forgotten it, and I never will. Granfer, I know the truth, and I want you to know I am proud to think that I am carrying on in your name. I will never do anything to make you or Lord Thorn ashamed of me, no matter what.'
Grimm felt uncomfortable to see his powerful grandfather break down in hot tears. Loras' shoulders shook as Drima held him like a baby.
'It's all right, my love,' she crooned, as if addressing a newborn baby. 'I won't tell anybody else. Your secret's safe with us, isn't it, Grimm?'
Grimm nodded, incapable of speech, and he waited while Loras dried his eyes. On sudden impulse, he held out Redeemer to his grandfather, his eyes questioning. For a few heartbeats, Loras hesitated, but then he stood and grasped the magical weapon.
For the first time in forty years, Loras Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, held a Mage Staff in his hands, marvelling at the cool tingle of magic that the ensorcelled wood sent through his arm, accepting and welcoming it. He held the tableau for some time, and then handed the staff back.
'What is your staff's name?' he barked.
'Redeemer, Granfer,' said Grimm, smiling. 'I named it that for you; for all of us.'
'It is a good name.' Loras' voice was gruff but wistful. 'Thank you, Grimm. Thank you, Redeemer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. And thank you, my love, for putting up with the odd whims of an old fool.'
'Let me look at you, my two Questors,' said Drima, paying no heed to the tears running down her cheeks. 'I'm proud of you both, and I always will be.'
Grimm and Loras stood at the crossroads, waiting for Doorkeeper's return.
'I may not have much time to see you in the near future, Granfer,' Grimm said. 'Dalquist, Xylox and I are the only active House Questors at this time. I'm going to be needed.'
'I understand, boy. I would have it no other way. Just see us and write when you can. I know only too well that the life of a Questor is uncertain at the best of times. All in all, I'm not sure whether I prefer the life of a blacksmith or not.'
At that moment, the cart hove into view. Pulling up, Doorkeeper stared at Loras, his mouth open but unspeaking.
'Hello, Doorkeeper,' Loras said. 'It is good to see you again.'
Still, the major-domo said nothing, his eyes wide. Grimm was put in mind of a small child who had been caught with his hand in a jar of honey.
'I understand if you cannot talk to me,' the smith continued. 'I imagine I am not too well thought of in Arnor.'
'Questor Loras… I mean, Loras,' Doorkeeper croaked, finding his voice at last. 'You look well.' Doorkeeper's tone was guarded and uncertain. 'I… I shouldn't really be talking… that is…'
'It's all right, Lord Mage,' Loras said. Doorkeeper blinked, and Grimm wondered if anyone had ever called him that before.
'Be so good as to take care of this Guild Questor, and take him back home.' Loras' voice was thick, but steady. 'Take care of yourself, too.'
Grimm took his grandfather's hands in a firm grasp. 'I'm going now, Granfer. I'm going back… home.'
'Take care, Questor Grimm.'
'And you, Questor Loras.'
Grimm looked back at his grandfather until he was out of sight. Then he looked forward; forward to life as a Mage Questor, a true weapon of the Guild and redeemer of his family name. The sun glared, red and baleful on the horizon, marking the end of one day and the beginning of another.
As the wagon rolled back towards Arnor House, Grimm whispered, 'I won't let you down, Granfer. The name of Afelnor will shine again; I swear it.'
