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
