The Necromancer's voice tailed off as his gaze switched to the prostrate figure of Guy, and then to the younger Questor.
'Our friend here is a little pickled,' Grimm said, returning Numal's puzzled gaze. 'There's only one thing for it, I guess. Redeemer!'
The staff flew to his outstretched hand, and Grimm accessed the spells within. The only magic resident within Redeemer concerned the resolution of drunkenness, and the young mage assessed its effect, which would be simple enough for a Questor to cast even without recourse to his personal spell-language. He pointed his left index finger at the sprawling Guy and squeezed.
The Great Flame ceased his scrabbling attempts to rise to his feet, and raised his head, his eyes red but sober. Despite the removal of the alcoholic toxins from his body, his face had lost none of its anger.
'You look a complete mess, Questor Guy,' Grimm observed in a cool voice. 'Would you care to tell me why you considered it necessary to disturb Numal's rest and mine, at this hour?'
Guy rose to his feet. 'You know full well what the matter is,' he fumed, although in a more moderate tone than he had used for his earlier outburst. 'You took all the bloody credit for that little operation and left me with nothing! I was lucky to get away without a damned official censure from Horin, thanks only to some very quick thinking on my behalf, I might add!
'You two fumbled around like a pair of bloody debutantes trying to find out who farted, until I had the idea of searching in the throne. You got the seventh ring, a cognomen and the thanks of Dominie Horin, Useless Granddad here got two rings, and what do I, the senior mage, get? A boot up the arse, that's what!'
'You got what you deserved,' Grimm snarled. 'Would you rather I'd told Horin about your relationship with his would-be lover? Do you think he'd have kept back his censure then?'
'He's right, Questor Guy,' Numal said. 'You were only looking for treasure, but Questor Grimm's insight provided the means to Lord Horin's deliverance from an evil enchantment, and his magic achieved it.'
Guy snorted.
'Oh, listen to the mighty Necromancer! Butt out, old man: those promised rings must have gone to your head. This is between me and wonder-boy, here.'
He drew back his right fist and spat out the word 'Goo-elliya!' At once, his hand was awash with green flames.
Grimm shouted, 'Sh'k'kat!' In an instant, his own right hand blazed with blue fire.
'Duelling between Guild Mages is forbidden,' Numal declared in a tremulous voice.
Grimm felt himself seized by a violent rage, a strong desire to teach this presumptuous, self-possessed, sarcastic mage a lesson he would never forget, but the truth of the Necromancer's fearful words poured cold water over the hot fires of his anger.
'He's right, Guy. We could face the Presidium for fighting within High Lodge.'
'Then let's take it outside!' the older mage snarled. 'Just you and me, sonny boy; Grandpa here can stay behind, where he can't bother us with his windy twittering.'
The young mage opened his mouth to try to reason with the angry thaumaturge, but he found the anger rising within him anew.
The arrogance of this man! Wouldn't Guy just love it if I backed out now? He may think he's the stronger Questor, but I'll lay any odds he likes that I've got him licked on control! He can't even control his mood from one moment to the next. I can take him! I can…
Control: that was the word.
Grimm had no real desire to fight, so why should he? Just because this self-important oaf felt annoyed because he hadn't been given the lion's share of the credit in thwarting Lizaveta? No.
He turned his anger; directed it, controlled it.
'Bugger you, Guy Great Flame; no, I won't fight you! You had your chance, and you threw it away. You can always take it out on the servants, or the beggars in the village, or any of the thousands of other people you see as inferior in your twisted little mind.
'That's just about your style, isn't it, Mister Mighty Mage? I've met your sort before, only happy when everyone bows to you as top dog. Well, just sod off and lord it over someone else; there seem to be plenty to choose from. I may not be as powerful as you, although I doubt it, but at least. have friends who care for me. It seems to me that your only friend is a bottle; go back to him if you want, but leave me in peace! Go on, just piss off and bother someone else!'
He stuck his tongue out at Guy. A juvenile gesture, perhaps, but it summed up his feelings for the older man, and it satisfied him. The blue flames on his left hand disappeared as if a candle had been snuffed, and he turned his eyes towards the ceiling. A few moments later, he faced the Great Flame again.
'What? Are you still here? Go on, tell me how I've made a dangerous enemy; I'd really like to hear that. Or will it be 'You haven't heard the last of me, Grimm Afelnor!'? Maybe 'you've just made the biggest mistake in your life!'?
'I don't like you, Questor Guy, and you don't like me. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?'
Guy's eyes bulged anew, and he appeared to be preparing to launch another verbal onslaught. Instead of that, he burst into rich, fulsome guffaws until tears fell from his eyes; to Grimm, the mercurial shift of emotion indicated that perhaps his detoxification spell had not been as effective as he had thought.
'All right, you get away with it this time; your cheek is refreshing. As far as I'm concerned, you're still just a jumped-up Neophyte, but you do have a trace of style. You win this round.
'I'll see you around, youngster. You, too, Granddad.'
With that, he slammed the door, and Grimm could hear him chuckling as he walked away.
As the last sounds of Guy's alcoholic amusement died away, Grimm's cheeks blew out with a deep sigh of relief; despite his assertive confrontation with the volatile Questor, Grimm was not confident of what the ultimate outcome of a magical battle with him might have been. Guy was just too unreliable and unpredictable. Xylox might be just as objectionable, but at least he was constant and reliable in his obnoxiousness.
Numal clapped the Questor on his left shoulder. 'Well done, Questor Grimm! I thought there'd be some bad trouble between you there!'
'Thank you, Numal.'
As the Necromancer's hand settled on Grimm's shoulder-blade, and began to stroke it in a more than friendly manner, moving ever lower, the Questor spun around, feeling his face growing hot.
'Numal,' he said, 'when I told you I didn't crave an intimate association with another man, I meant it. I wondered why you kept harping on about that subject with me! Feel free to be my friend, but don't feel me in any other way, or you and I may fall out.' His tone was low and threatening, and the Necromancer snatched back his hand as if it had been scalded.
'I'm sorry, Grimm, I just thought…'
'I know what you just thought, my friend. You were wrong. I won't say any more about it, and I won't tell anybody else as long as you keep your hands to yourself in future. Just go to bed, Numal-your own bed-and I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.'
'Perhaps we could just have a friendly goodnight drink?' Numal suggested.
'No, Numal. I've just had a very pleasant dream interrupted by that lunatic hooligan, and I'd like to try to get it back. Goodnight.'
'Goodnight, Questor Grimm.'
The older man's response was a little bleak, but, remembering Numal's earlier disparagement of his amatory preferences, Grimm did not feel in a charitable mood. He turned away from the Necromancer, got back into bed and hunched his blanket around him.
'I think that's quite enough excitement for one day; don't you?' The young mage remembered the Illumination spell he had cast and quashed it, as if a candle had been snuffed, leaving the room in darkness.
'Kindly shut the door behind you, Numal.' With that, he was asleep again; this time, he did not dream.
Grimm awoke to birdsong outside his window, and realised he had overslept. Nonetheless, he could not bring himself to care about the lapse in his usual daily schedule; he was now a Questor of the Seventh Rank, with a full
