Grimm Afelnor sat cross-legged on his bed with his eyes shut, trying to meditate. He focused on the mental image of a peaceful grove of trees, through which ran a clear, bubbling stream. Although he found meditation irksome at times, the young mage knew the ability to envisage images and abstruse concepts on demand was a cornerstone of a Questor's ability. Where most mages required pre-prepared scrolls and painfully-memorised chants to cast their narrow range of spells, a Questor was limited only by his ability to visualise what needed to be achieved.
Questors were informally known as 'Weapons of the Guild', mages capable of wreaking terrible destruction through a simple effort of will. A Questor's magical will expressed itself not through a perfect, rigid, unchanging chant, but through his personal thought-language, a confusion of syllables unintelligible to anyone but himself. In order to be an effective weapon, a Questor must think quickly and with instant clarity. A second's delay might result in an inglorious demise at the end of a simple blade or an arrow.
Grimm concentrated on the trees, trying to see every branch, every leaf and every blossom. As he became absorbed in the tranquil scene, he felt his worries begin to melt away. Now he could hear cheerful birdsong and the fluid muttering of the stream.
Let's see if I can summon up some fish…
Somewhere in the distance, Grimm heard a sharp, rapping sound, but he tried to ignore it, concentrating on the creation of a shoal of leaping, iridescent fish. Then, the sound became too loud to ignore, and the fantasy scene dissolved in confusion.
What in the Names' sake is it now? he wondered, opening his eyes.
Trying to keep his tone civil, he said, "Come in," although he recognised the note of peevishness in his voice.
The door opened, and Grimm managed a faint smile at the sight of his friend.
"Oh, good morning, Dalquist," he said with more warmth in his voice than he felt. Grimm knew it was unfair to inflict his inner torment on his fellow Questor. "What is…"
His voice faltered to a halt at the sight of the broad grin on the tall man's face, not daring to think what it might portend.
"We are needed, Grimm," Dalquist said, and the young Questor did not fail to note the stress on the pronoun.
"A Quest?" Grimm replied, his voice almost an octave higher than its normal baritone. "Is it a real Quest at last?"
Dalquist nodded, his grin threatening to split his head in two. "It is a Quest," he said, "and an important one."
Grimm leapt from his bed, feeling his blood surging.
"Do sit down, Dalquist!" he breathed. "Tell me everything!"
This time, his enthusiasm was unfeigned, and he hung on his friend's every word as the details of the Quest unfolded.
By the time Dalquist had finished, Grimm felt as if he had been reborn. After this, he would be a tyro no longer; he would be a true Questor, entitled to bear at least one gold ring on his staff, Redeemer. The possibilities of death or ignominious failure did not enter his mind for an instant.
"When do we leave, Dalquist?"
"I want to be away at first light tomorrow morning, Grimm. Does that suit you?"
Grimm laughed. "Believe me, Dalquist, I'm ready to leave right now!"
Dalquist shook his head. "I'm afraid I have a few preparations to make first. I advise you to study the route I propose, in case anything should happen to me."
The elder mage placed a package of hand-written notes, maps and scrolls on Grimm's bed. "It's a little sketchy," he admitted, "but we don't have much time. I seem to remember you have some knowledge of medicinal herbs; a subject I never managed to master. If this Baron Starmor is as powerful a magic-user as Lord Thorn says, we may need some Healing if it should come to a direct confrontation, although that's something I hope to avoid, if at all possible."
Grimm frowned a little. "I do have an interest in plants and herbs, but perhaps it would be better if we were to enlist the aid of a true Healer or Herbalist."
"I'm afraid not, my friend," Dalquist replied. "Lord Thorn has put a strict limit on the level of House involvement in this Quest. We two are the only Guild Mages he will authorise."
Grimm shrugged; it was not for him to question the Prelate's orders. "In that case, I'll consult with Magemaster Chet at once," he replied, naming the man who had trained him in Herbal Lore, and who had also healed Grimm's damaged body after his violent Outbreak. "I'm sure he can advise me of the most suitable herbs to carry. I'll then spend the afternoon in the Library, researching the usage, effects and signatures of any herbs I don't recognise."
Dalquist nodded. "That's excellent, Grimm. I know this isn't much notice, and I do wish we had more time for preparation, but Lord Thorn stressed that this Quest was vital to the House and the Guild. If we're successful, it could result in more than a little renown for us. It could well get your name in the Deeds of the Questors. I didn't achieve that until my fifth Quest. Even then, I only had two lines of dull reportage. This is a great opportunity for both of us. I'm counting on you to do your best to aid us in whatever capacity you can."
The Questor's eyes sparkled with almost evangelical fervour, and Grimm smiled warmly in response. The Deeds of the Questors was a Guild account of notable Questor achievements, a new copy of which was distributed to every Guild House whenever it was updated. To be mentioned in this august publication represented a great accolade; for a mere tyro to gain such recognition was almost unheard-of.
"Don't worry, Dalquist. I feel honoured to know you've chosen me, and I won't let you down," he said, his head whirling at the rapid change in his fortunes.
Dalquist clapped Grimm on the shoulder with true friendship. "I know you will, Grimm." The younger Questor did not fail to register the catch in his friend's voice. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall at cockcrow tomorrow."
Dalquist nodded, turned on his heel and left. Grimm sat on his bed and began to leaf through the sheaf of papers, his mind filled with images of glorious deeds and the coveted rings of seniority adorning his bare Mage Staff.