gobbets of all-too-real flesh from white bones and flinging them onto the fire…
'Wake up, Grimm! Wake up! It's almost time to leave.'
Grimm lifted his head, bleary-eyed and confused, from the pillow. He emitted a groan and dragged himself upright in the bed.
'I just had the most awful nightmare imaginable, Dalquist,' he said, his mouth dry and his tongue thick 'I just want to get out of here.'
Dalquist nodded sagely. 'Unfamiliar surroundings can often have that effect; I spent an uneasy night myself. You have time to prepare for the journey and to eat breakfast, but be quick. I will be back to chivvy you again in half an hour.'
Grimm made no reply, but he raised a hand in assent. When Dalquist departed, the young man made an uncharacteristically hurried toilet, in order to leave time to break his fast, but he found that even the tempting foods laid out in his room could not awaken his appetite. When the senior Questor returned, he found his friend almost distraught.
'What is it, Grimm? Surely you've had bad nightmares before?'
'Dalquist, it all seemed so real! I was in the catacombs below the Lodge, and I saw the Sisters of Divine Mercy dismembering the swollen corpse of Madeleine and drinking her blood. I can't shake it from my mind.'
Dalquist rubbed his chin in cogitation. 'You feel guilty about Madeleine, as if you could have persuaded her to give her love freely, without artifice. You hate the Order that commands her true allegiance, and you're transferring your frustration onto them.'
Grimm sighed. 'You must be right, Dalquist.' In truth, he found his friend's explanation facile and simplistic, but he told himself that he was simply overwrought after a horrible dream, and that he was trying to read deeper meanings into a sinister reverie.
Grimm stood with a decisive gesture. 'All right, Dalquist, I'm ready to leave, and it can't be a moment too soon for me. I'm a simple, provincial Questor, and I just want to get back home, back to somewhere that I can fit in.'
'Amen to that, Brother Mage.' The older mage laughed. 'Oh, don't trip over that book.'
Grimm picked up the book that he had started to read on the previous night and snapped it shut, placing it on the shelf beside the bed. 'Right, let's be on our way, Brother Mage.'
Chapter 22: Xylox the Mighty
Grimm Afelnor thought he had never been more bored in his whole life. In the six months since his visit to High Lodge and his lucky accession to the Fifth Rank, nothing exciting seemed to have happened. The Prelate had forbidden the Questor leave to visit his grandfather, without giving any reason, and Grimm had nowhere else to go
Lord Thorn did, at least, send him on two further Quests, but neither brought him much credit or glory.
The first of the Quests involved nothing more arduous than simple escort duty; Grimm accompanied a shipment of gold on a journey from Sturat Port to Fraasia across the Sturan Sea. His companion mage on this voyage was Gulari Ferat, a Mage Weatherworker of the Third Rank. Gulari remained terse and uncommunicative throughout the journey, preferring to consult his Weatherworking librams and guides. Grimm suffered from seasickness on the first three days, and his stomach remained uneasy for some time thereafter. Grimm understood fully the causes of motion sickness, but he was unable to cast curative spells on himself; this was one of the main limitations of Questor magic. In his uneasy state, he dared not attempt runic magic, which required perfection in every syllable.
Grimm knew that a small dose of Trina could cure seasickness, but he had no intention of risking re-addiction to that potent substance.
Gulari called up a gentle breeze to drive the ship when it became becalmed, but this was the only magic cast throughout the Quest. Grimm intended to pursue a rigorous, daily regimen of magical and physical exercise, but he spent most of the time facedown in his hammock, shivering and retching, his face ashen and sweaty. The Quest proved otherwise uneventful.
On the second Quest, on behalf of High Lodge, Grimm travelled alone to the city of Viere. The city fathers had defaulted on their tithes to the Guild, pleading poverty, but the presence of a full Guild Questor soon persuaded them to admit that the city's financial position was a little more secure than they had claimed.
With Lord Thorn's permission, Grimm visited his Barony of Crar, but his demon friend, Shakkar, acting as Seneschal, had proved an extraordinarily able administrator during the young Baron's absence. Grimm held an informal meeting with the Council of Crar, but the general opinion seemed to be that the Seneschal was doing a fine job; Grimm's intervention was not required, in any capacity.
The young mage had hardly seen his friend, Dalquist since their visit to High Lodge; as a full Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, having fulfilled his financial obligation to Arnor House at last, Dalquist was living far away, returning only briefly to be dispatched on a Quest of his own.
Grimm bided his time. He yearned to be out on the road again, amongst good friends and good companions, using his powers to the full in the defence of Guild values and principles. He was a Mage Questor, not some bodyguard or financial enforcer, but he learned that the valorous exploits mentioned in the Deeds of the Questors were rare exceptions, rather than the rule. He concentrated on becoming as fit as he could be, mentally and physically, ready to take on the rigours of the trail once more.
His minuscule demon companion, Thribble, did not help matters by reminding Grimm on numerous occasions that he wanted to gather more material for tales with which to bedazzle his fellow netherworld creatures on his eventual return to the demon realm.
Grimm was now seventeen years old, still slender but wiry, and possessed of considerable strength and stamina, but with no release for it other than his daily exercises. He tried to contact his old Scholasticate friends, Madar Gaheela and Argand Forutia, but both were at crucial stages in their magical training; their respective Magemasters forbade external distractions.
More than once, Grimm eyed with longing the pouch containing the addictive herbs Trina and Virion, which he always carried with him. He was over the worst of his addiction now, but the ennui brought on by waiting for his next real Quest re-awoke the hunger within him. He felt tempted on many occasions to smoke just a small quantity of the herbs, but he managed on each occasion to leave the pouch unopened. He refused to become a puppet of the substances again, but his lengthening period of inactivity served only to increase the frequency and intensity of the yearning.
Something must happen soon, he told himself. Any day now; let me just get through today. Tomorrow, something must happen. Tomorrow, or the day after…
Lord Prelate Thorn Virias ploughed through his endless paperwork. The financial situation of Arnor House had improved since he had been elected a permanent member of the Guild Presidium and since the House's subsequent rise in reputation, but Thorn still looked for reasons to dispatch his Questors on demanding and risky Quests, so he could enhance his own prestige and status within the Guild and place High Lodge in his debt.
Lord Prelate Thorn? The mental message emanating from Thorn's scrying-crystal carried greater urgency than might have been expected if High Lodge were requesting triplicate copies of Arnor House's accounting records, and Thorn looked up from his papers.
Lord Dominie Horin, it is good to hear from you again, thought Thorn, placing his hands on the crystal. What may I do for you?
Lord Thorn, I wish to acquaint you with a worrisome state of affairs. Guild Mages seem to have been resigning their vocations at an alarming frequency in recent months. We at High Lodge have recently lost a prominent Mage
