Dalquist stared, his hand still stretched out over the table. Magical items were expensive and coveted by all mages. In addition to a monetary tithe, High Lodge demanded the right to retain any unusual or powerful magical weapons, scrolls or charms found by its representatives abroad. A mage's House Prelate often took a further levy when High Lodge had taken their fill, and Lord Thorn was no different.
'I trust you understand that these terms are indeed generous and unlikely to be repeated,' Thorn intoned.
Dalquist stammered his appreciation. Although he might gain little wealth from the Quest, what little he did manage to garner would be his. Although thievery from ordinary citizens and other mages was proscribed by Guild Law and subject to summary execution, a man such as Baron Starmor was regarded as an enemy of the Guild. To steal from such a man was condoned and even encouraged.
'Which mage will you take with you, Questor Dalquist? I should prefer you to leave the ranks of the Magemasters undisturbed.'
Dalquist did not stop to think for a moment. 'I should like to invite Grimm Afelnor to accompany me,' he said. 'I know how eager he is to prove his worth, and this will be a good first test for him.'
Thorn nodded. 'An excellent idea, Questor Dalquist. If Questor Grimm performs well, he will be entitled to place the first ring on his staff. He will then be a Questor of the First Rank in fact as well as title. Let us get him blooded.
'Now; when can you be ready to leave? Time is of the essence.'
Dalquist replied, 'I will need to spend some time in the Library researching the lie of the land, Lord Prelate. However, I expect to be ready to leave at first light tomorrow. I intend to spend a little time in the town of Drute to select the Seculars I require. I have Quested in that region before, and I have at least one particular man in mind.
'With your permission, Lord Thorn, I will leave now to acquaint Questor Grimm with the details of the Quest. I will then embark on my research.'
'God speed, Questor Dalquist, and good hunting.'
Prelate Thorn stared at the scrying-crystal before him, his hands like pink crabs crawling over its glowing green surface.
Mother, are you there?
The unpleasant, dry crackle of the voice of Thorn's mother, Lizaveta, flickered in his head.
Of course I am here, Thorn. Where else would I be, idiot?
Thorn hated his mother's interference in his life, and he hoped his news would mollify her insensate demands for a while. She was determined that her despised son should become the next Dominie of the Guild, whether he wanted to or not, and a successful Quest of such importance would go a long way towards raising his profile. That pompous old fool, Horin, would not last forever, and, if Thorn could only get close enough, he might even be able to assist him in his passage to eternal glory. If that did not satisfy Lizaveta, he did not know what would. The Prelate had no conception of why his mother took such interest in the affairs of a son whom she professed to despise. However, despite possessing the indomitable will of a Seventh Rank Questor, he felt unable to ignore or disobey her.
Mother, I have good news, he began, using the green gem to transmit his thoughts to Lizaveta's sensorium as words. That fat upstart, Prelate Zhar, has made a mistake at last, and his currency with the Guild is at a low ebb. He manufactured-
I know all about the Eye, you fool! I have magic at my disposal you Guild Mages cannot imagine. Who do you think advised Starmor how to acquire the gem? I knew you would be able to jump into the breach at a moment's notice. This is all of my planning. Of course, I ensured you would be given the authority for the Quest. I have some little influence over your revered Dominie, and he listens to me.
Thorn felt deflated. He had wanted to impress Lizaveta with his resourcefulness at taking advantage of Zhar's loss. As it was, he had, once again, been manipulated by her for her own purposes.
I am sending Dalquist Rufior and Grimm Afelnor. It will be a good asset to the House to have another full- blooded Questor at its disposal. Thorn thought it best to maintain the appearance of insouciance.
It will indeed be a good test for the Afelnor boy. Even I respect Starmor's powers. This will be a good test; a gamble, yes, for you could well lose a pair of Questors, but the rewards for success should include consideration for your accession to the Guild Presidium.
I could lose a pair of Questors? Thorn exploded. Surely this Starmor cannot be that potent? He has no Questor magic, I am sure. My spies would have told me.
He is indeed no Questor, the Prioress hissed, but his magic is of a type unknown to you. I hope Afelnor is as strong as his grandfather, or I might lose the opportunity of meeting him. I told you how I might pay a call upon Grimm Afelnor when he was older. I am sure I shall be interested in him more than a little if he survives this Quest.
Thorn was not sure if his mother was joking or not.
Chapter 2: Welcome News
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.
