'Do sit down, Dalquist!' he breathed. 'Tell me everything!'
This time, his enthusiasm was unfeigned, and he hung on his friend's every word as the details of the Quest unfolded.
By the time Dalquist had finished, Grimm felt as if he had been reborn. After this, he would be a tyro no longer; he would be a true Questor, entitled to bear at least one gold ring on his staff, Redeemer. The possibilities of death or ignominious failure did not enter his mind for an instant.
'When do we leave, Dalquist?'
'I want to be away at first light tomorrow morning, Grimm. Does that suit you?'
Grimm laughed. 'Believe me, Dalquist, I'm ready to leave right now!'
Dalquist shook his head. 'I'm afraid I have a few preparations to make first. I advise you to study the route I propose, in case anything should happen to me.'
The elder mage placed a package of hand-written notes, maps and scrolls on Grimm's bed. 'It's a little sketchy,' he admitted, 'but we don't have much time. I seem to remember you have some knowledge of medicinal herbs; a subject I never managed to master. If this Baron Starmor is as powerful a magic-user as Lord Thorn says, we may need some Healing if it should come to a direct confrontation, although that's something I hope to avoid, if at all possible.'
Grimm frowned a little. 'I do have an interest in plants and herbs, but perhaps it would be better if we were to enlist the aid of a true Healer or Herbalist.'
'I'm afraid not, my friend,' Dalquist replied. 'Lord Thorn has put a strict limit on the level of House involvement in this Quest. We two are the only Guild Mages he will authorise.'
Grimm shrugged; it was not for him to question the Prelate's orders. 'In that case, I'll consult with Magemaster Chet at once,' he replied, naming the man who had trained him in Herbal Lore, and who had also healed Grimm's damaged body after his violent Outbreak. 'I'm sure he can advise me of the most suitable herbs to carry. I'll then spend the afternoon in the Library, researching the usage, effects and signatures of any herbs I don't recognise.'
Dalquist nodded. 'That's excellent, Grimm. I know this isn't much notice, and I do wish we had more time for preparation, but Lord Thorn stressed that this Quest was vital to the House and the Guild. If we're successful, it could result in more than a little renown for us. It could well get your name in the Deeds of the Questors. I didn't achieve that until my fifth Quest. Even then, I only had two lines of dull reportage. This is a great opportunity for both of us. I'm counting on you to do your best to aid us in whatever capacity you can.'
The Questor's eyes sparkled with almost evangelical fervour, and Grimm smiled warmly in response. The Deeds of the Questors was a Guild account of notable Questor achievements, a new copy of which was distributed to every Guild House whenever it was updated. To be mentioned in this august publication represented a great accolade; for a mere tyro to gain such recognition was almost unheard-of.
'Don't worry, Dalquist. I feel honoured to know you've chosen me, and I won't let you down,' he said, his head whirling at the rapid change in his fortunes.
Dalquist clapped Grimm on the shoulder with true friendship. 'I know you will, Grimm.' The younger Questor did not fail to register the catch in his friend's voice. 'I'll meet you in the Great Hall at cockcrow tomorrow.'
Dalquist nodded, turned on his heel and left. Grimm sat on his bed and began to leaf through the sheaf of papers, his mind filled with images of glorious deeds and the coveted rings of seniority adorning his bare Mage Staff.
Chapter 3: The Broken Bottle
Grimm awoke early, well before sunrise. With time to kill, the young mage washed and groomed himself with care. He then spent some time repairing and cleaning his black mage's robe; his post-Acclamation training sessions had often been destructive in nature, and they had left their marks on his clothing. Once satisfied with his efforts, he took up his staff, Redeemer, and eyed himself in the long mirror in his wardrobe door.
Despite all his efforts, all Grimm saw was a tall, gangling, awkward youth with none of the commanding presence of a true mage, despite the confident stance he tried to assume. He had few belongings to take with him: his patched robes; his Mage Staff; the wax leather satchel containing bags of medicinal powders, seeds and leaves.
Grimm sighed and trudged down to the Great Hall. The blue and gold tiles on the floor and the star-spangled dome above the hall no longer inspired wonder in him, and the gleaming, black Breaking Stone, against which he had proved his mastery, seemed commonplace and unimpressive. He wanted nothing more than to be on the road.
Grimm awoke early on the day of departure. Even after forcing himself to take time on his ablutions and his breakfast, he found himself waiting in the Great Hall well before cockcrow.
After a seeming age of restless pacing around the silent hall, he smiled as Dalquist stepped from the shadows, carrying several large bundles. The young mage greeted him with enthusiasm.
'Good morning, Grimm,' his friend said. 'I have a few graduating presents for you. You won't last five minutes on the trail, dressed like that.'
The bundles disclosed an oiled leather travelling cape with a cowl and fur lining for travelling in unpleasant weather; a sharp knife with a leather sheath; a capacious waterskin; and a large, fur-lined leather bag, which, as Dalquist informed the perplexed Grimm, was for sleeping in the open. Dalquist then handed Grimm a purse containing six gold pieces and a greater quantity of silver and copper.
Such wealth would have been a king's ransom back in his home town of Lower Frunstock, and Grimm's eyes almost popped from his skull.
'A man needs to pay his own way, Grimm, especially a mage,' Dalquist said with a smile. 'It wouldn't bring much credit to the Guild if its adepts were shabby mendicants. Just spend it wisely.'
Grimm stammered enthusiastic thanks until the older mage waved a hand. 'It's time to move, Grimm. Have you any experience of riding?'
The young mage raised an eyebrow.
'I practiced often on the leather horse in the Scholasticate,' he said, 'and I was brought up in a smithy. I was riding horses from the time I could walk until I came here. I don't think I could ever forget how to ride.'
Dalquist nodded. 'Good. I have procured a pair of nags for us, serviceable horses if not thoroughbreds. Yours answers to the name of Jessie, and my mount is Bella. Unless you have any questions, I suggest we leave now. We have some distance to go.'
Grimm made no comment, as the enormity of what he was about to do now weighed heavily upon him as Dalquist opened the Great Portal at the end of the hall. He felt his mouth become dry as he looked out into the wider world, and he had to force his reluctant feet to keep moving as he followed his older friend.
Outside the House, for only the second time in almost a decade, Grimm looked around and stared in wonder at a beautiful sunrise, which shot red and purple shafts across the slumbering land. At that moment, a vigorous and glorious chorus awoke from a horde of birds resting in the trees thronging the hillside.
'Come on, Grimm!'
With some effort, Grimm broke from his trance, and he hustled to catch up with Dalquist, who was waiting by the horses. Despite his brother mage's low opinion of these 'nags', Grimm recognised them at once as good- natured and trustworthy mares capable of bearing them over the roughest terrain without complaint.
Jessie bore a warm, chestnut-brown coat, with a white flash like lightning over her eyes and socks to match, and Grimm knew the fierce love of a boy for his first horse. Despite the years since he had last ridden a live animal, Grimm levered himself onto the saddle while Dalquist was still stepping into the stirrups of his grey mare,
