Lord Thorn felt a glow of contentment as he re-read his message from Lord Dominie Horin. High Lodge commended Arnor House for the valiant actions of its Questors in the retrieval of the Eye of Myrrn. Horin congratulated Thorn on behalf of his Questors and informed the Prelate that he was henceforth a permanent member of the Guild Presidium.
The page was not signed by an amanuensis, as was common with missives from the Lodge: it bore Lord Horin's own signature and seal.
Thorn knew that only Presidium members were eligible for the post of Lord Dominie; he was now a member of the Guild elite, a step nearer to his mother's ultimate goal.
If this doesn't keep the meddling old witch off my back for a while, the Prelate thought, I don't know what will.
Questor Dalquist's recent report also gave him cause for satisfaction; the senior Questor gave Grimm Afelnor full credit for his instrumental part in the downfall of Starmor and the safe extraction of the Eye.
The House now had three active Questors on its rolls. The good opinion of High Lodge, combined with Thorn's position on the Presidium, meant that Arnor House would be entrusted more often with the conduct of prestigious Quests on behalf of High Lodge. In addition to this, the enhanced status of the House meant that more wealthy parents would send their offspring to Arnor to be educated. The possibilities were endless…
A knock at his door roused him from his idle reverie. "Enter."
For a moment, Thorn did not recognise the splendidly-attired, confident young man standing before him as the youth whose Acclamation ceremony he had attended a matter of months ago. Grimm's expression was neutral and yet self-assured; he looked every inch a cool, collected Guild Questor.
"Please be seated, Questor Grimm," Thorn said, with an expansive wave towards the visitor's chair.
"Thank you, Lord Prelate." Even the boy's voice seemed to have matured in the last few weeks. This was the voice of a Questor who had faced adversity and triumphed.
Thorn looked through the notes he had made from Dalquist's verbal report, delivered thirty minutes beforehand.
"I am sure you will be pleased to hear that Questor Dalquist speaks very highly of your resourcefulness in the defeat of this demon, Starmor," the Prelate said, leafing through his papers.
The boy inclined his head and lowered his eyes, again giving the image of a modest, imperturbable mage.
"I am grateful for Questor Dalquist's good impression, Lord Prelate. I wish to mention that it was Questor Dalquist's own ingenuity that led to Starmor's ultimate downfall, and his magical skill that allowed us to conceal the Eye once we had laid our hands upon it."
"This has been noted, Questor Grimm," Thorn replied, "and we are indeed cognisant of his valiant acts.
"One thing puzzles me, however. Why, once you had so cleverly confined Starmor to his own four-dimensional prison, did you feel the need to transport yourselves to his demesne in order to destroy him? Was he not safely secured?"
Afelnor's words seemed careful and measured, almost as if he had rehearsed them, but Thorn reasoned that the Questor wished to address his Prelate clearly and without hesitation; of course he would have rehearsed his report.
"Lord Prelate, I delivered Starmor to his prison with a standard, runic spell of Translocation in the second form, the External variant of the cantrip. As you are better aware than I, this form requires physical contact with the subject. In so doing, I unwittingly established a mental link to the demon, through which he contacted me. Questor Dalquist reasoned that Starmor might use this link to attempt to control me beyond my power to resist; the former Baron was a powerful enemy, indeed. Once aware of this, he suggested that it were better if we were to disperse Starmor's physical form, in order to eliminate this risk. Since Starmor's physical form was immortal, it seemed a prudent step. The demon is now so finely disintegrated that, by the Sixth Law of Diabolic Control, it should take Starmor centuries or millennia to reassemble himself."
Questor Grimm spoke in the cool, wordy tones of Mage Speech, and the Prelate nodded in approval.
Crohn taught this one well, Thorn thought.
"Your explanation is coherent and credible," Thorn allowed, "and it tallies in all essentials with Questor Dalquist's own report. The senior mage's actions do him credit, and your significant contribution to the success is also noted."
The Prelate leaned back in his chair.
"As of today, you are entitled to bear a gold ring on your staff, signifying that you are a full-blooded Mage Questor of the First Rank, one who has performed in a satisfactory manner on his first Quest. Mage Armourer Thuril will do this for you."
Afelnor blinked, although his eyes gleamed. "I was not aware that there was such a rank as Mage Armourer, Lord Prelate," was all he said.
Thorn smiled. "You are still young, and there is much that you do not know concerning this House. The Mage Armourer is responsible for ensuring the protection of the House against attack; a Mage Staff is a potent weapon, and it is Thuril's prerogative to annotate that staff with the badges signifying the approbation of his Prelate."
"I wish to add that this is not all. You and Questor Dalquist have been invited to present the Eye to High Lodge in person. This is, of course, a great privilege, and I will not need to tell you that you will be expected to display the highest decorum and presence during your stay. I think you will find that the Dominie will not be unappreciative of your efforts; the loss of the Eye has been a major concern to us all. I am sure that Lord Horin will wish to place at least one more ring on your staff, and possibly more, in his gratitude and, indeed, relief."
Afelnor's face was like stone. Thorn thought he might as well have been discussing the price of fish with the youth.
"I wish also to tell you that, as a result of this Quest, I have now been elected a permanent member of the Guild Presidium. This is a great honour for the House."
"I offer you my heartiest congratulations, Lord Thorn!" At last, some animation had appeared on Grimm's face. He appeared genuinely pleased at Thorn's advancement.
"I understand that congratulations are also due to you, Questor Grimm or, should I say, Baron Grimm?"
"Thank you, Lord Prelate. This was indeed great fortune, for I am now a wealthy man. However, I am more content to be fortunate enough to be able to think of myself as a full-blooded Guild Questor. The wealth into which I have come is, of course, welcome."
Perfect modesty, Thorn thought. That is just what I might have said to my Prelate as a youth, you lucky little urchin.
"May I assume, Questor Grimm, that you will be authorising the free passage of Guild Mages into and out of the city of Crar?"
Afelnor can hardly refuse, Thorn thought.
"Indeed, Lord Prelate, I have already given such instructions to my Seneschal, Shakkar, to ensure that fair tolls are charged for entry to the city. Bearers of the Guild Ring are, of course, exempt from such fees."
Thorn's brow furrowed. "Ah, yes; this Shakkar must be this demon with which you have been consorting. I trust you do not intend to make a habit of associating with such creatures. Some of us in the Presidium are nervous of their motives."
A polite smile split the Questor's stony face, transforming it. "The solemn word of a demon is, as you know, inviolate, Lord Prelate. I have been most careful to ensure that Shakkar will do nothing inimical to the aims of the Guild. I will, with your permission, make periodic visits to Crar to ensure that my instructions are being carried out to the letter."
Thorn shook his head. "Although you are no longer a Student, Afelnor, I regret that this is a most critical time in your vocation. Having seen some of the outside world and its baser temptations, you may feel seduced by it. I regret that you must remain resident at the House for the nonce."
The Prelate watched the slender youth for a few moments, searching for any sign of annoyance or petulance, but he saw none, even though he knew Afelnor must be disappointed.
The boy's self-control is exemplary. I must find another Quest for him soon.
"I will, however, review this situation after your next Quest, Afelnor, subject to a satisfactory report from the senior mage."
"Thank you, Lord Prelate," Afelnor replied, bowing. "I appreciate your generosity."
"A carriage will arrive here in the morning to convey you to High Lodge. I am advised that you will be staying there for three days. There may be dances and festivities which you will be expected to attend during this time."
"Thankfully, Lord Prelate, I now have plenty of changes of clothes, and I will ensure that I heed Magemaster Faffel's kind advice concerning proper deportment at such affairs." The quirky smile flitted briefly once more across Grimm's face.
"Thank you, Questor Grimm, and well done. I will expect a report from you on your visit when you return. Enjoy yourself. That will be all."
At Thorn's usual peremptory dismissal, Grimm stood, bowed with immaculate courtesy and exited the room.
The Prelate, full of his election to the Presidium, drew his scrying-crystal to him. Lizaveta would surely be pleased at his news.
Grimm made his way down the stairs to the Great Hall to where Dalquist was waiting, and he blew out his cheeks in an explosive exhalation.
"Dalquist, I never want to go through that again! I felt like I was in front of some damned inquisition!" He shivered in mock terror.
"Did he accept your report, Grimm?"
"I think so, Dalquist. I was nervous as Hell, but I don't think I showed it. I was sitting straight as a ramrod."
Grimm swiped his hand through his hair in relief.
"That's the only way to deal with Lord Thorn," Dalquist said and chuckled. "I think the old sod's got 'Power and Presence' tattooed on his backside. You'll do. I was worried that recent events might have got the better of you, which is why I gave you that little test yesterday. If you can face down Thorn, then the Broken Bottle should be a cakewalk from now on."
"Dalquist, does the Refectory have any alcohol?" Grimm asked. "I could do with a little restorative drink right now."
"I think we could get the staff to come up with something," the older Questor replied, smiling. "I could do with a stiff medicinal dose as well."
A small head, like a fuzzy, horned marble, arose from Grimm's left pocket.
"What about me?" a familiar voice twittered.
Grimm started. "I'd all but forgotten about you, demon. I trust you'll keep your mouth shut about what you've heard over the last couple of days?"
Thribble licked his tiny lips with a minuscule forked tongue. "If you were to obtain a minim of peach brandy, human, I might be persuaded to forget my own name."
"We'll see what we can do, Thribble," Dalquist said, with a broad smile.
Grimm felt more than satisfied. His Mage Staff, Redeemer, was no longer naked. A smart, indelible gold ring now signified his full acceptance into the ranks of the Guild Questors, and he had eaten a splendid lunch. He liked to take a short nap after a heavy meal when he was able to do so, but he always needed a little literary diversion before he could drift off to sleep. Since he had read all the books in his room, he went in search of new inspiration in the Scholasticate Library.
As usual, the labyrinthine room was all but deserted. A young Student was diligently studying a text that Grimm knew only too well: 'Mental Control and Mediation; Finding One's Inner Self.'
An old mage, an Alchemist, to judge by his mottled and stained skin, sat snoozing at one of the corner tables.
Grimm moved to a rack of books labelled 'Guild History', and he climbed atop a set of wheeled steps in order to reach the top shelf. He reached out to take a tome called 'High Lodge: Flower of the Guild' when he noticed that the book to its right was inverted. Long schooling in decorum and neatness had led him to deplore disorder, and he removed the book in order to replace it in the correct orientation. As he did so, a small sheet of paper, too large to be a page marker, fluttered to the floor.
Intrigued, he climbed down to retrieve the page. The paper was crisp and slightly yellowed, implying that it might offer a view of olden times in the House, and he opened it with care. Maybe this was some secret note from one miscreant Student to another, outlining some prank that they might play on one of the Magemasters; perhaps it was merely a set of revision notes for some long-since Acclaimed Neophyte. Either way, it might prove interesting.