Guild cognomen that would be published in the Deeds of the Questors. He was at peace, and he snuggled down again.
This did not last long; a soft rap deterred him from sleep. Sighing, he pulled himself from his bed and opened the door. His visitor was Senior Vice-Assistant Under-Facilitator Shael, as he had suspected.
'What? Not dressed yet, Questor Grimm? I understood that you preferred to rise almost as early as I do!'
'I apologise… Brother Mage.' The Questor knew how important Shael's wordy title was to the fussy little man, but Grimm could not remember it: and faulty recall seemed to hurt the flighty man. 'My sleep was disturbed by an altercation between some nocturnal creatures.'
Shael nodded. 'I am sorry to hear that.' He cleared his throat. 'I am instructed to inform you that Lord Dominie Horin requests your presence in his chamber for breakfast!'
This last was delivered with deep reverence and enthusiasm, and the newly-named Dragonblaster guessed that this was an honour beyond ordinary courtesy.
Launching himself from the bed, he asked 'How long do I have? I still need to bathe and to prepare myself.'
'An hour or so, Lord Grimm; I will escort you when you are prepared.'
Things move so fast these days, the young mage thought. One day, a simple blacksmith's boy; the next, a Saviour of the Guild.
'My heartiest compliments to Lord Horin, for the honour he does me,' he said. 'I will be ready and waiting for your call… Senior… Vice-Assistant… Under-Facilitator Shael.' The broad smile on Shael's face told Grimm that he had remembered the labyrinthine title correctly.
As if to reward Grimm's correct recall of Shael's new, coveted rank, the small mage clapped his hands twice, a broad beam lighting up his face. 'An hour it is, Questor Grimm. I will inform Lord Horin that you are happy to accept his invitation.'
The Under-Facilitator bowed and left.
As the door shut, Grimm sat on his bed and shook his head in amazement.
To be in Lord Thorn's good books is one thing, he thought, but even to be noticed by the Dominie is supposed to be an honour. I've never even heard of a mage being asked to take breakfast with him!
He wished Thribble were here with him now; what new tales the tiny demon would have concocted, with which to regale his underworld kin on his return! As it was, the imp would have to rely on the fragile, imperfect memory of a mortal from which to construct his stories.
Still, Grimm knew he could not afford to lollygag around; he wanted to look his best for his meeting with Lord Horin. He had the distinct feeling that the Dominie might have something more than a convivial meal in mind.
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Chapter 17: Breakfast With The Dominie
'Enter, Questor Grimm.'
The Dominie's voice, so angry and uncontrolled the night before, now had the cold, measured tone expected of the Guild's senior mage.
'Good luck, Questor Grimm,' Shael said, opening the door with a fluid movement. All the Questor could manage in response was a curt nod; he felt an uneasy, fizzing sensation in his stomach.
Entering the room, Grimm saw that the room had been put back into pristine order after the previous night's altercation with Lizaveta. His eyes sucked in the sumptuous appointments of the room: rich panelling around the walls, an exquisitely-carved bookcase, and tasteful and expensive tapestries among them. Four deep, red-leather armchairs, a low table with alternating red and black inlays, and a number of finely-detailed bronze busts on pedestals completed the luxurious picture. The young mage admired the effect on the statues of the early morning light as it shone through a wide bay window sweeping around the chamber's round outer wall. The metal heads seemed almost to come to life as the pink light caressed them.
'The busts are representations of my illustrious predecessors,' Horin said, standing in the centre of the room. 'I see you admire them, as do most visitors to my inner sanctum.'
'They are magnificent, Lord Dominie,' Grimm breathed. 'The whole room is.'
'Please be seated, young Questor,' Horin said, making a gesture towards one of the armchairs. Grimm, as protocol demanded, waited until the senior mage settled into his own chair before he sat, the leather creaking as it folded around his body. He held his breath as the Dominie leaned back in the chair.
'You believe yourself very fortunate in your rapid accession to the Seventh Rank, I imagine, Questor Grimm.'
It sounded more like a statement of fact than a question, but Grimm felt obliged to make some response.
'Yes, indeed, Lord Dominie.'
'I knew your grandfather, you know,' Horin said, as if changing the subject. 'He was a most potent Questor, and a good companion, too, on the three Quests we faced together. His downfall was a great disappointment to me.'
Where's all this leading? Grim wondered, but he said nothing, since no reply seemed to be required or expected.
'I was a Fifth Rank Weatherworker at Tattleford House when I heard the news that Questor Loras had been dismissed from the Guild, disgraced and dishonoured. I found it hard to credit that Loras would have acted in that manner, and I still do. What are your thoughts on the matter, Questor Grimm?' The Dominie's piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into Grimm's head, into his very soul.
The Dragonblaster's thoughts whirled.
Is he testing me? How much can I tell him of my suspicions? Why is Lord Horin raising this subject now? I thought he was barely aware of my name, let alone my antecedents!
Still, an answer was necessary. Be careful, Afelnor, he counselled himself. This may be some kind of trap; he may be using the Sight on me.
'I believe my grandfather meant no harm,' he said, struggling with a tongue that seemed unwilling to move. 'Nonetheless, the Guild laws are clear in their strictures and cannot be ignored.'
Horin leaned forward, his glare intensifying. 'Your real thoughts, please, Brother Mage. I am not trying to trap you or play with you. I want to know what you believe. Feel free to speak your mind; as long as you keep your words within the bounds of Guild decorum, you have my word that whatever you say will go no further.'
Grimm shuffled in his seat, feeling as if an angry horde of fire ants were trying to consume him. He must answer, but how much should he reveal of his suspicion? He could tell the Dominie's true intentions at once with ease by using his Sight, but the taboo against using this on such a senior mage was inculcated in every Guild mage from the day of his joining.
To Perdition with it! Horin seems to mean what he says. I'll just have to trust him.
'Lord Horin, I believe that Loras Afelnor was ensorcelled.' The words burst from his mouth as if they had a life of their own. 'I feel sure he was compelled to act as he did by some external influence.'
He cleared his throat, and Horin motioned him to continue, his face impassive.
'I believe a powerful Geomantic spell caused him to act as he did, Lord Dominie. I think my grandfather was compelled to attack Prelate Geral by means of witch magic,' Grimm said, feeling as if the words were being drawn from him like rusted nails from a plank of wood.
Well, I've said it now, he thought. There's no going back from here, for good or ill.
'Since the revelations of last night, I have come to suspect the same thing, young Afelnor,' Horin drawled, nodding slowly as he spoke, and Grimm felt a flush of relief that his suspicions had not been dismissed outright as nonsense.
The Dominie sighed and rubbed his right temple, grimacing as if suffering from a severe headache.
'Are you well, Lord Dominie?' Grimm inquired. 'Shall I call a Healer or Herbalist for you?'
Horin shook his head. 'I did not sleep well last night, Questor Grimm. The ease with which that hideous old harridan was able to defeat my will disturbed me. I may be no Questor, but we Weatherworkers are reckoned third only to Questors and Mentalists in the control of our emotions. It is for this reason that I wished to see you
