Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (19 page)

That should be a suitable enticement for a blacksmith's boy,
he thought. Chod kept an impassive face as he saw Grimm's expression brighten, but the young magic-user still did not speak.

"Of course, your companions are included in this generous offer,” the mayor continued, feeling a little frustrated. “We still have superb tailors, who latterly clothed Starmor with his finery, and you will find them more than happy to provide this service, of their own free will, to the men who delivered them from bondage. We also have excellent smiths who will work any metal into any adornment or weaponry that you may desire, and who will gladly provide you with the finest accoutrements. I insist upon this as a minimal payment for your pains on our behalf. We Crarians are not ones to ignore a debt, or to leave it unpaid. It is not charity: it is gratitude. Should you refuse this, we will destroy an equal amount of the wealth each year, rather than spend it on ourselves. Our people take their obligations seriously, I assure you. I beg you to accept this offer, which comes from the bottom of my heart." In truth, Chod did not begrudge this largesse in the least; it was a cheap enough price for the assurance of Crar's tacit protection by the Guild and a fearsome demon.

* * * *

Grimm felt uncomfortable at the thought of accepting Chod's offer and the concept of becoming rich through stolen wealth, but the mayor's expression showed the intensity of feeling that burned behind his face. Grimm understood well the concept of obligation.

What's so wrong with the idea of my becoming wealthy?
he asked himself, although his mental sophistry did not entirely convince him.

He shot a glance at Dalquist again but, this time, the senior mage's expression offered him no guidance. This decision was his own, and his alone.

How many times have I heard of the fabulous spoils won from other Quests,
he wondered.
How
many times have I read of money seized, cozened or plundered from defeated enemies?

This munificence had been offered to him on a platter, and it would be churlish to refuse. The people of Crar wanted a new start under the spiritual guidance of a new leader, a symbol of opposition to the old, hated order. Who better than Grimm Afelnor, the son and the grandson of blacksmiths; an Acclaimed Mage who had opposed and fought Starmor at every turn, and who had defeated and banished the hated tyrant?

The words came in an impulsive gush from his lips, as if somebody other than Grimm Afelnor had spoken them.

"I accept all your conditions with humility and deep gratitude, Mayor Chod, assuming that Shakkar is willing to act as my Seneschal. I will be your new Baron through thick and thin. I accept. I accept your offer with my thanks."

He struggled to maintain his sorcerous dignity, but he fought to deny the tears that pricked at his eyelids their release. The cold, measured tones and language of a mighty Questor deserted him.

"I'm worried that I'm going to make an awful mess of the whole thing, Lord Mayor,” he said, feeling tears beginning to prickle his eyelids. He took a deep breath until sure his emotions would not betray him.

"It's going to take a lot of getting used to,” he said, with a weak smile. “I'm accustomed to being Grimm, the Pauper. ‘Grimm, Baron of Crar’ sounds like somebody else, but I'll do my best to be what you expect of me; assuming that Shakkar is willing to represent me, of course." Mayor Chod gave a deep, courtly bow.

"Thank you, Lord Mage, from the bottom of my heart,” he said. “I feel sure the other members of the Council will agree with your stipulations, and we will all be awaiting your word.” He bowed again, and left.

Dalquist turned towards Grimm, looking a little amused at his young friend's discomfiture. Annoyed at Dalquist's slight smirk, Grimm snapped, “Don't you dare call me ‘Lord Baron', Dalquist. The title of Questor means more to me, in any case."

Dalquist laughed, and Grimm frowned.

"Look here, Brother Mage! If you want to laugh at me—"

Dalquist shook his head. “I'm sorry, Grimm. I wasn't laughing at
you
; only at your face. I can assure you, Harvel and Crest will be more than happy to accept their prizes, and I hanker for a little of the easy life myself A few decent changes of clothes for me, say, five or six, would be welcome, and I've been trying to scrape up enough for some cloth-of-gold robes for some time. A Questor needs to impress his audience, and good clothes can do a lot to grease the wheels during a hard Quest. I'm well pleased with Chod's terms."

"Dalquist, you couldn't take all that with you on a Quest, anyway. It's all very well to sport such finery within the House, but I want to be out and about, Questing as I should. You'd never fit all that in a holdall or rucksack."

Dalquist smiled, with just a little smugness playing momentarily on his face. “The secret dimensional cubby-hole that I used to secrete the Eye can have other uses. It draws no power from me to maintain it, and I can access it as easily as turning a corner. It is large enough to hold a whole rack of clothes. I'll be happy to explain how I did it, and you should be able easily to procure your own." Grimm drifted for a moment in idle reverie at the concept.

No more itchy homespun for me!
he thought.

However, he felt unease beginning to grow within his entrails.

"This all sounds so good, Dalquist,” he said. “But it also sounds too good to be true. I'm not sure Chod's offer was ... well,
untainted
. Why would these people be so keen to make me their Baron?" This time, Dalquist
exploded
into laughter, tears bursting from his eyes. Grimm glowered, clenching his fists at his sides. “I really don't see the joke, Dalquist! If you'd care to share it with me—"

"Your
face
, Grimm!” the older mage spluttered, dabbing his eyes with a blue handkerchief. “If you could ... if you could only
see
it! Of
course
Chod's proposal's isn't all it seems! He wants you to agree to represent Crar, giving the city all the protection of the Guild, without being here. He wants to tempt you with all the wealth of the city, knowing you'll never be here to spend it." Grimm felt his jaw dropping, and he just managed to stop himself from appearing like an idiot by lowering his brows and growling, “Are you saying I'm being a fool here, my friend?" Dalquist smiled and said, “Only if you want to be one, Grimm. It's not your fault—you're still very young."

Grimm drew a deep breath, trying to keep his expression casual, although he felt as if a gallon of boiling water had been poured over his back.

"Brother Mage,” he said. “May we work on the basis that I know somewhat less of the wider world than you for just a few moments? What in the blessed Names are you talking about?" Dalquist, still laughing, waved his hands as if to drive away a mass of flies.

"This is as good as it gets,” he said. “You don't have to do
anything
, Grimm! Just say ‘please’ and

‘thank you’ in the right places, and take what they give you. Chod will pay plenty just to be able to say that a Guild Mage is Baron of Crar—an attack on the city might then be regarded as an assault on the Guild itself.

"It's not true, of course, but it doesn't do any harm to let our good Lord Mayor think so. Enjoy yourself, my friend, at his expense. He thinks he has the better part of the deal, so let him think so."

* * * *

Shakkar strode into Starmor's—Grimm's—bedchamber after a perfunctory, yet thundering, knock that threatened to burst the thick oaken portal off its steel hinges. The demon grasped Grimm in his massive arms, and the mage had to fight for breath.

"Easy, Shakkar,” he gasped, “I'm not made of stone. Or do you just want to tenderise me before eating me after all?"

"Questor Grimm, I'm glad that you have recovered,” the giant rumbled, extricating himself. “Now I find I have a true human friend, I do not wish to lose him. Perhaps I should call you ‘Lord Baron’ now?" Grimm shook his head. “Please don't, Shakkar. My name is sufficient address, truly. In fact, I'd rather you dropped the ‘Questor’ title; plain ‘Grimm’ will be fine. How are you getting on with the Crarians? I hear that they appreciate your help a lot."

Shakkar grunted. “They were terrified of me at first, but now they seem friendly enough. I think this may be quite a pleasant city when I have finished. Much remains to be done, and I feel at ease when dealing with these mortals, now that they seem to trust me."

The demon lowered his head, and Grimm could have sworn that Shakkar's grey-green face bore a faint pink flush of embarrassment.

"Would you ... would you have any objection if I remained here for a few months, Lord Mage? These people seem to need me."

Grimm smiled; the angry, destructive demon seemed to be enjoying his work.

"Do you not wish to return to your own kind, Shakkar?” he said in a tone of mock-horror. The titan shrugged. “At first, I despised these people,” he muttered, his head still bowed, “and I felt contempt at the ease with which Starmor was able to enslave them. Now, I see them
almost
as equals. They struggle to regain their lives after a decade of bondage. It is a task worthy of even a demon, let alone a human. I think I would like to tarry a while, to help these people to regain their self-respect ... with your permission, Grimm."

Shakkar's response cheered Grimm, yet the Questor felt uncertain as to how the demon would react to the offer of even nominal servitude to a human.

"Shakkar, I have not yet accepted the post of Baron,” he said. “I am, first and last, a Guild Mage, and I cannot commit myself to constant vigilance over the city of Crar. I need a representative, someone to exercise a stern control over the finances of the newly-reborn city and to take care of the citizens’

needs."

Shakkar's head flicked up an iota, revealing his blood-red eyes, but he said nothing.

"I will be unavailable for long periods of time,” the mage continued, “and I need someone strong-willed enough to make his own decisions in the face of uncertainty and confusion, without the need to consult me first.

"In short: I need a Seneschal to administer the city in my absence, Shakkar. Not a servant, not a vassal, but an equal. Are you he? Will you commit yourself to the administration of Crar when I am away?" The demon threw back his head and bared his teeth, an awful sound emerging from his throat. At first, Grimm thought Shakkar offended and on the point of attacking him. Then, he realised the truth; the underworld behemoth was
laughing
.

"You humans take a long time to say very little,” boomed Shakkar, his vast shoulders heaving in amusement. “Once, that annoyed me, but now I see it is just one of your quirks.

"Very well, human, I will be your Seneschal. I think I know what these people need, and the lure of gold will not tempt
me
. I will represent you here, and I will protect the City as best I can. I think you can take care of yourself without me, while these people cannot. I accept the post of Seneschal." Grimm craned his neck and wagged a warning finger at the towering behemoth, feeling the absurdity of the image he must be presenting. “I do have a few ground rules, Shakkar: you are responsible for the equitable disbursement and safeguarding of City funds, and the Council of Crar will make their representations to you for any financial support. You must consider these fairly, and allot resources without prejudice. If you feel uncertain, the will of the Council will prevail. I will not have a dictatorship here.

"You will make no alliance with any other city, trading organisation or military group without the majority consent of the Council, freely expressed by means of a secret ballot. You will oversee civil elections to ensure that no unfair pressure is brought to bear on the voters by any party. Fairly fought campaigns with slogans and debates are acceptable, but threats of physical violence, undue duress or bribes are forbidden."

Shakkar frowned, looking a little disappointed, but he made no comment.

"The Baron and his Seneschal are just as bound by the laws and customs of Crar,” Grimm continued,

“as all other citizens, subject to whatever penalties may be assessed for any transgressions. You have no vote in Council meetings except in the event of a tied result, in which case you have a casting vote.

"As a final comment, I would add that the world of politics is a mystery to me. I'm sure there will be times when these simplistic rules will break down, and some issues may require your direct intercession. At these times, some tact, discretion or judgement may be necessary, and I trust that you will be just and humane in your decisions."

The demon lowered his brows as if to protest, but perhaps thought better of it. “I agree, Questor,” he rumbled.

"Whenever I am present in Crar, I will consult with you before I make any decisions of my own, to be sure I don't contradict you over some decision you have already made. On the other hand, after any such consultation, I reserve the right to overrule you on any judgement I regard as prejudicial to the harmonious running of the city. You are an intelligent and honest being, so I do not imagine that I will have many such problems, if any."

Grimm looked the demon in the eye. He wanted Shakkar to know just what lay in store for him.

"I will add that you may not resign your position until another has been elected to the position of Seneschal by the Council and the appointment has been ratified personally by me." Shakkar opened his mouth, but Grimm stayed his words with a wave of his hand.

"This may seem unduly harsh,” the mage said, “given the likely duration and length of my enforced absences, but I ask you to remember that, as a Questor, I can exercise powers of insight you and the Council wouldn't believe. I'm sure we all wish to avoid the accession of another Starmor, and I may be able to prevent that.

"Do you regard any of these regulations as unduly onerous, demeaning or otherwise unacceptable to you? I will not impose anything upon you without your full agreement."

* * * *

Shakkar's tail, the barometer of his emotional state, was a blur as he considered Grimm's words. Once, he would have been outraged at the concept of submitting his will to a mere human, and yet he had to admit to himself that he could not see anything that smacked of servitude in Grimm's requirements. He had acquiesced to the young human's requests when they were both confined to Starmor's punishment pillar, and the Questor had not played him false. He had always proved as good as his word. In truth, the concept of conceding the wishes of the human Council of Crar seemed distasteful to Shakkar, and the pathetic pleas of the citizens often irked him, but he could not deny the pleasure he felt when the mortals included him in conversation and consulted him over some trivial matter they considered as important.