Grimm Dragonblaster 4 Read online

  These factors might be difficult to arrange. Only Thorn had benefited directly from Loras’ disgrace and expulsion from the Guild, and Grimm would surely realise that if the clues were too overt. The boy might also demand to hear Lizaveta's reasons for the betrayal; he might stay his hand long enough for her to mention that she was Thorn's mother, and that she had acted to advance his status.

  This would be a most unsatisfactory state of affairs.

  However, if Afelnor accomplished the deed, it did not matter if he was discovered in the act or not; he was the Traitor's grandson, after all. For all the youth's protestations, nobody in the whole Guild would take the word of a young mage over that of a Prelate who had treated him well.

  On the other hand, if Afelnor succeeded in destroying Lizaveta without arousing any suspicion, his future as an Arnor House Questor was assured; Thorn would not raise a murmur, even if the boy were ever elected as Dominie at some far-distant time.

  I have some time in hand, the Prelate thought. Even Mother isn't powerful enough to ensorcel all the mages in the Presidium at one sitting, or anything like it. That's just as well, because I'll need to take my time over this little stratagem.

  Thorn scratched his hairless pate and frowned, considering the deeper ramifications of his plan.

  The boy might have sworn a solemn oath to defend the interests of the House and the Guild, but it may not be enough. I need to make him trust me, so he'll do anything I ask.

  For a start, I can recommend him for promotion. Xylox won't like it, but I can make it plain that I recognise the boy's very real worth to the Guild by adding the sixth ring to his staff; the Presidium won't complain, and I can let Afelnor know that I promoted him despite his senior Questor's strongest recommendations to the contrary.

  The Prelate smiled. This plan seemed flawless.

  I'm sorry, Xylox, but you'll have to look like the villain here. Perhaps if I recommend you for a healthy stipend and an extended entry in the ‘Deeds of the Questors', you'll feel better.

  The realistic prospect of Lizaveta's removal from his life cheered Thorn no end, and he drained his goblet at a gulp. The fact that his mother seemed to have taken a shine to the boy could only add a satisfying tinge of irony to the enterprise.

  So you wouldn't mind meeting our young Afelnor up close, eh, Mother? Perhaps you'll get your wish: but, after all, they do say you ought to be careful what you wish for, don't they?

  While I don't envy the boy this particular Quest, he's probably the best chance I have of being rid of you for good.

  Thorn refilled his goblet, raised it high and laughed out loud for the first time since his youth.

  Here's to you, dear Mother; long may you rot.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 2: The Uncertain Future

  Grimm Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank and Baron of Crar, sat at ease in a red leather divan in his well-lit day-room. With his beloved Drexelica at his side, he felt at peace. The early morning sun cast warm, golden rays that made the room's mahogany panelling glow with rich hues, and the costly rug upon the floor shone in all its colourful grandeur. This was Grimm's last day in Crar before he must return to Arnor House, and he felt determined to savour every moment of it. Could anything be better than this?

  Grimm took Drexelica in his arms and kissed her. She returned the embrace with warm passion, and he lost himself in her deep, blue eyes until interrupted by a sharp rap at the chamber door.

  "I won't be a moment, Drex,” he whispered into her ear. “It's probably just some Council official after the latest grain production figures."

  Extricating himself from Drex's entwining arms with great reluctance, he opened the door. A towering grey-green apparition stood before him, exposing a mouthful of fangs like carving knives, and a wide-eyed Drexelica gasped.

  "It's all right, Drex, it's just my good friend and Seneschal, Shakkar,” Grimm called over his shoulder, turning back to the mighty demon and extending his hand. “Shakkar, my friend, it's good to be able to spend a little time with you at last."

  The demon reached out to grasp the human's right wrist. Grimm tried to copy his friend, but his hand barely reached half-way around the oversized, muscular limb.

  "I feel the same, Lord Baron.” The demon's basso profundis rumble shook the room. “It has been a long time since we were last able to talk in such an intimate manner."

  Since Grimm's return to Crar with General Quelgrum's technology-using army in tow, Shakkar had spent much of his time in acquainting the General's soldiers with the ways and customs of Crar, in an attempt to integrate fifteen-hundred armed men into the populace. Grimm had also had to endure many a lengthy, tedious meeting with the city council, so he felt more than happy to be able to devote a little time to his gigantic friend at last.

  "Too long, Shakkar,” Grimm agreed. “I never knew that so much of the time of a Baron was taken up with adjudicating grazing rights, settling disputes and appointing minor dignitaries. Still, I guess you're only too familiar with that."

  "Greetings, Shakkar,” a familiar voice piped from a pocket in Grimm's robes, and the tiny head of the ever-present Thribble popped into view. As ever, the Questor had all but forgotten that the resourceful, six-inch tall demon was there: the minuscule creature might be an invaluable companion, but he seemed somehow easy to overlook or forget.

  "Greetings, Thribble,” the titan boomed. “It is good to see you again."

  Shakkar fixed his eyes on Drexelica, who still sat on the divan. Her expression was nervous in the extreme.

  "Grimm, will you not introduce me to this lovely, toothsome piece of mortal flesh?” The demon bared his fearsome array of dental weaponry once more, and Drex shrank back from the dread apparition.

  Grimm suppressed a chuckle. “Drexelica, this is my good friend, Shakkar. Don't worry; he won't eat you, for all his terrifying aspect and his occasional lack of tact.” He shot a hard look at the demon, who appeared unaffected even by the commanding gaze of a Guild Questor. “Shakkar, this is Drexelica, who will be keeping house for me."

  Since sensual relations between mages and women were regarded within the Guild as unseemly, Grimm and Drex had agreed that the fewer people who were aware of their true relationship, the better. The Questor had implicit trust in his titanic ally, but he knew that Shakkar was, on occasion, a little clumsy in his speech. Of course, the ubiquitous Thribble knew that the two young humans were in love, but the minuscule demon, teller of sagas to his more powerful underworld kin, was well aware of the value of discretion in the information he revealed.

  The girl held out her right hand, and Shakkar bent at the waist as if it were a hinge, touching his closed mouth to the proffered extremity in a lipless but gentle parody of a kiss. Drex laughed as the frightening apparition performed his solemn obeisance, and the demon jerked upright.

  "Was my act somehow amusing to you, young female?” Shakkar demanded.

  "I was just glad to see that a person with such big claws and teeth was also a real gentleman,” Drex replied, and the demon snorted.

  Grimm suspected that, if Shakkar were capable of blushing, his grey-green face would have been blazing cherry-red, and the mage could feel Thribble shaking in his robe pocket, as if the imp were seized by a fit of silent laughter. Shakkar's discomfiture notwithstanding, the ice seemed to have broken.

  For the next two hours, Grimm and Shakkar discussed civic matters: the growing trade links that Crar had formed with surrounding towns since it had been liberated from the baleful dictatorship of Starmor; the disbursement of city funds; and the refurbishment of important buildings. If Drex found the discussion tedious, she hid it well, but she breathed a sigh of relief when Shakkar made his excuses and left.

  "I doubt you'll ever find life with a Guild Questor normal, Drex,” Grimm said with a smile. “If you wanted a quiet life in some peaceful backwater, with climbing roses up the walls and cows in the field, I'm afraid you've made the wrong choice of partner."
/>   Drexelica laughed. “I'm not sorry at all, Grimm. I want only to be with you, no matter what happens. I know you won't be able to be at my side all the time, or even a lot of the time, but I'll try not to let it get me down."

  "I have a duty to the Guild, and to my family name,” Grimm said with a sigh. “I've made a public vow to uphold the values of the Guild, and a private one to redeem the name of Afelnor in its eyes. I can't just throw that aside, even for you, Drex. I wish I could, but I can't. I have my family's reputation to restore."

  "I know, Grimm, and I surely respect you for it. For all the rotten life I had, I've never had to shoulder a bad family name, too. Is that why you call your staff ‘Redeemer'?"

  Grimm nodded. “My granfer, Loras Afelnor, is reviled as a traitor and a renegade, just because he took pity on a sick old man. He's tortured by the memory, and he so wants me to wash the blemish from our name. It's a heavy burden, but not one I can easily deny."

  Drex took his hands in hers. “You don't really believe your Granfer tried to kill the old Prelate, do you, Grimm?"

  Grimm shrugged. “He did try to kill Geral, Drex; I can't deny it, even to myself. I've met Granfer only once since I became a Guild Mage, but I saw the guilt and pain in his aura clearly enough. I didn't say anything about it to him, but I've seen his confession in the Guild records. Yes, he tried to kill the Prelate, surely enough ... even so, something seems wrong about the whole thing."

  Drex's brows arched. “D'you think his confession was forced out of him, then?"

  The Questor shook his head. “I think Granfer's confession was true, as far as he knew. He was caught in the act by his best friend, who is now Lord Thorn, and he never even tried to deny the act.

  "It's not what he did, Drex, but how he did it. Pushing a pillow over an old man's face ... it's just so bloody physical. Granfer Loras was a Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, an avatar of destruction, a Weapon of the Guild. There must have been a hundred ways he could have snuffed out Prelate Geral's life from a distance if he wanted to. It wouldn't have needed anything like as much power as it would to kill a younger mage. Geral was a tired old man, and he was dying."

  The girl frowned. “But, Grimm, you just said you believed he did it. Now you're saying you don't. I don't understand. If he tried to snuff the old man, what difference does it make how he did it? Perhaps he was acting ... in the heat of the moment, or something. Men don't always think things through too clearly, do they?"

  Grimm laughed, although he saw little humour in the situation.

  "A Guild Mage isn't like ordinary men, and a Mage Questor is even less so. You don't get to be a forty-year-old Questor of the Seventh Rank by acting on impulse,” he said. “It's something I'm often guilty of, but I'm trying as hard as I can to eradicate it. I'll have to if I want to make old bones.

  Otherwise, sooner or later, some stupid mistake'll catch me out, and it could be fatal.

  "Granfer Loras was an old hand, and he'd been on dozens of difficult and dangerous Quests. You can be sure he never acted just on the spur of the moment. And with an infinite number of spells potentially at his command—invisible, undetectable spells—you can bet he'd never have chosen to push a pillow in the old man's face. Not unless he wanted to be caught, and I don't believe that.

  "The only other explanation I can think of is that someone—a single mage with unbelievable magical power, or a group of mages acting in concert—ensorcelled him into doing what he did.” Grimm hissed through his teeth in an attempt to dispel the tension within him. “Everyone in the House expected Granfer to succeed Geral as Prelate. From what I heard, he wouldn't have had to wait long. He didn't need to take the risk of assassinating the old man just to get him out of the way ... and even if his motivation was pure mercy, why did he choose such a blatant, obvious method? Geral couldn't have put up any resistance; Granfer could have stopped his weak heart in a second with a quick, merciful spell, instead of trying to smother him. He wouldn't even have had to leave his room.

  "It doesn't ring right, Drex. It doesn't make any sense at all."

  Drexelica leaned forward, cupping her chin with her right hand as if considering what to say next.

  "Who got the most out of your granfer's disgrace, Grimm?"

  The young mage shrugged. “Lord Thorn, I suppose. When Geral finally died, Lord Thorn became Prelate instead of Granfer."

  He saw Drex's eyes narrowing, and he shook his head, seeing where the discussion was heading.

  "Lord Thorn was Granfer's staunchest friend!” he protested. “The expected sentence was death, and only Lord Thorn's pleading swayed the adjudicator at Granfer's trial. If Thorn'd been the guilty party, why would he want to spare Granfer's life?"

  Grimm sighed. He had nothing more than a slew of vague suspicions and doubts, nothing on which he could put his finger. He had considered the matter in some depth, but he knew he had no reason whatsoever to suspect Thorn of any wrongdoing. A spell capable of making a full Questor act against his will, while believing he was acting under free will, must be beyond the power of any single mage. Such an enchantment might have been carried out by a Great Spell, a large group of potent thaumaturges acting in concert, yet it seemed that Loras had been a popular mage, both within the House and at High Lodge.

  No, Lord Thorn could not have done this.

  After long cogitation, Grimm spoke.

  "No, Drex, I don't for a moment think Lord Thorn did it. I have absolutely no reason to suspect him. In fact, books I read at High Lodge led me to believe that the only possible explanation involved powerful Geomancy, witch magic, rather than Guild magic."

  Drexelica started. “I'm not all that powerful, but I've read quite a lot about witchery, Grimm. You must believe me when I tell you no ordinary witch could cast a spell like that. It would take a more powerful witch than I've ever heard of. Why would a strong witch hate your grandfather so much? Witches don't have a lot to do with the Guild."

  Grimm shrugged. “I don't know, Drex. Perhaps Lord Thorn could just tell me a little more about Granfer's manner when he committed the act: a peculiar expression on his face, an abnormality in his aura: something, at any rate. I mean to ask him, as soon as I get back to Arnor."

  Drexelica put her hand on Grimm's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. “If you're serious about doing that, do be careful, Grimm. You don't want to make Lord Thorn angry with you, do you? You said he can make you a poor servant for years if he wants to, and I don't want to lose you."

  "I don't know what I want,” the young Questor confessed in confusion and discomfort, waving his hands as if seeking divine inspiration. “But I'd never forgive myself if I knew that I'd left some stone unturned.

  Granfer's a stern man and a hard taskmaster, but he'd do anything for me. He and my grandmother Drima are all the family I've got."

  "I know,” the girl whispered. “Of course you need to find out what happened, but just be careful. Will you do that? Men can be so clumsy and tactless at times, and I worry for you."

  "I'll be careful, Drex, I promise. Lord Thorn is severe, but I think he's fair and reasonable at heart, if he's in a good mood. He'll understand why I have to know, I'm sure. And in any case, I wouldn't worry too much about me being condemned to the scullery. I'm more useful as a Questor, and in any case, I'm sure I'm rich enough to pay off my education now. I've never been told what the tariff is for Questors, but I've got plenty of money now."

  Drexelica hugged him. “Just you take care of yourself, Grimm, and come back to me. If you get yourself killed, you'll have me to answer to. You wouldn't like that, I promise you. I have my mother's temper at times, and she was a real witch in every sense."

  She wagged a mock-admonitory finger in his face.

  Grimm laughed, despite his sombre mood. “I'll be careful, I promise."

  Then his face fell again. “You do realise that I may have to stay at the House for a while longer before I can come back home? I don't want anything more than to stay here with you, but I'm
not a free man yet.

  After a few more Quests, a little more boost in reputation, and I may be trusted to spend all my free time in Crar without running away."

  Drex nodded, her expression a little bleak. “I'll wait for you, Grimm Afelnor. I'll trust your friend Shakkar to look after me, and I'll be thinking of you while you're away."

  Grimm shrugged. “It may not be too bad, Drex. Lord Thorn may not order me to stay at the House after all, and Quests don't come about all that often. I'll let you know, whatever happens."

  "I know you will, Grimm. Anyway, enough of that! Why don't you tell me all about your first Quest, and your friend, Dalquist?"

  "I'm sure Thribble here can tell it better than I could,” Grimm replied, smiling. “What do you say, Thribble?"

  The demon hopped onto the table in front of the divan, enthusiastic and athletic. “I thought you would never ask, human. I love to tell stories."

  Drex clapped her hands and turned to Grimm. “He's so sweet, Grimm! I love him!"

  " Sweet! ” the demon squeaked in indignation.

  "Please, just tell the story, Thribble, while I get my bags packed for the journey. Perhaps you'd like a little wine or brandy to lubricate your throat?"

  "Brandy would be marvellous! ” the demon crowed, clapping his tiny paws. “Well, young female, I first met Questor Grimm when the demon Starmor ruled this city: but it was a very different city then.

  Questor Grimm and his companions were trapped..."

  Drexelica sat silent, her eyes wide as Thribble launched into his tale with his customary gusto. Grimm felt happy to let the demon take his mind off his uncertain future.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 3: Lord Thorn's Assessment

  The morning was warm and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky, but the young thaumaturge barely noticed.

  As Grimm rode up the winding mountain pass to the fortress that was Arnor House, his mind remained focused on his forthcoming meeting with Lord Thorn. On his last Quest, the senior mage, Xylox the Mighty, had promised that his report to the Prelate would be 'on balance, favourable' . However, the older Questor had made little secret of his dislike for Grimm, even if he appeared to respect his junior's resourcefulness and power. All depended on whether Lord Thorn's view coincided with that of Xylox, and the young Questor knew the Prelate's temper to be unpredictable at best.