to operate here!"
Guy stopped and stood, although he did not turn around.
"Explain." For once, his voice seemed free of sarcasm and belittlement.
"Yes, please do, Grimm," Numal said, his brow as furrowed as a farmer's field.
"This place, this crypt, was chosen for its central location alone, because it allows Lizaveta to spread nodes of power throughout High Lodge," Grimm said. "That means she can use her Geomantic magic anywhere inside the building, without being in direct contact with the earth. I should have thought of it before; most witches prefer to conduct their spells in the open, preferring not to enter buildings without an earthen floor. A web of Geomantic power extends from here to every part of High Lodge, drawn from the earth."
"Looks more like flagstones to me," Guy said. He did not turn round, but Grimm heard growing interest in his voice.
"Precisely," the young Questor said. "I read of a basic Geomantic principle, although it meant nothing to me at the time: 'contact is eternal'. The sacrifices wore these rags at the time of their deaths. They were butchered here, according to a prescribed ritual: their blood flowed between the flagstones into the earth. During the ritual, Lizaveta took a sample of their hair, one of their bones, or a scrap of their clothes, and bound it to her. This gives her and her closest acolytes intimate contact with the earth, and it enhances their power accordingly, growing with each sacrifice."
Retaining the fragment of Madeleine's velvet dress, he pointed at the throne and concentrated, summoning and ordering his power.
"Sh'shakk't!"
The nonsense word burst from Grimm, and the throne's contents shivered into insubstantial motes. He sank to his knees in the circular depression before the altar and stared at the gap surrounding the round centre stone, placing his palms flat on the stone. He remembered how Magemaster Crohn, during one of his long, tedious monologues on the various classifications of runic spells, had mentioned spells of Gathering, and their applications. Although the Magemaster had divulged no details of these enchantments, the principle seemed clear enough to him.
That was all a Mage Questor needed to cast any spell.
Blood, arise from the earth.
With his Mage Sight, Grimm followed the brown tendrils of life-essence as they snaked through the interstices of the bedrock beneath High Lodge.
Arise, and be free.
The young mage groaned as he felt the tortures and agonies visited upon the victims of Lizaveta's evil lust crowding in upon him, a score of voices screaming for release. Come!
A flurry of syllables flew from his lips, and a fine spray of brown dust began to fly from between the stones, showering over the grim chamber. Grimm sighed as the pressure of the spell was released, and he climbed to his feet.
"It's done," he said, his voice hoarse. "Lizaveta's finished here. Let's go. Guy, feel free to hunt around for trinkets, if you want. I have a mission to fulfill."
"Where are you going, Grimm?" Numal asked.
"I'm going to see Lord Horin, Numal. If necessary, I'll smash the door down."
Grimm looked at Guy's face, a picture of incomprehension, and he laughed at the popinjay mage's apparent discomfiture.
"Enjoy your treasure hunt, Guy," he said. "I'm sure you know best. I'm finished here. I have all the proof I need."
"Wait a minute, Grimm," Guy said, his expression almost friendly. "If what you've said is true, I can't wait to see Lizaveta's face; I'm more than willing to take that chance. Besides, you might need a real Questor to help you. Horin doesn't let people into his chamber lightly."
"Numal, we're saviours of the Guild now," Grimm said. "If being a part of this doesn't get you that first ring, I don't know what will."
Numal looked dubious, but he nodded. "All right, Grimm. I just hope you know what you're doing."
With the invaluable aid of his borrowed Location Gem, Grimm found Lord Horin's private chamber with ease.
Two men-at-arms stood by the door, but they paid little attention to the approaching mages; rather, they seemed drawn by the sounds of a loud altercation from inside the room. The sentries seemed uncertain what to do, their jaws slack and their eyes wide.
"Better open up, boys," Guy drawled. "It sounds as if Lord Horin may be in danger."
Flicking the least glance at the gaudily-attired mage, one of the guards, a grizzled, battle-scarred man rapped on the door.
"Lord Horin! Is everything well with you?"
"Get in here at once!" a voice from within screamed, and the guard opened the door. The two warriors stormed inside, followed closely by Grimm and Numal, while Guy remained outside, the hood of his robes pulled over his head.
Grimm saw a sumptuous room lying in complete disarray. Two tables lay on their sides, and broken glass and crockery littered the floor. In the centre of the chamber stood Lord Horin, his face flushed and his robe dishevelled, and Lizaveta lay sprawled at his feet.
The Dominie's mouth quivered for several moments before any sound came out. What emerged was a shriek of outrage.
"Get her out of here!" cried Horin. "This filthy creature tried to beguile me by means of magic. She might have caused me to flout my sacred Oath, had I not managed to collect my wits in time!"
"Lord Horin, I beg you to reconsider!" Lizaveta pleaded, and, from the corner of his eye, Grimm looked over his right shoulder to see a broad smile spreading across Guy's face as he waited in the corridor. "You always seemed so comfortable in my company before, and I found myself entranced by your commanding manner-"
Horin's sweaty face was the colour of an embarrassed beetroot, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. "I command you to leave, witch! Guards, get her out of my sight!"
The guards seemed uncertain about just how to deal with a prostrate, pleading old lady, and Horin turned his eyes to Grimm and his companions.
"What are you two doing here?" he demanded.
Grimm sank onto one knee and bowed his head. "Lord Horin, this woman is a witch who sought to gain control over you."
As the guards dithered, Horin snapped, "I know that!"
"My lord Dominie, my colleagues and I suspected her of foul magic. We located her chapel and base of power within the crypts of High Lodge. We destroyed it, fearing that you might be compromised. She was using the very structure of the Lodge and the captured souls of human sacrifices to augment her power. Here is one of the sordid fetishes she used to accomplish her evil deeds."
Without raising his head, Grimm held out the bloody fragment of Madeleine's dress to the Lord Dominie. He did not need to look in order to know that Horin had touched it; the spastic tremble in the cloth was evidence enough that Horin had sensed the power within it. He looked up, to see a new fury rising in the Dominie's flushed face.
"You, outside the door!" Horin snapped. "Do not skulk in the shadows; come in here at once!"
Guy bowed and entered the room, making the required obeisance. His hood still obscured his features.
"Is this true, Brother Mage?"
Guy nodded. "Far be it for me to traduce a religious lady, Lord Dominie, but it is true in every respect. I was a part of this-"
"You are banished!" Horin screamed at Lizaveta. "I want you and your filthy Order out of the Lodge by the morning, and you will visit any other Guild House only on pain of death. Count yourself fortunate that I do not blast you into a million fragments where you lie! You have twelve hours, and no more, to quit our demesnes. After that time, you and your loathsome Sisterhood will be declared Enemies of the Guild, subject to summary termination on sight by any servant or mage of this Guild."
Lizaveta rose to her feet, all pretence of coquettish bewilderment abandoned. Slapping aside the hesitant, flapping hands of the guards, she faced the Dominie.
"Your hands felt like a brace of dead fish, Horin, and your pitiful fumbling bored me to the core. Enjoy your books, your papers and your cold baths. They are all the love you will ever know." She blew a kiss towards the elder mage and strode to the door.
"Get out, before I change my mind and have you executed instead, witch!"
"As you command, Lord Dominie." Lizaveta's cold eyes focused on Grimm's for a few heartbeats. "You and I will meet again, young Afelnor; I prophesy it. I do not ignore a slight, as I once told you"
With that, she stormed from the room, her white robes fluttering like a dove's wings in her wake.
Horin motioned Grimm to stand. "Young Questor: you have done me a signal service, and I thank you for it. I command that you be elevated to the Seventh Rank, and I would take it as a singular favour if you would accept a position on my staff as my personal Questor, the first such accolade to be bestowed. I will not see such selfless service to the Guild go unrewarded."
Grimm, although suffused by the joy of triumph, considered his response with care. "Is it permitted to refuse, Lord Dominie?" he asked.
Horin's brows rose. "You refuse the seventh ring?"
"No, Lord Dominie, far from it. It is a prize beyond my wildest dreams, and I thank you for your bounty from the bottom of my heart."
That statement was easy, but Grimm knew the next would need all his powers of diplomacy.
"Lord Dominie, I thank the Names that I have been fortunate enough to become a member of an establishment as egalitarian and just as the Guild. However, I am still a very young Questor, and my heart still yearns to find glory in the fulfilment of arduous and challenging Quests, to the honour of the House that raised me."
"Do you regard saving your Dominie from disgrace as insufficiently glorious for your ambition?" Horin's expression turned as dark as a thunder-cloud.
Grimm drew a deep breath. "On the contrary, Lord Horin; I regard it as the pinnacle of my career," he found himself saying, "and I am grateful that I may have aided you in your deliverance from malicious influence. Nonetheless, I wish to prove myself further, by confounding additional threats to the Guild as an active Questor, rather than by stultifying in an office. I accept, with heartfelt gratitude, your offer of promotion, so soon after my last elevation, but I believe I can serve you better by remaining a simple House Questor."
Horin stood and stared, but, to Grimm's immense relief, he laughed. "I like your spirit, Questor. I am sure you will go far. Very well: I will grant you the Seventh Rank and allow you to go back to… what House is it?"
"Arnor House, Lord Dominie."
"Ah, yes, Arnor House: one of our oldest and most respected establishments. That is fitting.
"Very well, my headstrong young sorcerer, I'll grant you that."
Grimm felt astonished that the austere Lord Dominie had used a common contraction, in clear violation of Mage Speech, but he said nothing.
"What is your cognomen, young Questor?" Horin said. "A mage needs a Patent of Puissance before he can obtain the Seventh Rank."
"I have no cognomen, Lord Dominie," Grimm admitted. "I have been on only two, or maybe three, Quests, depending on how you count it."
"Oh, that won't do!" Horin looked at the floor. "All right, I was threatened by some old dragon, and you blasted her; you will be called 'the Dragonblaster' from now on. Is that acceptable?"
Grimm bowed. "More than acceptable, Lord Dominie. Now I will be able to hold my head up in the company of other Questors, a few of whom seem shallow and puerile at times."
He did not look at Guy, but he felt the Questor's eyes boring into his back.
"Well, that is decided!" Horin said. "You will be 'Questor Grimm, called the Dragonblaster' from now on. I trust the cognomen will inspire you to fight with even greater ferocity for the Guild."
I'd find even more inspiration from Drex's kisses, the young Questor thought, although he said nothing. Despite the ransomed Dominie's current generous mood, to ask for the annulment of one of the Guild's most severe dicta would be pushing things a little too far.
Horin leant close to Grimm. "What about these two mages? What was their part?"
Grimm looked at the pathetic Numal, and he could not find it in himself to leave the Necromancer out of the congratulations, ineffectual though he had proved.
"Lord Horin," he said, "although I felt uncertain of my initial visions of Geomantic depredations, Necromancer Numal confirmed that they were prompted by astral projection: that my visions were true. Without him, I would have imagined that it had been only a dream. Without Necromancer Numal, I would never have embarked on this mission at all.
"His insight has therefore proved vital."
Horan smiled. "Necromancer Numal, you will become a Second Rank Mage. Does that not please you?"
Numal nodded, but he remained wordless, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.
"What did he do?" Horin asked, indicating Guy. "Why did he not join with you in vanquishing the witch?"
Grimm suppressed a shrug and spoke with care. "Questor Guy offered his full aid without hesitation, Lord Dominie. However, in the event, it was not needed, thanks to your strong recovery from the witch's influence."
"I dislike the idea of a Questor who lacks the courage of his convictions," Horin glared at the older Questor. "Why did you fail to enter the room with your companions? I might have been in great danger!"
Guy pushed back his hood and said in a voice as smooth as silk, "I judged it advisable that the corridor not be left unguarded, Lord Dominie."
Horin snorted. "The danger was in this chamber, Questor. You also showed disrespect towards me by approaching with your head covered."
Grimm knew just why the sarcastic Questor had hidden his features, but he did not say so, as Horin glared at the hapless Guy.
"If you have no objection, Lord Dominie," an embarrassed Grimm said, "it has been a long night, and I beg your permission to take my leave."
Horin waved his hands, and Grimm left, with Numal just behind him.
At the age of seventeen, he had reached the peak of his Speciality, and he had a full Guild cognomen. He was happy, and he did not care in the least what meagre titbits the Dominie might or might not choose to cast Guy's way.
As Grimm passed, Guy whispered, "Help me out here, youngster! You owe me."
Grimm ignored him and stepped out of the chamber, happy and fulfilled. He hoped he had seen the last of Lizaveta, and he could not bring himself to care about the unreliable Guy.
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