protection of Lord Horin, and Lizaveta implied to me earlier that she has some sort of control over him.'

Numal sat back on his bed, his expression one of stunned bewilderment, and he whistled. 'Questor Grimm, I'm sorry I was so blind to your true motives in asking me to accompany you. If true, this is indeed serious.'

'I hope you can forgive me for all my secrecy in this matter, Numal; I was under strict orders from Lord Thorn to keep the mission as clandestine as possible. If it hadn't been for… my former colleague, and his funny little mind games, things might have gone somewhat smoother than they have.'

Numal frowned, and leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. 'Grimm, you said you made a grave mistake. You haven't told this Lizaveta woman what you intend, have you?'

Now, Grimm felt cold fingers of uncertainty caressing his spine. How much could he afford to tell Numal, a man of whom he knew so little? Unless he was willing to open up to the Necromancer, his Quest might be for naught. However, thanks to Grimm's maladroit handling of Lizaveta, the old witch had a lever to use on him: her knowledge of his illicit love, Drexelica. The revelation of that knowledge to Horin, or to Thorn, would break him, and the only way to avoid that was to destroy the Order, or, at least, its influence over the Dominie.

Lizaveta might have been lying to him, of course, but Grimm doubted it.

A firm resolution surged within him: he would allow nothing to come between him and the girl he loved. He knew he was taking a serious risk, but he knew he must tell Numal the full truth. The greater risk was that the Necromancer might refuse his much-needed aid if he did not see the full picture.

'Numal,' he said, his voice low, 'I am about to tell you something I wish to keep strictly between the two of us. You must swear not to reveal a word of what I'm about to tell you to anyone else.'

Numal's expression was wary, his eyes hooded. 'How can I make such a promise, Grimm, if I don't know what you're going to say?'

The Questor closed his eyes and took a deep breath; this was not going to be easy. He rubbed his beard as if this might inspire him, but it did not.

What to do? Ah, to Perdition with it!

Perhaps if he spoke quickly, the confession might not feel as bad.

'I have a lover, Numal,' he said, 'a female lover.'

Numal's eyes bulged. 'You have a what?'

Grimm nodded. 'It's true. I can tell you from… personal experience that what the Guild tells us about sexual relations between mages and women is a lie, Numal. I'm still as powerful as I ever was.'

'Could they break you for it?'

Grimm nodded. 'Perhaps. I don't know, but I'll bet the Guild don't want that little secret exposed. They want to keep our minds on our vocations.'

Numal spoke in a slow drawl, as if he were measuring each word. 'And… just how much bearing does that have on your 'mistake'?'

'Quite a lot,' Grimm admitted. 'Lizaveta used some Geomantic equivalent of Mage Sight and divined it from my aura, or my mind.'

Words tumbled from him like leaves from a windswept autumnal tree. Despite his fears, confiding in someone else made a lot of his stress and anxiety melt away.

'I'm in your hands, Numal,' he said. 'The Quest remains as I told you, although I'll admit to a personal stake in its success.'

Numal crossed his arms and gazed at the ceiling for several seconds.

'All right, Grimm,' the Necromancer said at last, 'I'm willing to pretend you never told me that, and I don't want to know anything more about it. If there are any repercussions from this, I expect you to indemnify me, is that clear?'

'Quite clear, Numal,' the Questor said, relieved beyond measure. 'If anybody asks me, you were only motivated by your concern for the security of the Guild. You have my bond on this. Thank you.'

'Right,' Numal said, assuming a professional, no-nonsense air. 'Do we move tonight?'

Grimm shook his head. 'I think it's a little too soon after my little encounter with Lizaveta. We'll go tomorrow night instead.'

Numal nodded. 'What's the plan?'

'Straight in, straight out, my friend; you sniff out the crypt while I stand guard and, when we've got the information we need, we get out. We say nothing to anybody here, but we both report our findings back to Lord Thorn. I'll need your back-up on that.'

'All right, Questor Grimm. Perhaps this will get me my first ring.'

'If I have anything to do with it, Numal, it will. Remember: straight in and straight out.'

'It sounds as if it might be fun, Grimm. I'm with you, as long as you don't turn funny on me again.'

Grimm laughed, relieving the tension within him. 'I think I'm over that now, Numal. With a Sixth Rank Questor at your back, I don't think you'll have anything to worry about.'

'Very well, Questor; I'm in. Now, kindly be so good as to make yourself scarce. I want to be sure I'm in top Necromancer form tomorrow night, and I want to be sure you're in full fettle as well. Good night, Grimm.'

'Good night, Numal, and thank you.'

As he walked to his room, Grimm still felt nervous, but his confidence was growing. He was a full Guild Questor, and on his guard; Lizaveta and her Sisters wouldn't know what had hit them!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 13: The Sixth Ring

After his ablutions and his habitual morning exercises, Grimm took a leisurely breakfast in his chamber, savouring each mouthful. The food at Arnor House, or, at least, the food for full mages and paying Students, was of good quality, but the sustenance provided at High Lodge was never less than superb. With an epicure's dedication, Grimm waded his way through a meal of smoked ham, fresh-baked bread and a succulent kedgeree. The Questor stifled a satisfied belch, despite the fact that there was nobody there to hear him; Magemaster Faffel's lessons in Courtly Graces had made their mark.

'Redeemer, come here!' As ever, the staff flew to Grimm's outstretched hand like a well-trained kestrel returning to its keeper. Although the wood of a mage's staff was all but indestructible, he noted that the brass caps at each end were a little dull and scuffed. Opening one of his travelling bags, Grimm took out a polishing kit and applied himself with diligence to the task of making the brass gleam like bright gold. He became so absorbed in his task that only when he finished did he realise that he had expected to find the tiny demon, Thribble, hiding in the bag, as was his wont.

He was not.

Grimm knew he had given his minuscule netherworld friend strict instructions to remain at Crar, but he still felt a little disappointed that the wayward demon had not disobeyed him yet again. Thribble might have proved very useful as an advance scout for the coming evening's visit to the crypts below the Lodge. In truth, he felt a little naked without the obstinate, self-willed little creature, who had saved his life on more than one occasion. Grimm was the senior mage on this Quest, and all the responsibility for its success or failure would be his.

'Better get used to it, Afelnor,' he muttered.

With his customary fastidiousness, Grimm checked his hair, his beard and his silk robes in the tall mirror fixed to one of the cupboard doors.

Yes, I'm presentable.

The only question now was what he would do with his time until the evening; his interview with the Lord Dominie was not due until tomorrow.

He rapped on the interconnecting door between his room and Numal's, but he received no reply. Perhaps the Necromancer did not share Grimm's habit of rising before the sun, but then Numal had never undergone the gruelling regime of a charity Student. Grimm sighed. He felt nervous about the outcome of tonight's jaunt to the nether regions of High Lodge, and he knew the best way to combat this was to keep himself occupied.

He was almost pleased to hear a gentle knock at the main door of his chamber, which stirred him from his reverie. Opening it, Grimm saw a familiar face.

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