'It is. Do you ride?'
Numal's face contorted in a puzzled frown. 'Horses, you mean?' Grimm nodded.
'I'm afraid not,' the older man admitted. 'My parents tried to teach me, but I was hopeless at it. I haven't had a lot of opportunities to follow it up since then.'
'All right, I'll see if I can get Doorkeeper to organise us a cart, or something. Do you want to go?'
'Certainly…' Numal's face turned grave. 'Questor Grimm, I don't want to cause offence, but you're not looking for some… special… friend, are you?'
A few moments passed before Grimm understood what the older man meant, and then he laughed. 'Numal, my life has been short on friends so far. I like you, but that's all there is to it. All I want is a sociable travelling companion, and I thought you'd benefit from a little time outside when you don't have to listen to an old man talk about how rich he is.'
Grimm considered he might have allayed the Necromancer's concern more by telling Numal he had a beautiful girl waiting for him in Crar, but he had good reason to keep that fact hidden. He did find Numal good company, when he wasn't indulging in self-pity, but, more than that, a Necromancer might prove to be an ideal companion in his unofficial Quest to investigate the activities of the Sisters of Divine Serenity. He was now sure that his former temptress, Madeleine, really had been butchered in the crypts of High Lodge, and a man capable of contacting the souls of the dead, however poorly, might be an indispensable asset to this end.
Nonetheless, although Lord Thorn had named this as his next Quest, he had the distinct feeling that he was expected to vouchsafe as little information as possible; it might be better if Numal knew nothing of Grimm's ultimate purpose. He felt guilty about using the fledgling Necromancer in this manner, but he had a personal stake in this Quest.
Grimm faked an expression of exasperation and sighed. 'Look, Numal, do you want to go to High Lodge, or not? If not, I'll cope, believe me. Nobody's forcing you, you know. If you want, you can get a room on the other side of the bloody Lodge from me if you're worried about the prospect of me groping your body at night.'
Numal waved his hands. 'I'm sorry, Questor Grimm. Yes, I would like to see High Lodge, very much. Please, excuse my suspicious mind. I've heard that you Questors are pretty direct, and I'm not used to that. I'll join you.'
Grimm kept his tone cool. 'Good man. I'll see if I can organise us a wagon, and you can make sure you're not needed here for any pressing reason. Meet me back in the Great Hall in two hours or so.'
'You people don't hang about, do you?' the bald mage said. 'You couldn't wait 'til tomorrow, could you?'
Grimm realised that he might be pushing things too quickly. He had spoken of friends, and yet he had not spared a thought for his stalwart, reliable allies, Madar and Argand, who had supported him when he had been a callow Student, and who were still immured in the Scholasticate. His friend and fellow Questor, Dalquist, might well be in residence, and it would be the height of ingratitude to ignore him. Did he really want to use Doorkeeper, as other unthinking souls did, as some menial servant, fit only to fulfil his whims and petty demands?
'Of course, Numal,' he found himself saying. 'Take as long as you need, within reason. I don't have to leave today, I guess I'm just a little taut; I've only been to High Lodge once before, and I don't want to be late.'
Numal nodded. 'Thank you, Questor Grimm. Shall we meet tomorrow?'
Grimm nodded his agreement, and Numal left the Refectory.
Am I becoming some kind of monster? Grimm asked himself. It's as if I'm becoming so immersed in my calling that I see people as only pawns in some game, to be moved and disposed of as I see fit.
Was he losing his humanity? He felt like an arrow in some great bow, pulled back, ready to be released. It seemed the further he progressed in his craft, the more he was in danger of becoming an automaton, a puppet of the House that had made him what he was. He was a lethal human weapon, and yet Grimm had little idea of his own motivations, no control over his destiny. He moved from situation to situation, crisis to crisis, all for the good of either the Guild or Arnor House. His concern over his grandfather's fate seemed to be only a sideline; when the Prelate, the House, or the Guild called, he came. Anything else, no matter how important it appeared at first, became a mere distraction.
He might have felt even more disconcerted if he had known that this was just what Lord Thorn had intended for him from the start. The term 'Weapon of the Guild' was not just a quaint, old-fashioned conceit. A good Questor was nothing more than a tool of his masters; a tool to be used to strike at their enemies.
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Chapter 7: Friendly Discourse
Grimm Afelnor stood in the doorway of the Scholasticate Library and smiled at the young man sitting at a small table and grimacing as he shuffled through a jumbled mass of books and papers.
'Grimm! It's good to see you again!' Questor Dalquist rose from his seat and clapped his young friend on the shoulder with his customary warmth. 'I understand further congratulations are in order.'
Grimm shrugged. 'I'm just lucky, I suppose.'
'Don't belittle yourself, Grimm. Luck is an important factor for a successful Questor; some would say an essential one. Our Quest together was no cakewalk, and from what I've read, it seems your second was even harder. You're a rising star within the House, Grimm Afelnor. Having gained the Sixth Rank after two difficult trials, you can be sure Lord Thorn will soon entrust you with your own Quests, and the responsibility and credit for the success of these will be all yours.'
The overriding principle within Arnor House and, to an even greater extent, within the Guild was 'rank hath its privileges'. An expedition's senior Questor was expected to garner the lion's share of the honours and plaudits, since he would bear the brunt of any failure. The life of a Mage Questor might often be dangerous and challenging, but it was at least exciting, offering the potential for great rewards commensurate with the risks taken for those daring or lucky enough to gain promotion to higher rank. The desire of all young, hungry Questors was to strive and succeed against mighty odds and, with luck, to become 'noticed' by their superiors.
Even beyond the coveted Seventh Rank, the potential prizes of a position on the Conclave, the individual Houses' ruling bodies, or even election to the post of Prelate beckoned. Beyond Prelateship, the opulence and prestige of High Lodge awaited the most ambitious, the most talented, the most daring and above all the most fortunate mages.
'And you, Dalquist?' Grimm asked, as the two mages sat down at the table. 'I never had you marked as a bibliophile. Are you studying in preparation for another Quest?'
Dalquist shook his head. 'No such luck, I'm afraid, Grimm. However, it's not too bad. Senior Magemaster Crohn's asked me to help out in the Scholasticate on occasions. It seems our recent successes-namely yours and mine-have led to an increase in Student uptake, and Crohn desperately needs more Magemasters. I'm just boning up on rune signatures, and I should start as probationary Magemaster in the next few weeks.'
'Congratulations, Dalquist.' Grimm tried to keep his tone bright, but did not fool his friend.
'I know, Grimm, I know.' Dalquist smiled and raised his hands in mock-surrender. 'A Mage Questor teaching runes to a bunch of snotty Students seems a sheer waste of talent, like shackling a racehorse to a farm cart. But I'll only be doing this in between Quests and, if I'm good at it, it'll get me noticed by the Conclave. I'll still be a Questor, first and foremost, I promise you.
'It's easy duty, if you ask me. It's a lot better than sitting around in my room, waiting for the call to risk my life on some soon-forgotten Quest. I thought of hiring myself out to some insecure prince or Duke as a magical advisor once I've paid off the House for my tuition, but politics bores me stupid.'
'Me, too,' Grimm said with fervour. He had found his brief sessions presiding over the city council meetings of his barony of Crar mind-numbingly tedious.
Nonetheless, at least he had the companionship of his lover Drexelica to sustain him, although he dare not admit this, even to his closest friend; the misogynistic Guild regarded even the most innocent flirtation with a woman as a serious crime. Sexual congress was regarded as the ultimate transgression, since it was believed to erase a mage's powers. Grimm now knew this to be no more than a myth, whose reason he could not fathom. Nevertheless, it would be impolitic in the extreme for him to say so; even to Dalquist.
'I'm really happy for you, Dalquist,' he said. 'As a Magemaster, perhaps you'll get the call to raise another
