Flame, as a Questor, must have started as a pauper like he had been, but he could not imagine what might have turned a poor boy into such a snob.
Since the Dominie's schedule seemed less hectic than on his previous visit to High Lodge, Grimm's interview with Lord Horin lasted somewhat longer than his first, hectic interview. The Dominie asked several searching questions concerning Grimm's last Quest, which Grimm answered as best he could. Grimm wondered if Horin was about to refuse his promotion, and he felt discomfited when the Dominie asked him about his visit to Prioress Lizaveta. The witch must have spoken the truth when she told him of her link with Horin.
However, much to Grimm's relief, the arch-mage accepted his statement that he had only gone to pay his respects. Perhaps Lizaveta had not told Horin about Drexelica, after all. He waited in patient silence while Horin read through Lord Thorn's report, after which the Dominie raised his head and nodded.
'Very well, Questor Grimm. Lord Thorn's recommendation is accepted, and I am pleased to confer upon you the degree and responsibilities pertaining to the Sixth Rank of our calling. Shael, please accompany Questor Grimm to the Armoury and arrange for the fitting of the sixth ring.'
With that, the audience was at an end, and Grimm breathed a sigh of relief as he bowed and accompanied Shael from the chamber.
All that remained was the descent into the crypts with Numal, the gathering of information, and, with hope, a safe return to Arnor House. The rest of the day could not pass quickly enough for him.
The two mages, guided by their invaluable Location Gems, made their way into the lower demesnes of High Lodge, their path lit by a simple, if effective, spell of Illumination cast by Numal. Grimm, his staff now bearing six rings, felt the leaden arms of responsibility closing around him as he tried to remember the route to the Sisters' dark temple. The magical jewels were of no help now, since Grimm had no idea of where he was going. Numal grumbled and muttered behind him, and the Questor asked him to remain silent, with as much politeness as he could muster.
Grimm's sensitive ears strained as he made his way through the dark catacombs, trusting in the memories of his nocturnal voyage to the place where Sister Madeleine had been butchered. Numal stayed close to his right shoulder, and, on occasion, Grimm felt the need to ask him to move further away. The Questor's task was made more difficult by the fact that, during his dream, he had seemed to drift through the stone walls rather than following the dripping corridors.
'It's down this passage,' the Questor said, with sudden certainty as he recognised a distinctive, spider-like crack in one of the stone blocks. 'I'm sure of it.'
'I don't like this,' complained the Necromancer, in a low voice. 'This place is scary.'
Grimm laughed, despite the churning anxiety in his stomach. 'A Necromancer who's scared of crypts? I'd have thought you'd be in your element here!'
Numal shivered. 'I don't like close spaces,' he confessed. 'It's as if the walls are closing in on me.'
Wonderful: a claustrophobic, self-pitying Necromancer. That's just what I need.
'Just get a grip on yourself, will you, Numal? Please?'
'I'm sorry, Grimm, I can't help it. I never wanted to be a Necromancer, you know.' The older mage's voice took on an unmistakable note of incipient, rising hysteria, and his breathing became swifter and shallower. The magical illumination flickered and dimmed.
'Please don't start on that again, Numal,' Grimm said, with as firm a voice as he could manage while whispering. 'We are what we are, and we have to play with the hands we're dealt. Just keep your voice down. It won't be much longer now: all we need is to go through this next door, and we're there. Do you see how clean the hinges and handle are?
'Come on, take a few deep breaths and steady yourself.'
'I'm sorry, Grimm. I'll try.'
As the hapless Necromancer shut his eyes and tried to control his fears, Grimm strained his ears for any sign of encroachment. All he heard was the steady, metronomic drip of moisture from the ceiling of the tunnel, and Numal's tortured, shuddering breaths. At last, Numal nodded.
'I think I'll be all right now, Grimm. Let's get it over.'
They took the last few steps to the door, and Grimm opened it. The chamber was just as he remembered it: the shallow, brown-stained depression in the floor, the altar and the coffins lining the walls. The Questor felt an electrical thrill shoot through him as a figure emerged from the shadows. He readied his mind for magic, but stayed his power as the figure's face came into plain view.
Grimm blinked. 'What in the Names are you doing here?'
'I might ask the same of you, Questor Grimm,' the resplendent figure of Guy Great Flame responded.
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Chapter 14: An Unexpected Guest
'Aren't you going to introduce me to your companion?' Guy asked, as if the three mages were attending some society party instead of standing in a dank tomb.
'Er… Questor Guy, this is Necromancer Numal,' Grimm said, feeling quite out of his depth. 'Numal, this is Questor Guy from Eron House, called the Great Flame.'
'I'm pleased to meet you, Necromancer Numal.'
The imperturbable older Questor extended his hand, but Numal's face wore a blank, pale mask of shock, and he did not respond. The pale luminescence of his spell of Illumination guttered and died, but the group was not plunged into darkness.
'Illumination is a vitally useful spell to cast on one's staff,' Guy drawled. 'I'm surprised a Questor of the Sixth Rank didn't have the same idea. War-maker, here, has a score of useful Minor Magics cast on her. Light, heat, minor wards, dowsing…'
Grimm realised that, despite his two arduous Quests, he was still a relative tyro in his craft. The only spells he had placed on Redeemer were for the relief of intoxication, and he now recognised the ability of a mage's staff to become a receptacle for a multitude of enchantments, enhancing his potency as a Questor.
'So, just what are you doing here, Questor Grimm? Your friend doesn't seem much use for whatever it is. He looks like a bit of a weak reed to me. If you're thinking of going up against dear old Grandma, you're going the wrong way about it.'
Guy's sneering tone raised Grimm's hackles, and he spoke before he realised the full import of the Questor's words.
'Just who do you think you are, Guy Great Flame?' he snarled. 'You walk around as if… what did you say?'
'Grandma: it's a vernacular term for a parent's distaff progenitor. I'm sure you've heard the term before. Dear, sweet, virginal Prioress Lizaveta is my grandmother.'
'Lizaveta is your grandmother?' Grimm felt too stunned to say anything more profound.
'Give that boy a prize!' Guy laughed. 'With a sharp mind like that, you'll have your seventh ring within a week, youngster.'
'What makes you think we want anything to do with Prioress Lizaveta?' Grimm blustered, hardly able to think.
'This is hardly a congenial, cheerful gathering-place for bored mages, now, is it?' Guy seemed to be enjoying himself. 'For the record, I've only discovered my relationship with the hag in the last few months, and I hate the wizened, raddled old bitch with all my heart and soul.'
'Why?' The younger Questor's mind was racing, but he found himself unable to elicit a more cogent response.
