Grimm tried to force his voice into its accustomed mode, but gave up the effort. 'Deeds of the Questors sixty- five to thirty years ago original editions if available.'
Grell's hand flicked out and opened a drawer in a cabinet at his left side. His deft fingers riffled through a series of cards and then stopped in an instant, as if at some predestined position.
'Rack E-323 Questor good reading Brother Mage.'
The old man's gaze dropped back to his work, as if he had already forgotten the mage standing before him.
At least the library was laid out in a sensible order, and Grimm had little trouble in finding Rack E-323. He had decided to see if he could find any details of Loras' deeds as a young Questor. Arnor House seemed to have expunged all records of his grandfather's name from all records. Perhaps, he thought, High Lodge might be a little more catholic in its retention of documents; it was.
He found what appeared to be untouched copies of the periodical dating back to two hundred years before, and more.
Although the monetary wealth he had received from the grateful people of Crar was considerable, he felt rich beyond his wildest dreams at the sight of these dusty tomes. He leafed through several copies, careful not to damage the delicate, yellowed paper, until he found his first mention of his grandfather in a document dating back fifty years.
Afelnor, Loras, Third Rank Questor, is recognised for exemplary service to the Guild. This mage is hereby raised to the Fifth Rank, with congratulations from a grateful Presidium. Olaf Demonscourge, Seventh Rank Questor, is unanimously voted a yearly bequest of eight hundred gold pieces.
The relevant Quest was described in some detail. The senior mage on this expedition was Olaf Demonscourge, whom Grimm had last seen in a fierce battle between inebriation and imbecility at the young mage's ceremony of Acclamation. It was hard to think of the venerable Olaf as a relatively young man, maybe fifteen years older than his friend Dalquist, but it was even more of a shock to think of his grandfather, Loras, as a proud, vigorous nineteen-year-old Questor in the prime of his life.
The Quest seemed simple enough at first. A large group of brigands had been disrupting free trade and free travel within the demesnes of the Guild. Olaf and Loras were despatched to offer warning that the bandits were treading on dangerous ground; it was assumed that the presence of two full Guild Questors would be sufficient to persuade this band of desperadoes to abandon their plundering ways.
The Quest did not go as planned; it took on a more sinister turn when the despoilers revealed that they had a pair of powerful mages within their own ranks: a Weatherworker and an Illusionist who had abandoned the Guild in search of a wealthier lifestyle.
The two Arnor Questors defeated the renegade magic-users after a series of violent encounters, during which Olaf suffered a serious wound, a well-directed bolt of lightning, only to find that the outlaws had invested the town of Shuralla and taken the Earl's family prisoner.
Loras entered the town alone and defeated the brigands without the loss of a single hostage. An engraving, showing a proud, defiant-looking Loras carrying the Earl's baby daughter to her grateful father's arms adorned the page.
In later accounts, Loras' name appeared several times, involving cunning espionage, daring seizures and even political assassinations.
However, one aspect of Loras' character that shone out from the accounts of his deeds as a Guild Questor was a love of innocent life. Time and again, he seemed to have gone out of his way to prevent needless deaths, even at considerable risk to his own life. He had gained the Seventh Rank by the age of twenty-four, and had been feted and rewarded by the Guild on countless other occasions, on many occasions in the company of his great friend Thorn Virias, Grimm's own Prelate.
Grimm found it intriguing that the various accounts so often mentioned his grandfather's great humanity and compassion, his desire to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. He had killed when ordered to do so, or when dire necessity had arisen, but he had never gloried in the act. Of course, the authors of the Deeds of the Questors extolled the glories and virtues of the various Quests in extravagant language, but they seemed never to have dwelt on the more merciful qualities of other Questors in such glowing terms. Many of the other mages recognised and honoured by the Guild seemed bloodthirsty in comparison.
Would such a mage have attempted to murder an old man, merely in an attempt to gain accession to a title? To Grimm, the idea seemed ludicrous, if one was to judge from the annals of the High Lodge records. The written career of his grandfather suggested an almost fanatical dedication to the ideals of his Guild, paramount amongst which was a deferent acknowledgement of one's seniors and betters. Grimm, himself, had found little pleasure in his rapid advancement to the Fifth Rank, knowing that it had only been granted due to the Lord Dominie's extreme diversion at the time, thanks to the return of the worrisome Eye of Myrrn and the heavy demands on his time. The young Questor would not have considered refusing or questioning the honour for a single moment, but he would, in truth, have preferred an honest promotion based on his actions alone.
Grimm sighed to himself, and his eyes brimmed with tears. Loras must have felt compassion for the old, ailing Prelate of Arnor House and tried to bring a merciful end to the ancient mage's confusing and painful life. Although such an act was treason, Loras' motives could only have been those of compassion and pity for a man he revered; a man whose cruel suffering Loras had become unable to bear.
Grimm could stay his bitter tears no longer, and he let them fall in a silent stream down his cheeks as the distant Scholar worked through his papers. In part, the tears were for Grimm himself: for the lowly status that he had been forced to accept because of his grandfather's misjudged acts; but also for a wronged man he loved with all his heart.
He grasped Redeemer to his side and considered the name he had given the staff, and the private oath he had sworn.
Grandfather, the name of Afelnor will shine again within this Guild, on my life. I will not allow our shared name to remain a synonym for treachery and betrayal.
Grimm heard the tolling of a distant bell and realised that the hours had flown by. He replaced the last volume in its appointed place, and he dashed from the library to meet Madeleine.
She was there, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a desolate expression replaced in a swift heartbeat by a warm, beautiful smile of greeting. Madeleine wore a long, violet dress that clung to her splendid figure, hinting at pleasures of which the inexperienced Grimm could only guess.
Madeleine was beautiful, and Grimm could not tear his gaze from her.
Her sweet voice and the long, fluttering lashes over sapphire-blue eyes came like soothing balm to his troubled soul. 'Grimm, thank you so much for coming to meet me. I was getting worried that you might not show up.'
Grimm found himself giggling like a child. 'Madeleine, Madeleine, I would have crawled over hot coals to reach you. You mean so much to me.'
Her warm smile suffused his very being. 'And you are very dear to me, too, my Grimm. I don't know what I might be without you.'
She was like sunshine in summer, warmth in winter, happiness and joy. Grimm marvelled at how quickly his earlier dark mood had passed. He felt so carefree and unrestrained in Madeleine's presence; it was like…
With a decisive thump in some deep region of his mind, Grimm realised the truth.
It's just like being drunk.
He clutched Redeemer to himself and accessed the spells within the staff, the spells he had once thought frivolous and unworthy of a Guild Mage, and the scales fell from his eyes. Madeleine was indeed a beautiful girl, but she was not worth his life, his soul, his oath. He now realised he had been ensorcelled, rather than entranced.
