Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (35 page)

Thorn waited a few moments before continuing, giving the impression that he was in deep cogitation.
Very well, Lord Domini,
he continued,
the needs of the Guild must come before those of an
individual House; you may rely on me. I will despatch a pair of Questors to the region of Shest at
once. We will get to the bottom of this worrying mystery as soon as possible.
Thank you, Lord Thorn,
Horin responded.
I have, of course, the greatest faith in you. I will leave
the resolution of the issue entirely to you. I would like to clarify one thing: should these mages be
engaged in some clandestine enterprise contrary to the aims of the Guild, I authorise your
Questors to take whatever action is necessary to settle the matter, up to and including vital
termination of any renegade magic-users.

Thorn started.
You will give us
carte blanche
to execute
Guild brethren
, Lord Dominie?
He felt shocked; such explicit permission was rare, and the idea of the ruthless execution of a group of Guild Mages was distasteful even to the hard-nosed Prelate.

Only if they are shown to be acting against our interests, you understand, Prelate Thorn. If they
have been somehow abducted or duped, then they must be rescued.

I understand, Lord Dominie. You may rely on Arnor House to provide a speedy and efficient
resolution of your concerns, one way or the other.

* * * *

Xylox Ceras, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called ‘The Mighty’ was no libertarian. Despite the considerable wealth he had accrued over twenty years of Quests, he habitually wore simple woollen robes in grey, black or brown; his tastes were starkly ascetic. In truth, Xylox was a miser, but he regarded himself as an upholder of prudent frugality.

He felt, therefore, more than a little displeased when he laid eyes upon his fellow Questor, Grimm Afelnor. The young man wore extravagant, brightly coloured silk robes, and Xylox thought he could smell pomade and perfumed soap on the Questor's hair and skin.

Xylox the Mighty believed that a mage, particularly a Questor, should always project an air of austere gravity, and he had worked hard to achieve this throughout his life as a Guild Mage. As the senior active Questor of Arnor House—since old Olaf Demonscourge was almost in his dotage—Xylox sought to surround himself with a stern aura of mystery.

"Questor Xylox, I am Questor Grimm Afelnor,” the young fop said, rising from his seat and extending his hand. “I feel honoured to make your acquaintance at last. I have read much of your exploits in the Deeds of the Questors."

Xylox frowned: this Grimm must be at least four inches taller than he, and slender with it; this was another black mark against Questor Grimm, as far as he was concerned.

However, Xylox was a Guild man, first and last: he automatically took the proffered hand and shook it.

"Greetings, Questor Grimm,” he said in a cool voice. “You are aware that we are to Quest together; I understand that Lord Thorn deigned to brief you in person.” Xylox's tone was polite, but cold and distant; the older mage believed Lord Thorn should have trusted him to brief this young popinjay. The young man nodded. “I am looking forward to it, Questor Xylox. I am still relatively inexperienced, and I yearn for a chance to prove myself as a Questor."

At least this Afelnor sounds keen enough,
the Mighty thought. He cast an eye at Grimm's staff, noting with some disbelief the five rings of gold adorning its head. Perhaps the boy was older than he looked.

"Have you no cognomen, Questor Grimm?” he asked, frowning. “I was granted the sobriquet ‘The Mighty’ after my eleventh Quest, at the age of twenty-seven. Until that time, I was a Questor of the Third Rank, only reaching the Fifth Rank after my cognomen was ratified by High Lodge." This Grimm's face seemed to twist in embarrassment. “In truth, Questor Xylox, I have only been on three Quests since my Acclamation. Two of them took place after I had acceded to the Fifth Rank." A delicate shade of purple suffused Xylox's ruddy features. “You reached the Fifth Rank after a single Quest?” he almost shrieked. “What did you do? Did you save Lord Dominie Horin's life, or prevent High Lodge from falling? Or do you have relatives at High Lodge?"

"I had the ... good fortune to be called before the Dominie when he was distracted and overworked,”

Questor Grimm confessed. “He did not check my staff; in fact, he barely looked at me at all. He just pronounced me a Fifth Rank Mage, and Questor Dalquist and I were hustled out of the room." Xylox shook with anger. “Why did you not tell the Dominie there had been an error? Bah, those rings on your staff are just a sham! I think this an utter disgrace. You will find to your cost that Xylox the Mighty does not tolerate dishonesty."

The foppish young man stepped close to Xylox and looked him full in the face, his lids narrowed, his dark eyes blazing. Xylox felt a little uncomfortable that he had to look up to meet his gaze.

"Questor Xylox, if you are determined to dislike me then there is very little that I can do about it,” the jumped-up urchin drawled. “However, will you look me in the eye and tell me that every one of your glorious victories told in the ‘Deeds’ was merited and without even a little embroidery? Are you trying to belittle me, to put me in what you see as my proper place? If so, I am not impressed.

"Like all Questors, you must have come here a pauper, just as I did. You went through the agonies of the Questor's Ordeal, just as I did. And you have a hole in your arse, just as I do." Xylox snorted in outrage. “Why, you disrespectful little upstart
!"
he hissed. “Is this how you have been taught to address your elders and betters? If so, standards in the Scholasticate must have slipped considerably since my day!"

"That you are older than me, I can see,” Questor Grimm said. “That you are my better, I would need to see demonstrated before I could pronounce judgement. I am fully prepared to give you all the respect your high stature deserves, but I refuse to stand here to be belittled just because somebody has an inflated opinion of himself."

The older man found himself dumbstruck at the young Questor's effrontery, and he felt for a moment as if his eyes would explode from his head like miniature cannonballs, but he calmed down at last, recognising a certain humour in the situation.

He, Xylox the Mighty, prided himself above all on plain speaking, with no frills. Here he was, being confronted by somebody employing his own kind of language against him. This young Questor might be a preening popinjay, but at least he had the strength and self-confidence to stand up to Xylox. The senior mage could not ever see himself becoming Questor Grimm's friend, but he could see how the young man might be a useful companion, provided that he remembered just who the senior mage was.

Taking a deep breath, Xylox extended his hand again, and the younger mage took it, his eyes hooded as he shook it.

"Questor Grimm,” Xylox said after a deep breath. “I am Questor Xylox. We are to be on a Quest together. I am pleased to meet you."

Questor Grimm smiled. “Questor Xylox, I am honoured to make your acquaintance." With the ice at least thawed, Grimm and Xylox sat down to discuss details of the forthcoming Quest.

"So we are agreed,” Xylox said. “I suggest that we leave in two days. We will make a detour to Drute and seek to hire two or three warriors to accompany us on the Quest, and then move on to Griven, from where the missing mages were all last heard."

"Two days?” Grimm queried. “I would as soon leave today, even right now."

"Questor Grimm, I have matters at court to which to attend,” the senior Questor intoned in a haughty voice, and Grimm nodded in understanding. He knew that Xylox, with High Lodge's blessing, was the senior magical adviser to the court of King Delamat, far to the north. The King was a staunch ally of the Guild and he only employed Guild Mages, in return for the promise of magical aid from the Houses should his small kingdom ever be attacked. Xylox had a staff of some twenty mages of all disciplines and he was reputed to rule over his staff like a martinet, which Grimm could well believe.

"Two days it is, Xylox. I am sure that you will leave everything in top shape."

"My title is ‘Royal Questor Xylox',” the older man corrected. “A man with important responsibilities at a Royal Court is accustomed to full protocol at all times."

Grimm bridled a little, but took care to hold his annoyance at the Questor's fustiness in check. Nonetheless, he thought it would do no harm to bring Xylox High-and-Mighty down a peg or two.

"As you insist that we maintain full Court protocol, Brother Mage, you should be advised that my correct title is Lord Grimm, Baron of Crar."

Xylox's eyes narrowed. “Is this some idea of a joke, Questor Grimm? If it is, I fail to understand such asinine levity.” He fixed the young man with a piercing look.

Grimm's gaze remained level. “On the contrary, Questor Xylox, I have full right to the title ‘Baron of Crar'. I have the Council-attested and sealed credential in my room in the West Wing, if you would care to peruse it."

Xylox suffered a brief paroxysm, his face red as if he was in dire apoplexy. The idea of addressing this recently-Acclaimed youth as ‘Lord Baron’ was unappealing.

"I apologise, Lord Baron,” Xylox said, after a long pause. The older man even bowed his head, although his face was purple with mortification.

"I received the accolade from the grateful people of Crar after my first Quest,” Grimm continued, turning the knife in the wound; he knew from his researches that Xylox had won many awards and titles over the years, but he had never been awarded the hint of a peerage. Grimm was determined that Xylox not see him as some upstart who had been given everything by lucky chance.

Seeing that Xylox appeared almost about to explode from the burden of embarrassment that he was carrying, the younger mage relented in his torment. “On the other hand, you could just let me call you

‘Xylox’ when we are alone together or in the House, and you might then address me simply as ‘Grimm'. And perhaps we could even relax the use of Mage Speech on the odd occasion?" Xylox straightened up and cleared his throat. “As you say ...
Grimm
, this might make for a more harmonious relationship. Xylox it is. As for using common speech in private, I will have to think about it. Good day to you."

When Xylox had left, Grimm grinned. At this rate, he might be able to make a human being of his fellow mage within a decade or two.

* * * *

After a day and a half of intense study, Grimm had learnt as much of the missing mages’ disappearance as he could. Each of them had sent his letter of resignation from the town of Griven, at the foot of the Shest Mountains, and Grimm knew that the region was known to hold relics of ancient Technology. He had always been interested in the ancient and arcane art as a Student, and the Scholasticate Library held many books on the subject, despite the widespread hatred with which the discipline was regarded throughout the Guild.

Knowing he might encounter Technology on the Quest, he renewed his childhood interest in the subject, haunting the Library like a wraith whilst waiting for Xylox to return from court. Grimm also researched the potential hazards and problems that might lie ahead of them, immersing himself in geography, politics, culture and other dull subjects.

Late on the second day, Grimm found his vision beginning to swim after his day's studies.

"That'll do for today, I think,” he muttered, and began to replace the books he had been perusing on their respective shelves. As he replaced the last volume on the top shelf, he noticed a book with the faded title ‘Magical Life from Technological Death’ It was dusty, and looked as if it had not been read in decades, or even centuries.

Intrigued by the title, he carefully took down the book, blew off the worst of the dust and took it to a table. Laying it down carefully, reverently, he eased open the dry leather covers to reveal yellowed paper which bore neat but faded handwriting. The flyleaf told of how the contents of the book had been handed down and updated for six hundred years, and the tome's dilapidated condition showed that it was even older than this.

Taking great care not to damage the brittle pages, he began to read a fascinating and terrible story of pride, suffering and painful rebirth. Many of the names and references were beyond his ken despite his earlier studies, but he felt unable to tear his eyes from the delicate pages. This was the story of the death of a proud, mysterious world, and the birth of his own familiar world. He felt his eyes growing wider and his hands beginning to tremble as he read. As he had been taught, Technology had indeed wreaked grievous destruction on the world, but it had also given birth to his own way of life.

Before the Final War, there had been no elves, dragons, witches or mages in the world. Grimm could not comprehend many of the details, but it seemed that the awful flames of destruction had somehow brought about a change in humans and animals. Death had brought forth new life, but only at the expense of countless millions. The Technologists might have died in that conflagration, but they took with them carpenters, mothers, babies, nurses, blacksmiths ... the pages told horrifying stories of the awful aftermath of the deluge of flame.

* * * *

Grimm closed the book and held it in palsied hands, as if it were some small, venomous beast. All he had ever read of the art of Technology had concentrated on the functions and attributes of the astonishing machines that had once held sway over the world, and he had mourned its demise. Now, he began to understand the detestation with which the Guild regarded Technology; it had proved a useful tool but a callous, unfeeling master. Were it ever to rise again, his familiar world might be destroyed, and who could guess what might replace it?

I wouldn't be alive without that awful war,
he thought.
Everything I know would never have come
to be. I always thought the Magemasters were exaggerating when they said that Technology had
destroyed the world, but they weren't. We daren't let that happen again. It was marvellous while it
lasted, but it mastered even its own masters. They died at the hands of their own creation...
He put down the book with a shake of his head, and Xylox entered the room. “Questor Grimm, I am ready to leave. Have you gleaned all that we need to know about the regions through which we will pass?"