mouth shut, too.'
'Thanks, Uril. Pity I can't say the same for you,' Harvel called back. Instead of taking affront, Uril laughed and turned to serve another customer.
'Well, Harvel, it seems you come highly recommended,' Dalquist said.
He made a gesture with one hand and muttered a spell in his personal spell-language. 'There; I have cast a spell so no eavesdropper can listen to what we say,' the Questor said.
Dalquist then embarked on a detailed explanation of the Quest, without mentioning High Lodge or that the Eye of Myrrn had been stolen from a Guild House.
'It sounds like an enjoyable diversion, mage,' Harvel said, smiling, when Dalquist had finished.
'If the expedition is acceptable to you, what are your terms?'
Harvel mentioned the sum of four gold pieces a week. Dalquist politely refused and offered two. Eventually they agreed on two and a half gold pieces, ten percent of any booty taken, and a replacement weapon of equal value to the sword at his side if it should be badly damaged or broken. Both Dalquist and Harvel spat on their palms and shook hands to solemnise the deal, and Dalquist relaxed his spell.
The swordsman called to Uril for another round of drinks. Harvel and Dalquist began to exchange adventure stories the inexperienced Grimm could not hope to match, so the junior mage contented himself with occasional polite nods, interjecting murmurs of appreciation at appropriate intervals.
Although the magic contained in Redeemer countered the intoxicating effects of alcohol, it did not lessen drink's demands on the bladder. After a few glasses of beer, Grimm found himself needing to use the jakes, and he excused himself, threading his way through the mass of bibulous humanity thronging the bar.
On the way back, he bumped into one of the scarred ruffians who seemed to form a large part of the tavern's regular customers. The impact spilled a minute quantity of wine onto the man's grubby, threadbare clothes.
'Watch where you're going, can't you?' the warrior growled. 'You clumsy young oaf; I ought to teach you some manners, and I'm just about in the mood to do that,' he snarled, with a belligerent jut of his jaw.
'Please excuse my clumsiness,' Grimm said. 'Let me buy you another drink to make amends.'
'Think you can buy me with your blandishments, boy? I'll have no stripling catamite fawning over me!'
Several heads turned towards the argument, and Grimm swallowed, remembering Dalquist's advice to leave no slight unanswered. The tipsy man seemed ready for a fight.
Grimm could not see the fearsome Uril, and nobody else seemed inclined to intervene. He saw Dalquist and the foppish swordsman sitting at ease on the other side of the bar, impassive, although Grimm knew they must both be listening to the exchange with interest.
The young Questor took a deep breath and drew the wispy tendrils of his will into a dense nugget of determination, as he had been taught.
This will be a one-sided battle, he told himself, feeling the power build within him. This muscle-bound bruiser doesn't stand a chance.
'In truth, I have little experience in the ways of love,' he said in a low voice, 'but I do not desire the bed- company of my own sex. Should I so desire, I would not choose as my partner a bloated, big-mouthed oaf such as you. So you must swallow your disappointment and find yourself another young boy with whom to spend your nights and to soothe your bruised ego.'
A low groan arose from some quarters of the bar as the brute stood to tower over the mage. Grimm suppressed a nervous gulp; he stood six feet tall, but this brute overtopped him by inches. In a reflex motion, he brought Redeemer to a ready position.
'Think that toothpick's going t'protect you, boy?' the fighter slurred. 'Think you can insult Harman Hammerfist and get away with it?'
The tall man drew a well-worn sword, brandishing it in a threatening manner that implied some skill with the blade.
'Do you think you can insult a Guild Mage and get away with it?' Grimm said in a contemptuous voice. He knew now a fight was inevitable, and he let his training take over, like a cool, refreshing wind that blew all fear and uncertainty from him.
'I was prepared to accept your bluster as the mindless ramblings of a drunkard,' Grimm said. 'Now, you have gone too far. Apologise at once, or know the wrath of a Mage Questor.'
'A wizard? You never said nothing about being no wizard,' the man spluttered, suddenly concerned. 'You haven't got none of them gold rings on that stick.'
'You gave me little chance to mention it before you called me a pederast's toy,' Grimm replied in a cold voice that surprised even him. 'Put that sword away and apologise humbly for your rash words, or it will be the worse for you.'
'How do I know you really are a wizard?' Harman asked, with a suspicious glint in his eyes.
This is a dangerous question to ask a walking weapon like a Questor, Grimm thought. There were several ways in which he could prove what he was, but Harman wouldn't survive many of them.
Pointing at the sword, he muttered 'Ch'teerehch'ye!' and the weapon's blade fell into glittering dust like flour, leaving the hapless Harman gaping at the now-useless hilt.
'That could as easily have been your head,' Grimm said in a threatening monotone. 'One more word of bluster or insult, and it will be. Apologise at once, before my forbearance is exhausted.'
All braggadocio and bravado seemed to flee Harman after this demonstration of power, and it seemed the adrenaline of terror had chased the alcoholic befuddlement from the fighter's brain. For a moment, he appeared to be trying to remember the working of his own mouth before he found his voice.
'I humbly beg pardon, Lord Mage, for my hasty words,' he said, with crystal clarity. 'I was drunk, and I'm ashamed at what I said. I beg you to forgive me.' Harman's voice was little more than a whisper, his face ashen, still holding the useless stump of his sword.
All eyes in the bar seemed to be on Grimm and Harman. Uril had returned, and he shook his head, perhaps baffled by the foolishness of a man seeking to tangle with a Guild Questor.
'I believe some here did not hear your apology, yet your insult was audible to all,' Grimm snarled. 'I request that you repeat your last statement in a voice loud enough for all to hear.'
Harman, red-faced, stared fixedly at the floor as he repeated his apology in a louder voice.
'Think yourself fortunate indeed you still live, only because a Guild Mage stayed his hand from righteous vengeance,' Grimm hissed. 'I advise you to measure your words better before you speak them in future. As a last piece of advice, should any nameless ruffians happen to surprise me in some dark alley while I am here, I may well assume they have been sent by you. After I have dealt with them, I shall seek you out and you will find out to your cost that I can perform much more powerful, painful and destructive magic than the simple spell I have just demonstrated.'
Grimm raised a hand and Harman flinched. The mage contented himself by allowing a single blue flame to issue from each of his fingers for an instant before letting them die.
'Do I make myself quite plain, Harman? For your own sake, you should hope nobody else is foolish enough to trifle with me. If you have any friends, which I would find hard to credit, it would be in your best interest to counsel them to steer well clear of me. Now get out of my sight.'
The hapless Harman Hammerfist muttered a disavowal of any intended treachery and he shuffled out of the silent bar. Grimm followed him with deliberately contemptuous eyes. Then he returned to Dalquist and Harvel. The former hubbub resumed as if a signal had been given, and several people gave Grimm respectful nods as he passed, which he acknowledged politely.
'You should have left that oaf Harman as a smoking spot of grease on the floor, mage,' the swordsman grumbled as Grimm returned to his seat. 'He's been a thorn in the side of many here, but he's never been stupid enough before to pick on a ring-bearing mage.'
'What was that spell, Grimm? I can shatter substances, but I can't do what you did just then,' Dalquist muttered, keeping his voice low.
Grimm noted his friend's wide eyes, and he knew Dalquist was impressed by his impromptu spell-the first he had ever cast to resolve a real-world problem.
'Oh, just for a moment, I saw the forces holding the metal together,' Grimm muttered, feeling as if he might burst from sheer pride. 'I told them to let go. The effect was quite nice, I think, even if it took a lot of energy.' He smiled. 'I think I'll call it the Spell of Enhanced Disintegration.'
