Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (30 page)

A door connected the two mages’ rooms, and Grimm strode towards it with a resolute tread, his firm knock being answered with a cheerful “Come in, Grimm” from the older mage. Drawing a deep breath, he opened the door into a room that was the mirror image of his own and saw that Dalquist was taking a hearty breakfast. Grimm knew how the Questor appreciated good sustenance, and his friend seemed to be making the most of the high life while it lasted. He felt a flush of relief that Dalquist did not seem to harbour any resentment over Grimm's earlier show of disrespect.

"Good morning, Grimm. I trust you enjoyed yourself last night?"

"Very much, Dalquist,” Grimm replied, nodding. “Madeleine is a lovely girl, and I feel very privileged to have made her acquaintance. I just wanted to apologise humbly for the way I spoke to you last night. I had no right to sound off at you the way I did; you are senior to me, and I know also that you only have my best interests at heart."

Dalquist, his mouth full, waved airily at a seat, which Grimm took. After the senior Questor finished his mouthful of food, he wiped his mouth and beard with a silk napkin and turned to face his young colleague.

"Well, Grimm, I was taken aback by the way you treated me, and I wouldn't recommend you to repeat it; it's a bad habit to get into, especially with senior mages. On the other hand, I thought afterwards about what you had said and I had to admit that my own behaviour lacked a little ... no, no, Grimm, please hear me out!

"We both know that intimate relations between a mage and a woman can destroy the magic-user's powers. I didn't want you to take that awful risk. You are, of course, still indebted to the House. Nonetheless, as I think of it now, nothing could have been more innocent. A Questor and a nun, holding hands and dancing; what could be less sinister than that? I ought to know you well enough by now to know that you would never let things go too far."

Grimm felt surprised at Dalquist's rapid
volte-face
. Although his friend seemed to have calmed down a little from the night before, the young mage had the impression that Dalquist was only trying to heal an incipient rift in their relationship. He also remembered his behaviour on the previous night; his carefree cavorting and his desire for Madeleine. He was not as sure as Dalquist that he would be able to prevent

‘things going too far', should the opportunity ever present itself. Grimm made a determined pledge that, this evening, he would act in a more circumspect manner, as befitted a Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank.

"Are you going to see Madeleine tonight, Grimm?” Dalquist asked, smiling.

"This afternoon,” Grimm corrected, “She said that today she would be allowed to wear Secular clothes. It will be nice to see her in something a little less formal than a nun's habit; I'm looking forward to it." Dalquist grinned. “I can't blame you there, Grimm. She's a comely lass, and a habit is scarcely flattering attire for such a pretty girl. Enjoy yourself, my friend, with my blessing. What will you do to pass the hours until then, other than counting the minutes?"

Grimm returned the smile with warmth. “I thought I'd do a little research, Dalquist. A place like this should have a splendid library."

Dalquist nodded, gulping down another mouthful of food like a famished man. “Good man. We mages are always learning. Perhaps I'll see you later?"

"Perhaps you will, Dalquist. On the other hand, you know what I'm like with books. I hardly notice the passage of time."

The older man wagged his finger in a mock warning gesture. “Just you make sure that you meet that girl up this afternoon, Afelnor, or you'll be feeling the weight of Shakhmat resting none too gently on your head!"

"I'll be there, Mother Hen.” Grimm laughed. “I'll be there, don't you worry."

* * * *

Grimm tried thinking ‘Library’ and consulting his borrowed Gem of Location, but the charm just flashed at him, which, he understood, meant that there was more than one place with that appellation. He tried

‘Senior Doorkeeper', and found that the stone worked on people as well as locations. After following a winding trail, he found the tall, regal-looking man in one of the winding, identical corridors of the Lodge. The Senior Doorkeeper swivelled smoothly around at his approach, as if he were on well-oiled, silent castors.

"How may I help you, Questor Grimm?” The dark man's tone was cool, doubtless as a result of his altercation with Dalquist the day before.

"I wish to carry out some research, Senior Doorkeeper,” Grimm replied in a civil manner, “and it seems you have more than one library here. Would you be so kind as to direct me to the most appropriate one for my purposes?"

The tall man sniffed. “We have
five
libraries, Questor Grimm, covering Civil Law, Thaumaturgic Research, Guild History, Biology and Technology,” the Senior Doorkeeper said, with a trace of pride.

"You have a library of
Technology?
” Grimm felt stunned. In Arnor House at least, this discipline was regarded with suspicion, if not with outrage.

"It is necessary on occasion to study an enemy's ways, so as to understand him better, Questor. We of High Lodge are not as hidebound as the incumbents of certain provincial Houses.” This was almost a direct insult, and Grimm swallowed a sharp retort.

"Thank you for your kind assistance, Senior Doorkeeper. I think I can find my own way from here.” He gave the man a curt nod and turned on his heel, a gesture whose impact was lessened by the fact that Grimm almost tripped over Redeemer in the process. He could almost feel the Senior Doorkeeper's superior, smug smile burning into his back as he walked away, and he knew that his own face and aura were red.

* * * *

The phrase ‘Library—Guild History’ evoked an immediate, decisive response from the gem, which shone a clear green path before him. In fifteen minutes, he had reached his goal. A simple door led into a vast complex of shelves and racks, regimented and rectilinear. This library was three times the size of Grimm's comfortable old haunt in the Arnor Scholasticate, but it was too cold and clinical for Grimm's taste. How would he ever find anything in this monstrous place?

He saw a wide, semicircular desk a few yards inside the door, at which sat a grizzled old mage dressed in simple dark-grey robes. The man sat leafing through sheaves of paper, muttering and clicking to himself like some fleshy millrace capable of grinding facts and figures into intellectual flour. Grimm waited while the aged mage hummed and ticked his way through several sheets of paper, and then essayed a soft “Excuse me.” The mage's head popped up with a sudden jerk, like that of a clockwork bird.

"Yes, may I help you?” The man's delivery was rapid, monotonous and staccato, again as if he were some machine made flesh. “Scholar Grell Librarian of this establishment what would you like to see?"

"Do you have any old copies of standard Guild reference works I could peruse?” Grimm asked, forcing himself not to copy Grell's rapid-fire pattern of speech.

"Selections date back nearly three hundred years which category please?" Grimm tried to force his voice into its accustomed mode, but gave up the effort. “Deeds of the Questors sixty-five to thirty years ago original editions if available."

Grell's hand flicked out and opened a drawer in a cabinet at his left side. His deft fingers riffled through a series of cards and then stopped in an instant, as if at some predestined position.

"Rack E-323 Questor good reading Brother Mage."

The old man's gaze dropped back to his work, as if he had already forgotten the mage standing before him.

At least the library was laid out in a sensible order, and Grimm had little trouble in finding Rack E-323. He had decided to see if he could find any details of Loras’ deeds as a young Questor. Arnor House seemed to have expunged all records of his grandfather's name from all records. Perhaps, he thought, High Lodge might be a little more catholic in its retention of documents; it was. He found what appeared to be untouched copies of the periodical dating back to two hundred years before, and more.

Although the monetary wealth he had received from the grateful people of Crar was considerable, he felt rich beyond his wildest dreams at the sight of these dusty tomes. He leafed through several copies, careful not to damage the delicate, yellowed paper, until he found his first mention of his grandfather in a document dating back fifty years.

Afelnor, Loras, Third Rank Questor, is recognised for exemplary service to the Guild. This mage
is hereby raised to the Fifth Rank, with congratulations from a grateful Presidium. Olaf
Demonscourge, Seventh Rank Questor, is unanimously voted a yearly bequest of eight hundred
gold pieces.

The relevant Quest was described in some detail. The senior mage on this expedition was Olaf
Demonscourge, whom Grimm had last seen in a fierce battle between inebriation and imbecility at
the young mage's ceremony of Acclamation. It was hard to think of the venerable Olaf as a
relatively young man, maybe fifteen years older than his friend Dalquist, but it was even more of a
shock to think of his grandfather, Loras, as a proud, vigorous nineteen-year-old Questor in the
prime of his life.

* * * *

The Quest seemed simple enough at first. A large group of brigands had been disrupting free trade and free travel within the demesnes of the Guild. Olaf and Loras were despatched to offer warning that the bandits were treading on dangerous ground; it was assumed that the presence of two full Guild Questors would be sufficient to persuade this band of desperadoes to abandon their plundering ways. The Quest did not go as planned; it took on a more sinister turn when the despoilers revealed that they had a pair of powerful mages within their own ranks: a Weatherworker and an Illusionist who had abandoned the Guild in search of a wealthier lifestyle.

The two Arnor Questors defeated the renegade magic-users after a series of violent encounters, during which Olaf suffered a serious wound, a well-directed bolt of lightning, only to find that the outlaws had invested the town of Shuralla and taken the Earl's family prisoner.

Loras entered the town alone and defeated the brigands without the loss of a single hostage. An engraving, showing a proud, defiant-looking Loras carrying the Earl's baby daughter to her grateful father's arms adorned the page.

In later accounts, Loras’ name appeared several times, involving cunning espionage, daring seizures and even political assassinations.

However, one aspect of Loras’ character that shone out from the accounts of his deeds as a Guild Questor was a love of innocent life. Time and again, he seemed to have gone out of his way to prevent needless deaths, even at considerable risk to his own life. He had gained the Seventh Rank by the age of twenty-four, and had been feted and rewarded by the Guild on countless other occasions, on many occasions in the company of his great friend Thorn Virias, Grimm's own Prelate. Grimm found it intriguing that the various accounts so often mentioned his grandfather's great humanity and compassion, his desire to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. He had killed when ordered to do so, or when dire necessity had arisen, but he had never gloried in the act. Of course, the authors of the Deeds of the Questors extolled the glories and virtues of the various Quests in extravagant language, but they seemed never to have dwelt on the more merciful qualities of other Questors in such glowing terms. Many of the other mages recognised and honoured by the Guild seemed bloodthirsty in comparison. Would such a mage have attempted to murder an old man, merely in an attempt to gain accession to a title? To Grimm, the idea seemed ludicrous, if one was to judge from the annals of the High Lodge records. The written career of his grandfather suggested an almost fanatical dedication to the ideals of his Guild, paramount amongst which was a deferent acknowledgement of one's seniors and betters. Grimm, himself, had found little pleasure in his rapid advancement to the Fifth Rank, knowing that it had only been granted due to the Lord Dominie's extreme diversion at the time, thanks to the return of the worrisome Eye of Myrrn and the heavy demands on his time. The young Questor would not have considered refusing or questioning the honour for a single moment, but he would, in truth, have preferred an honest promotion based on his actions alone.

Grimm sighed to himself, and his eyes brimmed with tears. Loras must have felt compassion for the old, ailing Prelate of Arnor House and tried to bring a merciful end to the ancient mage's confusing and painful life. Although such an act was treason, Loras’ motives could only have been those of compassion and pity for a man he revered; a man whose cruel suffering Loras had become unable to bear. Grimm could stay his bitter tears no longer, and he let them fall in a silent stream down his cheeks as the distant Scholar worked through his papers. In part, the tears were for Grimm himself: for the lowly status that he had been forced to accept because of his grandfather's misjudged acts; but also for a wronged man he loved with all his heart.

He grasped Redeemer to his side and considered the name he had given the staff, and the private oath he had sworn.

Grandfather, the name of Afelnor will shine again within this Guild, on my life. I will not allow our shared name to remain a synonym for treachery and betrayal.

Grimm heard the tolling of a distant bell and realised that the hours had flown by. He replaced the last volume in its appointed place, and he dashed from the library to meet Madeleine.

* * * *

She was there, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a desolate expression replaced in a swift heartbeat by a warm, beautiful smile of greeting. Madeleine wore a long, violet dress that clung to her splendid figure, hinting at pleasures of which the inexperienced Grimm could only guess. Madeleine was beautiful, and Grimm could not tear his gaze from her.

Her sweet voice and the long, fluttering lashes over sapphire-blue eyes came like soothing balm to his troubled soul. “Grimm, thank you so much for coming to meet me. I was getting worried that you might not show up."