The soul of what had once been Grimm Afelnor floated in endless darkness, aimless and free; a small spark drifting through an indistinct haze of barely-registered sensory impressions. It had no thoughts, no sense of self and no emotions; this was a vague, formless mote of consciousness in an ocean of nothingness. For seeming aeons, it swam contented through the warm, soupy sea of oblivion, growing weaker with every moment.
A sound! A distant humming seemed to grow louder and more distinct by the second. The noise reached an unbearable peak, assaulting its very centre, before consciousness came to spirit-Grimm. In a microsecond, it felt itself falling, falling until the spark fell to earth with a heavy thump. Spirit-Grimm had regained mortality: mortality was a sea of cares and pain.
Grimm's head and eyes seemed filled with ice-cold shards of glass, his throat with knives. The awareness of the existence of arms and legs wormed its way into his growing consciousness; large, heavy structures with myriad tunnels inhabited by small, scurrying, biting creatures. He was a living termite's nest, a rabbit warren. A strange, bubbling, keening sound echoed in the distance, and another sound. It was his name. He was aware of the presence of another, and he wanted to be alone.
So much easier just to be no more.
The presence persisted, irking him, He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great. He became aware that the distant cry came, unbidden, from his own mouth and then ceased.
"Grimm, come back. Grimm, come back…"
He tried to speak but all that came from his lips was a weak, unintelligible, gurgling sound.
"Grimm, I am Querl. Please speak if you can."
"Que-errr-lll…" The sound was faint but comprehensible. "Querl. H-hurts. Grimm. Grimm Af'ln'r"
"Good, Grimm! Do you know where you are?"
"D'know. Crar. Hurts."
"Yes, you are in Crar. I will give you something to ease the pain."
"No, not drugs. None. None. None. No drugs!"
"Very well, Grimm. If you are determined in this, I will administer no drugs, but you may ask me at any time if you change your mind."
"Won' change mind. No drugs…" The lights faded again.
Grimm did not know how long he had been switching between alternate spells of painful consciousness and blissful nothingness, but he eventually regained full awareness. The presence of a familiar mind; Dalquist was with him.
"Water…"
A glass was raised to his chapped lips, and Grimm winced in pain but drained the water. A glaring flash of light invaded his head as he opened his eyes, but he managed to keep them open long enough to resolve the clear image of his friend. Sitting up seemed impossible to his atrophied muscles, but he managed to speak.
"Dalquist. Did it work?"
Dalquist, grinning, spoke with a hint of tears at the corners of his eyes, no longer bearing the stern, formal persona of the Senior Questor.
"Indeed it did work, Grimm. The people of Crar are free, Starmor seems to be restricted to his pillar, and we have rescued the poor wretches from his other dungeons. I've closed off all these prisons from the human world, as well as Starmor's own, well-merited cell.
"I still have the Eye, and I'll return it to the Guild as soon as you're fully recovered and able to travel. You may be pleased to hear that you're very popular with the people of Crar as the mage who banished their former puppet-master. The former mayor of Crar wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience."
After a few abortive attempts, Grimm managed, with some difficulty, to raise himself to a sitting position. He found himself sitting in a sumptuous four-poster bed in a tastefully decorated room. Soft, harmonious vocal music gently wafted through the room; a relaxing, peaceful sound.
"Where am I, Dalquist?" he asked. "How long has it been?"
"You're in Starmor's own bedchamber, Grimm. I changed the decor to something a little more suitable for a convalescent mage. It's been two weeks since you banished him."
"Two whole weeks?" Grimm croaked. "We must get back to the House straight away! Lord Thorn must be told of events as soon as possible! I must also admit that the very thought of staying in Starmor's awful tower horrifies me, and I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary."
"Relax, Grimm," Dalquist said, putting a friendly hand on his friend's right shoulder. "I have contacted Lord Thorn by means of Telepathy, and he is as anxious as I am that you regain your full health before we return. The Eye is in no danger; I sent it back to the same place I used before. It is in a dimensional framework beyond the reach of any secular or layperson. Not even Starmor could find it.
"The tower is not as it was. With the Baron out of the way, the souls imprisoned in the staircase are free from torment. They are free to leave, and yet they choose to remain and rejoice at their deliverance of their own free will. Listen!"
It was true. Grimm realised that what he had assumed to be the singing of a melodious choir was, in fact, emanating from the tower walls.
"Don't worry, Grimm; we're in safe hands. Harvel, Crest, Shakkar, Thribble and I have been feted several times by the people of Crar. Shakkar has performed admirably in aiding the people to rebuild their former lives, and I think the people now know him as a good friend rather than a fearsome monster. He seems to take genuine pleasure in these activities.
"Harvel and Crest have been teaching the warriors of the city how to fight on their own, after so many years as mindless automata. You wouldn't recognise Crar now. It is becoming a pleasant, fruitful community, and old trading links are being renewed with other towns and cities."
Grimm tried to smile but his sore, cracked lips did no allow this. "This is good to know, Dalquist," he croaked "The people of Crar deserve so much more than the chains that held them for so long."
Dalquist looked closely at Grimm. The young mage was pale and drawn, to be sure, but his eyes were clear and his gaze steady. "Do you feel in need of your herbs, Grimm?"
Grimm mentally explored his body, reaching into every inner nook and cranny, assessing the qualities of his different pains and aches.
"The desire is there, Dalquist," he admitted, feeling a dull, inchoate longing within his body. "I suspect that it will never truly leave me. Still, at least I can't feel the urgent, overpowering, manic need I felt before. I hope and believe that that blast of energy and my brief coma have bled much of this ugly desire from me. I'll keep the herbs with me as a reminder, but I will resist them as best as I'm able from now on. It won't be easy, but we have both faced worse deprivations."
Grimm smiled at his older friend, and Dalquist responded with a knowing nod. The two Questors shared a bond that ordinary men could never know and never comprehend; their different Ordeals had brought each to the very brink of madness and self-destruction, and only iron will had seen them through those dark days and months. Grimm would surely be possessed of sufficient self-control in order to prove to be as good as his word. Willpower was the cornerstone of a Questor's personality.
Grimm tried to get out of bed to show just how well he was, but the effort was beyond him. After several attempts, he abandoned the idea and lay back on his pillow, his face a white mask of sweat.
"I know you'll fight this better than any Secular could ever do," Dalquist said, "but I don't think you should push yourself too hard. There's no rush; everything's under control. Take your time; we'll be staying here in Crar until I'm convinced you're well enough to travel, and not before."
Grimm opened his mouth, ready to protest, but contented himself with a rueful smile instead, as he felt lassitude seeping through his limbs.
"Perhaps you're right, Dalquist," he allowed. "Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought I was."
After three days of angry determination and frustration, Grimm regained the full use of his legs, although he remained pale and weak. Each morning, he did his best to complete the punishing regimen of morning exercise he had been taught as a Neophyte, and he felt himself growing stronger by the day. Good, nourishing food aided his recovery in his recovery, and he felt his mage powers returning also.
On Grimm's third day of completing the whole sequence of exercises, he washed himself with care and brushed his matted hair and beard until they shone. Donning his robes, and calling Redeemer to him, he caught sight of himself in a mirror and stared at a stranger.
The young man's face was ashen-pale, and he was tall and lanky, but there ended any resemblance to the callow adolescent's face Grimm had expected to see. This was a knowing face, a serious face… this young man looked dangerous. Even the way he carried his body was different: gawkiness was replaced by loose-limbed confidence. This was not a man easily frightened…
Regarding his reflected image with more astonishment than vanity, he thought, I look like a real Questor now!
Grimm knew Dalquist would not diminish his role in the Quest when giving his report to Lord Thorn, and that he had done well. The young mage looked at his staff and smiled.
You'll soon have that first gold ring, Redeemer, he thought, smiling. We're on our way, at last!
He started at a knock on his chamber door and said, "Come in."
Dalquist entered with a middle-aged man almost as tall as he. The stranger had a mass of tight, black, curly hair over a dark-brown face. He wore a striking scarlet and black coat over black breeches, and Grimm guessed the broad, yellow sash slanting across the man's chest marked him as some kind of civic functionary.
"Lord Mage, I am Chod," the stranger said, with a respectful half-bow. "I am the former Mayor of Crar, and I'm pleased to see you looking so fit and well after your ordeal."
Grimm remembered his lessons in Guild protocol: Mage Speech would be required in this situation, and he should respond to the dignitary with politeness but not deference. As a Guild Mage, even one without a mark of rank on his staff, he was the equal of any Secular, and he must not debase himself in any way. He was a representative of the Guild, and worthy of respect.
He grasped the mayor's extended hand with a firm, grip and shook it three times, as he had been taught.
"Mayor Chod, I am honoured to meet you," he said, accompanying his words with a polite nod. "How may I be of service?"
The mayor cleared his throat, and Grimm thought he looked a little embarrassed.
"Lord Grimm," the dignitary said, in a soft, pleasant baritone, "we are overjoyed at the deliverance of our people, and are working as hard as we can to return Crar to its former state as a proud trading city. Matters progress apace, and we hope soon to be free of the taint of Baron Starmor, who controlled us for so many years."
Grimm looked at Dalquist, who wore a broad smile, and he guessed that the mayor was coming to the crux of the matter.
"We Crarians are simple folk, and we feel the need of a strong leader; a patriarch. I do my best to fulfil this role but I was once a puppet of Starmor, as were all the other citizens. I feel sullied, as do they; we were not whole men and women.
"We need somebody to guide us who was not under Starmor's spell. I have been mayor for twenty years, but for fifteen of those years I was nothing more than a smiling, gavel-wielding marionette with no power or will of my own. It will take me some time to get into the habit of making my own decisions again, and I will feel much more secure in my work if I am able to recover my confidence as a municipal officer under the notional protection of a strong and resourceful leader."
Grimm nodded, waiting for the man to get to the point. No doubt, Chod was on the point of offering Dalquist this position; a position his friend must needs decline, in view of his obligation to the Guild.
"You were instrumental in the defeat of Starmor, Lord Mage," the mayor intoned, lowering his eyes. "We of the reformed Council of Crar wish to offer you the title and privileges of the Baron of Crar. To you would pass all the rights and privileges once stolen by Starmor. Considerable wealth comes with the position, and this would all be yours; as you can imagine, Starmor built up a considerable balance of capital from the hard work of his enslaved subjects."
Grimm gaped, dumbstruck, for several moments. The man was offering him, a mere blacksmith's boy, the lofty position of Baron of Crar?
Granfer will be so proud, he thought, feeling his heart pounding, seeing himself dressed in silk robes and golden finery. And Gramma Drima, too! They will…
The concept was impossible; Grimm was a Guild Mage, above all, and his first and last obligations were to his House and his Prelate. Tempting as he found the offer, he knew he must refuse.
"Mayor Chod," he said, doing his best to keep the note of resignation from his voice, "I feel more gratified than I am able to express by this signal honour. However, with the deepest regrets, I must decline your kind offer. I am not a free agent. My fealty is to the Guild of which I am fortunate enough to be a member. I cannot commit myself to the administration of Crar."
Dalquist, who had been standing at Chod's shoulder, stepped forward.
"Questor Grimm, you would not need to commit yourself to a full-time residency at Crar. I have had several conversations with Mayor Chod on this subject. I outlined the objections I knew you must raise, as a true Guild Mage. Lord Mayor; will you be so good as to allow me to paraphrase your response to Questor Grimm's expected response?"
Chod opened his hands and turned them palms-up towards Dalquist.
"Please feel free to do so, Lord Mage."
"Thank you, Mayor Chod.
"Questor Grimm: my understanding is that the position of Baron of Crar is expected only to be ceremonial. You would be expected to provide-shall we say-spiritual guidance to the people of Crar."
The young mage frowned. Was he expected to act as some kind of priest?"
"Now, Brother Mage," Dalquist laughed, "I beg you not to panic. Your obligation to Crar would be as a… a figurehead, an ever-present reminder of what Crar must represent to the world. You would not be expected to be a civil functionary or even to reside within these city walls. I know that, at this stage of your vocation, you are required to live within the walls of Arnor House, and Lord Mayor Chod is well aware of this stricture. Believe me, Questor Grimm: you will not be breaching the terms of your Guild Oath if you were to accept this position. An occasional visit would suffice."
"Nonetheless, Questor Dalquist, Lord Mayor Chod, I must still demur." The words felt like ashes in his mouth, but Grimm knew he must still refuse.
"The wealth and power stolen by Starmor from his former subjects should be shared by them, not simply given to a mere figurehead. The money and prestige are surely yours; I cannot accept them."
"Lord Grimm, you do not understand the freely expressed will of the Crarian people," Chod replied, and Grimm saw sweat beading the mayor's brow, his entwined hands trembling.
He's terrified! the mage thought. What have I said that scares him so?
"You are correct that Starmor's wealth and power were stolen from us," whispered Chod. "For many years we laughed and cried, celebrated and commiserated only by the will of Starmor, whether this accorded with our own feelings or not. We lived in an unending nightmare from which we could not escape. What he took from us, he perverted and twisted into something sick and meaningless. We do not wish it to be returned to us; it frightens us as a symbol of our slavery. We wish for a new Baron, one who represents the true precepts of the newly free people of Crar; a Baron who will be the ever-present symbol of the new order."
"Give the money away, if you will, Lord Mayor," Grimm protested, "but, if you find it besmirched, would that taint not pass to me, if I had control over it? I advise you to seek a more experienced person as your ruler."
Chod shook his head. "We do not wish to touch Starmor's tainted booty, but we would not see it wasted. We are by nature merchants, and waste is hateful to us. This wealth would be yours to command, and yours to use as you see fit. We refuse to spend it on ourselves."
The mayor smiled. "Nonetheless, should our Baron wish to do so in charity, we would accept his gift with gratitude."
Despite Grimm's former objections, Chod did not seem to act as if he were under duress; this insane proposal seemed to be his heart's desire, and he would not be balked.
The young Questor had to admit that the title 'Grimm, Baron of Crar' sounded alluring, and he had done his level best to raise his objections. Who was he to deny the freely expressed will of the people of Crar?
Drawing a deep breath, he asked, "Are you certain my acceptance of this post will not compromise my obligation to the Guild, Brother Mage?"
Dalquist shrugged. "Questor Grimm; so long as the post of Baron never interferes with your responsibilities to the House and the Guild, accepting Mayor Chod's offer contravenes none of the Guild Rules. Several House Mages possess noble credentials, and some of them have become very wealthy as a result. Some even offer their services for hire. There is no rule that requires that a mage, even one of charitable status, must be a pauper for the rest of his life. My advice would be to accept Mayor Chod's munificent offer with gratitude."
Leaning close to his friend, the older mage whispered, "Take it, Grimm; if you don't, I will-that is, if Chod offers it to me!"
Grimm cleared his throat and assumed a solemn manner as best he could.
Grimm Afelnor, Baron of Crar! The title sounded ridiculous, but it was better than those he had borne as a Charity Student: 'pauper's bastard', 'traitor's spawn' and 'swamp rat' among the kindest of these.
"Very well, Mayor Chod," he sighed, keeping a sheepish smile from his face, "you shall have your new Baron, provided that I am not expected to spend my full time in Crar. As a Guild Mage, my first allegiance is to my House; I cannot and will not abandon that duty."
Chod nodded. "Lord Mage Dalquist advised me of this, Questor Grimm. All will be as you wish, I assure you."
"My first act as Baron will be to offer the former wealth of Starmor to you and the Council, to do with as you will in the service of the city of Crar. It is not mine to take, and I have no experience in the use of money."
It hurt Grimm to add this codicil, but it eased his troubled conscience to say so. Chod grimaced and shook his head.
"With the greatest of respect, Lord Mage, I regret that I cannot accept your terms. You are free to accept or refuse the post of Baron of Crar as you will, but, should you accept this responsibility, the wealth of Starmor must be administered by you and you alone, on a case-by-case basis. We have proven fallible before, and we lack the confidence to administer our own funds without guidance.
"The Baron of Crar has always carried out this function, since well before the time that Starmor invaded our city. Since his advent, fifteen years ago, we have had our lives directed for us in all respects, and we lack the confidence to fully administer even our own lives. We are leaderless, and we crave governance by someone who was never tainted by Starmor's evil magic."
Grimm felt trapped in a quandary. He knew he could not commit to running Crar on a regular basis, and yet these people obviously needed help.
As an idea came to him, he brightened. "How would it be if I appointed a representative: a Seneschal, to run the day-to-day affairs of the city in my name? Someone you could trust to protect you. Someone who cares nothing for gold and jewels? Someone who has actively resisted Starmor's will for many years?"
Chod nodded slowly. "That might be acceptable, Lord Mage. Do you have somebody in mind?"
"Our demon friend, Shakkar, seems to have an unsuspected talent for organisation," Grimm said. "With your permission, I will ask him if he will take the post of Seneschal. I believe you would find him a potent ally and guardian, should he accept."
Now, it was the mayor's turn to frown. "Shakkar was once Starmor's lieutenant, of his own volition, Lord Mage," he said, narrowing his eyes. "This does not sit well with me. At least the rest of us fought Starmor as well as we could before we lost our minds."
Grimm shook his head. "With respect, Lord Mayor, you are mistaken," he said. "Shakkar opposed Starmor as soon as his evil plans became clear, at the cost of his magical powers and his freedom. He spent a decade in grim imprisonment for his pains. He was free to leave at any time, but he chose to fight the Baron instead. He steadfastly refused to aid Starmor in the enslavement of the city's denizens. This is heroic behaviour from a creature who was shunned by all, kin to no human, and who owes you no fealty. We could not have defeated Starmor without the aid of Shakkar, Lord Mayor. He was instrumental in your salvation."
Chod considered the young man's words with care. He had hoped that Questor Grimm, whom, he knew, must remain at all times bound to the will of the Guild, would cede control of the offered city finances to the Council, without conditions, whilst still offering a measure of protection. A few hundred gold pieces, or even a few thousand, would be a small price to pay for the threat of Guild retribution for any attack; a threat Chod could invoke at any time when negotiating with the other towns in the region.
The mayor had been prepared to accept a human representative, but, now he knew the truth of Starmor's demonic provenance, it seemed unthinkable that another demon should be accepted as a representative of a new Baron, a new order. On the other hand, he knew that Questor Grimm spoke the truth.
He had seen with his own eyes Shakkar's first vocal opposition to Starmor's actions when the newly elevated Baron had begun to change free humans into enslaved caricatures and puppets. The Council, cowed by this evidence of power, had deemed it politic to say and do nothing, biding their time. By then, it was too late…
Chod knew he dared not return to the Council with empty hands, and he also knew the people of Crar would be unlikely to accept the unquestioned rule of a group of people who had failed them before. The still-cowed people of Crar might accept the accession of the Council at first, but their tenure might be brief, as the citizens began to revel in their newfound freedom. In order to prevent anarchy, Crar, so long a Barony, needed a benign but powerful ruler to watch over it. The implicit protection of the mighty Guild, however distant, might prove a potent safeguard against any would-be attacker.
Questor Grimm had proved to be a young man of considerable moral principle as well as magical power, and this elevated him even more in the Mayor's eyes than had his former resourcefulness; this youth was not greedy and would not raid the civic purse too often. The fact that he would be away from the city for most of the time was, if anything, an advantage. Only the matter of Grimm's proposed Seneschal caused him pause; nonetheless, was the prospective Baron's candidate beyond consideration?
The demon has certainly been of great help in the rebuilding of Crar, in the short time since Starmor left us. Having a dull-witted monster like Shakkar to protect us could not help but deter our eager-eyed enemies.
Perhaps this young mage's idea is not so bad, after all. I am a politician, after all. I should be able to swing sufficient support in the Council, if I word the proposal in a suitable form…
"My apologies, Lord Mage," he said at last, bowing, trying not to sound too eager. "Will you kindly put your suggestion to this demon, Shakkar? I will recommend to the Council in the strongest terms that we accept your proposal."
"Mayor Chod, I will," Questor Grimm replied. "Needless to say, my acceptance of the post of Baron is conditional upon our mutual acceptance of this stipulation."
Chod nodded, suppressing a smile.
"I have one more stipulation of my own, Questor Grimm. You must accept a yearly stipend of one thousand gold pieces from the civic fund, with the addition of further expenses occurred during the furtherance of your duties in this city. I must insist that you have new suits of fine clothes made up for you at our expense; we owe you more than that for our deliverance, whether you accept the position of Baron or not."
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.
With Grimm absent much of the time, he would be the de facto ruler of Crar, even if only by proxy. That he could effectively oversee the running of Crar by the free will of humans, where Starmor had only been able to do so by subterfuge and enslavement, he found strangely stimulating. Yes, he would be Grimm's Seneschal. Even though his will would be, to some extent, subject to Grimm's, he knew in his heart that the human would never try to belittle him or to humiliate him as had Starmor, one of his own kind. He could think of no more honourable man to become his titular master, with the exception of the courteous and powerful Dalquist. At least, no single human could overrule his decisions except for Grimm, and he would be present in Crar only on rare occasions.
"It will be as you say, Grimm. You are the Baron, and I am your Seneschal, subject only to your will and that of the Council. And the majority vote of the citizens, I suppose. This will be an unusual constraint for me, but I believe that I can live with it. I am your demon, and I will accept your requirements with… humility. I know my temper is severe at times, but I will always remember that the people of Crar are only human, and that such creatures may be broken easily-saving your presence, of course. I will exercise restraint at such times, but I trust that I may be allowed the odd growl or invective from time to time."
"I'm glad to have you on my side, Shakkar," the young human said, smiling. "So long as you don't use these growls or oaths to attempt to coerce the Council or the voters, I have no objection, my friend…
"Please don't look at me in that way, demon! If I'm to rule this city, I want it to be by consent, not by coercion. I won't have it any other way."
Shakkar swallowed his brief eruption of ire, and nodded. He knew he would have to endure far worse provocations in the future, and he undertook within his mind to control his temper from now on. Grimm seemed to be testing him, and he found himself happy to suppress his baser instincts in the interests of harmony.
"Very well, Grimm Afelnor," he growled. "By all means, take your proposal to the Council tonight. I will be your man… or your demon, in any case."
Grimm's spirit sang. His body was still a little weak, but he felt buoyed up by the fullness of his heart. He was a Baron! Surely no joy could compare to this, save his Acclamation ceremony. Surely, nothing could go wrong for him on this happy day.