"Better a primping popinjay than a larcenous, light-fingered freak!" Harvel replied, his face reddening.
Then, Grimm noticed Uril leaning on his elbows, his head resting in his hands, wearing an amused smile on his face. What was going on here?
After what seemed an age, Harvel laughed, grabbed the slender stranger by the shoulders and embraced him with genuine warmth.
"Crest, it's good to see you again after all this time! How are you, you hot-headed half-breed hellion?"
Alliteration seemed to be on the menu, as Crest replied, "All the worse for seeing you, you sad, sorry substitute for a swordsman!" Breaking off from the embrace, the half-elf turned to the senior mage, who wore a cool smile on his face.
"Questor Dalquist, it is good to see you again. "Are you looking to hire my services once more?"
"I am, indeed, Master Crest," the senior mage replied. "I am looking for a first-class thief, and I was hoping I might find you here. It is good to see that you and Harvel are already well acquainted. Are the usual terms acceptable?"
"No complaints from me on that score, Questor Dalquist. Anything I steal for myself belongs to me, and you give me an additional stipend of one gold piece a week."
Harvel rolled his eyes, and Grimm presumed this was at the elf's lack of acumen.
"Crest, may I introduce my fellow-Questor, Grimm Afelnor? Questor Grimm, allow me to introduce the estimable Crest, a master thief with whom I have Quested on occasion."
On reflex, Grimm extended his right hand, and the slender thief took it in a firm grasp. "I am pleased to meet you, Master Crest," he said.
Crest smiled. "Just, 'Crest', please, Questor Grimm," the elf replied. "My name speaks for itself around here, and I need no additional honorific. Well met, Lord Mage."
With the formalities satisfied, Dalquist invoked his spell of silence once more and explained the details of the Quest. Crest nodded from time to time and accepted the challenge with no more animation than he might have done if accepting an invitation to a party.
When Dalquist finished, Crest ordered another round of drinks. After a few minutes' drinking, he began to introduce hair-raising tales of his various exploits, many of which Grimm felt almost sure had grown just a little in the telling.
Then, as a swarthy, tattooed type with a shaven head passed the table, the words "They let all kinds in here these days-even freaks" floated across the room with shocking clarity.
Quick as thought, Crest uncoiled a long, liquorice-like black whip from around his waist. Grimm had not noticed the weapon before against the elf's dark clothing.
With a deft, delicate flick of Crest's wrist, the whip coiled around the man's throat. Giving it a none-too-tender jerk, the thief pulled the man's face down to the level of his own. All this happened at startling speed, and a little impromptu applause arose from some of the tables.
"No killing in here, Crest!" Uril shouted. "You know the rules!"
"Oh, I don't think we need any killing yet, Uril. Just a little lesson in humility should suffice, I think. Don't you agree, my friend?"
The trapped man gasped for breath, eyes bulging as his hands scrabbled with frantic urgency at the whip wound around his throat.
"Now I'm sure some freak of nature caused us all to mishear this silly little man's words, isn't that so?" Crest cried cheerfully.
The trapped man, his panicked face now suffused with a delicate shade of purple, managed to nod.
"I'm sure if I let him go now he'll tell us what he really said, hmm?"
The strangled victim, on the verge of unconsciousness, found enough energy to manage a weak, helpless nod.
As swiftly as it had appeared, the whip was once more cinched around Crest's waist. A small, sharp dagger had taken its place at the hapless man's throat, just pricking the skin over his left carotid artery. Grimm had not even seen Crest's hands move.
"Now, what did you say?" the thief asked, a broad smile on his face.
After taking a few gurgling, whooping breaths, the man managed to gasp, "I said they let all sorts in here, and it's good for trade."
"That's what I thought you said," Crest replied with a smile. The dagger disappeared. "Now, I advise you to tack off and let decent people enjoy a drink in peace and quiet. You can keep your pathetic little prejudices to yourself; I've heard it all before, and I have a short fuse."
The half-elf dismissed the man with an impartial boot to the backside. "Now, as I was saying, there I was, running through the streets with half a hundred baying hounds snapping at my heels…"
The chastened bigot tottered to a far corner table and sat with some other ruffians, who might be little more enlightened than he, but who seemed wise enough to keep their opinions to themselves. Grimm saw their heads thrown back in obvious hilarity at the man's swift humiliation, but he heard no more insults from that corner.
Dalquist ordered food, and in a short while, Grimm was devouring a sizable meal of roast lamb, new potatoes and green beans. The food was excellent, and he had to smother a satisfied belch.
"Well, I think we have a compact now," Dalquist said, after a small eructation of his own. "May we be ready to move by first light tomorrow morning, gentlemen? Grimm and I will be staying here tonight, so I suggest we meet up in the yard tomorrow, an hour after cockcrow."
"I have a few affairs to settle before we leave," Harvel replied, "but I should be finished by nightfall. I'll see you outside here in the morning."
Crest said, "Well, I also have one or two loose ends to tie up, but nothing that can't wait. I'll be here, Questor Dalquist."
The two adventurers left the tavern together, still digging into their seemingly endless stores of reminiscences, braggadocio and tall tales.
Dalquist consulted the landlord, Uril, about the availability of rooms for the night. After a little haggling, which seemed to be expected in this town, they settled on a fair price, and the two Questors went upstairs to deposit their bedrolls and travel accoutrements. Grimm's room, on the left at the top of the stairs, was basic but clean, and certainly no worse than the Scholasticate cell in which he had been immured for much of his short life. When he had tidied his belongings into the room's single cupboard, Dalquist knocked and entered.
"Now, Grimm, I know what I told you about being frugal with your money, but we need to get you some better clothes," the older mage said. "Those robes are serviceable enough, but some sad, benighted fools will always respect good clothes more than a mage's staff. 'Power and presence complete the mage,' as the Magemasters drilled into us at the Scholasticate. You have proved your power, but a little more presentation will go some way towards completing the effect. We won't be able to run to silk this time, but good quality sateen will go as well, I think. And some new shoes, definitely."
Grimm did not object to his friend's suggestion. He had spent so long in drab, homespun garments, and he had always longed for better clothes.
The two mages walked around Drute for some time. As Grimm had noticed before, although few of the townspeople seemed to have much wealth, the wares in some of the shops were positively opulent. The various emporiums attracted several wealthy-looking visitors, many of whom travelled with what he took to be bodyguards. Dalquist took the lead in arguing with the shopkeepers, who seemed to respect him the more because of it. At the end of four hours, Grimm had a set of well-fitting robes in blue sateen so dark it looked almost black except when the light played on it. He also now possessed a good pair of supple leather boots, comfortable and yet sturdy.
Dalquist also insisted that Grimm buy some jewellery to complete his ensemble until he possessed some genuine magical artefacts. Although Grimm protested, the older Questor explained that Seculars often judged a mage's prowess by the amount of 'hardware' he carried, and he was not satisfied until Grimm had a fair selection of pinchbeck and diamante rings, and an impressive looking amulet with various cheap but impressive-looking stones surrounding a deep red crystal centre. When Dalquist declared himself happy, Grimm eyed himself in a full-length mirror.
After gazing for many minutes at the unfamiliar, sophisticated-looking young man looking back at him, Grimm agreed his appearance accorded at least with the common Secular conception of a mage.
Dalquist explained that austere, monastic apparel suited some, but that one needed a long white beard and saturnine gaze to carry that off in a convincing manner. "Now people will take you at sight for a mage without the need to prove it," he said with an approving nod.
The two mages returned to The Broken Bottle, and spent a little more time sampling the beverages. This time Grimm cautiously allowed a little more of the drink's influence to seep through, although he took care not to become inebriated. Uril declared himself very impressed at Grimm's new apparel, which pleased the young man more than he would have expected. After a good evening meal of beef stew and dumplings, the mages repaired to their separate chambers.
Grimm spent two hours revising from a small book he had taken from his room at the House, but the volume and his eyelids began to grow heavy. The book slipped from his hand to the floor.
As he blew the candle out, he felt satisfied at his first day as a true Questor. He knew he had handled himself well in his encounter with Harman, he had made two new friends and earned their respect, and he had some fine new clothes. He fell asleep within moments, dreaming of honours and plaudits.
After a fair breakfast, Dalquist and Grimm paid their separate accounts at The Broken Bottle and thanked Uril for his hospitality. Shouldering their packs and heading out to the stables, they saw no sign of their horses. Dalquist banged his staff on the ground, releasing a small cloud of blue sparks, and called, "Boy!"
The stable-boy, Dor, emerged from the stable, his eyes wide and his hair tousled. "Your horses are safe, I swear, Lord Wizard! I spent all the night with them, so nobody could steal them."
The boy motioned the mages inside, and Grimm saw he had been as good as his word. The horses' coats and manes gleamed, their hooves were clean and disencumbered, and they appeared content, whickering gently.
Dor stood to one side, his expression anxious. "Did I do all right, Lord Wizard?"
"The horses are in fair condition," Dalquist replied after a few moments' close inspection of their mounts. "You have done well, Dor. Here is the silver piece I promised you, and five coppers more for your diligence. You would seem to have quite a way with horses. Thank you."
"Thank you, Lord Wizard!" Dor said with a broad grin, proffering a clumsy but respectful bow, his eyes distant. Grimm guessed the stable boy was already dreaming of how to spend the unexpected windfall. Bowing again, the lad made his excuses and scuttled away.
Grimm heard the sound of hoof-beats behind him and turned, to see Crest and Harvel entering the courtyard. Both wore sensible travelling attire, although Harvel's clothes were trimmed with opulent gold and silver piping. The young Questor smiled as he saddled his mount: it seemed the swordsman agreed with the Guild's obsessive insistence on 'presence'.
As he clambered into the saddle, Grimm noticed the swordsman's swollen left eye, surrounded by a dark-blue ring.
"Are you quite well, Harvel?" he asked, suppressing a smile.
"Quite well, thank, you, Lord Mage. I believe I did mention I had a few odds and ends to sort out. Although I prefer sword and bodyguard work, I'm also called upon now and again to persuade reluctant debtors to part with their money. Last night, one of my clients was none too pleased at my visit, and he hit me across the face with a moneybag. That was a bad mistake; he should have paid up without complaint. It'll cost him even more than he owed to pay a physician to straighten his nose and a dentist to replace his broken teeth."
Crest snorted. "Once, he'd never have come close to you," he said with a laugh. "You're getting too old for this game. I've told you before: you're slowing down, man."
"He was no bumbling duffer, this mark," Harvel protested. "Inches over six feet, built like an all-in wrestler, and he moved like greased lightning. Any other man would have gone down like a pole-axed steer at the blow he gave me."
A cheerful argument-and-insult session began between Harvel and Crest, to which Grimm was content to listen, marvelling anew at his companions' mutual talents for self-aggrandisement, poetic insult and vainglory. The tall tales lasted well after the party had left the town and taken the west road leading to their final destination, Crar.
A slight mist arose from the ground as the sun began to warm the land. Grimm took care not to press his horse too hard, caressing Jessie with his knees and making appropriate encouraging noises to persuade her to go where he wished. The fierce muscular pains of the day before did not assault him, and he felt much more cheerful than he had only twenty-four hours before.
The prepared route gave way to a simple track, which became at times difficult to distinguish from the barren, dusty plain through which it ran.
On the advice of Dalquist, the party rode all day, making only a brief stop in the early afternoon to rest and to eat. When the sun had dipped below the horizon for a couple of hours and it became all but impossible to follow the vague path, the senior mage finally called a halt. Crest pointed out a stand of trees and bushes some fifty yards off the track, suggesting that this would be a good location to rest for the night, and the senior Questor agreed.
The elf busied himself with setting a fire, using various sticks and branches he found littering the small, welcome copse. He began to search in his pack for a tinderbox, cursing under his breath, when a smiling Dalquist waved him aside.
"Questor Grimm: a little practice for you. Do you think you can light this without setting fire to the entire plain?"
"Can a bird fly, Brother Mage?" Grimm asked, returning the smile with only a little more confidence than he felt. He had practiced the control of his magical power over and over, until even the acerbic, critical Magemaster Crohn had declared himself fully satisfied. He felt certain he could evoke the necessary magic by force of will alone, without word or gesture.
The young Questor extended his Mage Sight into the depths of the woodpile, assessing its fragility and its flammability. He drew just a little power to himself, and clenched his brow and fists for a mere moment. In an instant, the wood burst into lambent flame, launching great curls of orange light into the night sky.
"Perhaps you'd like to use a little less force next time, Questor Grimm?" Harvel suggested. "It's not good practice to let the world know where you are."
"My apologies, friends," the young mage replied, happy that his spell had succeeded. "Next time, I'll just set a small flame on my finger and light it that way. That was at the lower limit of my projected power, I think."
"May the Names help our enemies, then." Crest grinned in evident appreciation as he spoke. "Does anybody want to eat now?"
Dalquist withdrew a dry cake of jerky from his pack, but Crest shook his head. "I advise you to save that tack for leaner times, Questor Dalquist. Watch and learn from Crest, the master hunter."
After a brief glance over his left shoulder, Crest sent the thin whip streaking out behind him. When he drew it back, Grimm saw a fat rabbit trapped in the coils, its neck broken. Crest repeated the operation twice more, and two more small animals joined the first.
"Heavens help the local wildlife, then," Harvel muttered in a stage whisper, and everybody laughed. Harvel set to work, expertly preparing and cooking the rabbits.
Producing a belch of heroic proportions, Crest offered to take first watch while the rest slept.
Grimm shook his head. "I do not feel sleepy," he declared. "I am happy to take the first watch."
The others accepted with grace, and Crest offered to take over in four hours. Grimm asked how he could judge the time without the guidance of the sun, but a military man, Crest explained, needed to be able to wake at will after any specified time interval. Grimm thought this was just part of the elf's habitual bluster, but for once Harvel did not contradict him.
When the others were asleep, Grimm took in the peaceful sounds of the area. Branches gently whispered and creaked in the breeze, and in the distance a wolf cried; an eerie, spectral sound. The embers of the fire changed their glowing patterns as if they formed the parts of a living thing, a luminescent chameleon, and Grimm wandered off for more sticks with which to feed the flames.
Was that the sound of the wind, or something more ominous? In an instant, Grimm's strained his sensitive ears until he could hear the blood rushing through his arteries and veins.
There is something there…
He started as a hand caught him from behind, wrapped around his mouth so he could not cry out. An arm that felt like iron clenched his arms to his sides. His heart pounded fiercely, almost deafening him, and then came a whisper that sounded like a storm to his sensitised ears.
"Thought to humiliate Harman Hammerfist, did you? Let's see you try those filthy devil-cursed magic words now, you undersized excuse for a wizard! So you choose to go around with that puffed-up fop and his mutant half-breed friend? No less than I expected. I've tracked you all day, all the way from Drute, waiting for the moment when you were alone. You never even looked around for an instant! Even on the bare plain, you never saw me.
"In the morning, your friends will find you hanging from this tree, a reminder of what comes to them that try to cross Harman. You should never have messed with me in The Broken Bottle. Goodbye, wizard, and good…"
The whisper finished in a loud gagging sound, and Grimm felt the hand fall from his mouth. Leaping forward, the Questor spun around, calling Redeemer to hand. He saw Harman clutching frantically at his throat, his eyes bulging, as Crest stepped from the shadows.
"You're a good tracker, Harman," the elf said, "and you skulk well in the dirt where you belong, but you make a lousy assassin. You should have made your kill quickly and got out. But you had to tell the mage your life story first. That was a bad move; a very, very bad move."
Crest released his whip from the big man's neck, and Harman's whooping gasps for air soon brought Harvel and Dalquist. The would-be assassin was now surrounded.
"I thought we'd see this piece of semi-human scum again sooner or later," Harvel spat. "He's obviously the forsworn traitorous bastard I took him for, but I never gave him the credit for being able to sneak up on us this easily. Well done, Hummer-pissed; you're easily one of the best crawlers I've ever met."
"Who's going to do the deed, eh?" Harman blustered, his eyes flicking from side to side like those of a cornered animal. "You think you're big enough to carry it off with that pig-sticker, you walking clotheshorse? Or let's see if that pointy-eared imp can take me on. Or are you all too scared to take on a real man, one-to-one?"
Dalquist made a show of inspecting his nails. "I would not sully my hands with you, Harman," he said. "The honour of ridding the world of your odious presence belongs to our friend Grimm, here."
Grimm gaped. "I can't just kill him in cold blood, Dalquist! I just can't!"
Harman jeered. "No, of course not, you'll get your fellow bugger-boys to do it for you, won't you? You couldn't dirty your hands with the murder of someone who's more of a man than you'll ever be."
Dalquist looked hard into Grimm's eyes, the two mages' noses almost touching. "You have to do it, Grimm," he muttered, his tone low and urgent. "There's no way out of it. This isn't murder: it's an execution. You vowed what you'd do if our hot-headed friend tried anything more. I told you just what a vow means in Drute; it's a solemn covenant. This scum needs a dose of his own warped justice"
"I know, Dalquist, I know!" Grimm wailed. "But this is just plain slaughter. I can't do it!"
"You must, Lord Mage." For once, Harvel seemed in deadly earnest, and Crest nodded in stern agreement.
As Grimm struggled with his doubts, Harman spoke up. "Well if you won't do it, and the child won't do it, I guess that's about it. Goodbye, all." He turned on his heel, and Harvel reached out a hand for the failed murderer, only to find himself sprawling in the undergrowth. From the corner of his eye, Grimm caught the bright glint of steel flying towards his throat.
The young mage, caught by surprise, screeched "Sh'slach'tera't'ye!" The giant tottered and sprawled at Grimm's feet, his own dagger embedded deeply in his left eye, a thick rope of spittle hanging from an open mouth.
"Now that's the way to do it, Questor;" Harvel said with an approving nod, "quick and clean."
Grimm stood aghast, his mouth gaping. Nausea took his entrails in an iron grip. Hysteria flickered within the Questor as it had only ever done once before, unwanted and unbidden. Blue motes of magic flickered around him to no effect as he struggled with the enormity of his act. "He's dead!"
"Grimm, listen to me!" Dalquist hissed. "If you had not done what you did, it would be you lying dead on the ground now. You know it! You did not launch the missile; you only turned it back against its homicidal owner!"
Grimm wrestled with the torrent of emotion rising within him like a frigid, bubbling mountain stream. "I know, Dalquist, I know! But I've killed another human being, no matter how evil he was. I could have restrained him. I could have disintegrated the dagger harmlessly. I could have done any number of other things to stop him. Instead, I reacted without thought, and I killed him!"
Harvel clapped a hand on Grimm's shoulder. "None of us condemns you for what you did, mage. I've killed many men, and it's never easy. If it were, then I'd be no better than the vicious scum lying here. I don't like to do it, but I kill when I must." He fixed Grimm's wide-eyed gaze with steely eyes.
"I would have killed this man, if my reactions had been as swift as yours. Do you hate me?"
Grimm shook his head. "You're a warrior, not a wanton assassin, Harvel. It's your trade, and I respect your abilities. You're right; I had to kill Harman, I know it in my head, but my body doesn't see it that way. Maybe he had a wife, a family, loved ones. They'll never see him again."
"And the families of his other victims?" Harvel demanded. "You can bet this wasn't the first time he sneaked up on someone to kill them. I say this with all respect: maybe you're too wrapped up in your emotions to realise it, but you've done the world a service.
"It's as simple as that: you killed when you had to, and I know what that can feel like. I still remember my first kill. I was no older than you, and my tongue got away from me after a drinking session. I might have inflamed the situation a little, but it wasn't my fault someone else's ego was a bit too sensitive. When my back was turned, he drew a dagger and lunged at my back. If I hadn't dropped to one knee and thrust my own blade between his ribs, I wouldn't be here today. A horde of gorgeous women would never have known the tender touch of Harvel, the best lover in the Northern Lands! Aye, and what a tragedy that would have been!"
Harvel puffed up his chest and smoothed his clothes with such a primping, self-satisfied gesture that even Grimm laughed. He laughed long and loud, out of all proportion to the swordsman's posturing, a few tears breaking unbidden from his eyes. He sniffed, still laughing, but then the hysteria left him and he assessed the situation. Whatever else, he, Grimm Afelnor was still alive. He would survive and the murderous Harman would not. He had had no choice.
"Shouldn't we bury him?" he asked.
Dalquist snorted. "He does not deserve it. Leave him here. It will be a good warning to any of his friends, should they come by. If, that is, he had any friends."
Sleep was ruined for all, and brushing the tears from his cheeks, Grimm remembered why he had wandered off in the first place. "I must get some firewood," he said. "This time I'll keep my wits about me."
"And this time I'll take the watch, as I offered earlier," Crest insisted. "You do need some sleep, no matter what you say. You weren't alert enough, letting someone sneak up on you like that."
Grim acquiesced, and went for the fuel, this time keeping his ears open for the slightest untoward sound. This time, he was not molested.
Dalquist approached the young Questor as he delved for wood in the undergrowth. "Questor Grimm," he said, his voice sterner than Grimm had ever heard it. "You have sworn an oath to the Guild. At times, you may be ordered to kill; I have been so ordered in the past. I will never enjoy the act as long as I live, but I know my duty. I hope you never get used to it, but you will have to be impassive and resolute when you have to kill. Just remember your blood oath to the House, Grimm. You are a Mage Questor; that means sometimes you must put aside your humanity for the sake of necessity. The next time you have to kill, I do not want to see a display like that, is that clear?
"In addition to this loss of control, I asked you to confine yourself to Mage Speech when dealing with Seculars, and you have been lapsing into vulgar contractions and slang. You must keep control at all times; is that clear?"
Dalquist had never talked to Grimm in this manner before, but the young mage saw the concern on his friend's face. Dalquist was responsible not only for the success or failure of the Quest, but also for the reputation of Arnor House. Grimm had revealed weakness and humanity; in less tolerant company, the image of the Guild Mage might have been tarnished.
"I apologise, Questor Dalquist," Grimm said, bowing his head. "I know I should be more in control of my emotions by now. I promise you I will be more on my guard next time. It was just so fast that it shocked me. I will not allow myself to lose control again, I promise."
Dalquist nodded, and his expression softened a little. "Sit down."
Grimm lowered himself onto a grassy mound, his friend standing over him.
"To tell you the truth, Grimm, on my first Quest, I killed four armed guards in cold blood. I stood by and watched as a frightened man was flogged and hanged by his brother's men. I maintained a cool pose, but when I was alone, I vomited. I also drank a lot afterwards; too much, in fact. I'm not telling you to be a cool automaton, but sometimes you have to act like one. I'll say no more about it. Let's get that firewood, and I think we can relax the use of Mage Speech with these trusted men."
When the Questors returned, Harvel and Crest were in the middle of yet another heroic dialogue, glorying in death-defying exploits and tales of past loves and battles they had shared. Grimm immersed himself in the tales of gallantry and daring of which two friends never seemed to tire, and eventually he fell asleep. The words "murder", "death" and "killer" ran around his head for a while longer, but soon departed, to become admixed with "Quest", "glory" and "fame".
What would Granfer Loras think of me? Grimm thought. He was a Questor, just like me. He must have killed on many occasions. I'm sorry, Granfer…
The young mage drifted into merciful, dreamless sleep.