passage, a guard called out, 'Who goes there? What is your business in Crar?'
Grimm swept the cowl from his head and shouted, 'I am Baron Grimm, lord of this city.' The title still sounded fanciful and ludicrous to his ears.
'One moment, please, Lord Baron.'
A few minutes passed, during which, Grimm had no doubt, a number of weapons were being trained on the vehicle. At the end of this period, a small door in the great gate opened, and the Questor recognised the green- clad form of General Quelgrum.
'General, it's good to see you,' Grimm called. 'How goes it?'
As he drew closer, the General's lined, leathery face broke into a broad grin. He stopped several yards from the cart. 'Well met, Lord Baron! I must apologise for the delay in your entrance; however, there are a few formalities to complete. With your permission, may I search your wagon?'
Grimm frowned. 'This is me, General; Grimm Afelnor. You do remember me, I presume? I'm hungry and tired, and I have two Guild colleagues with me, in a similar state.' He felt little inclination to play army games.
'Your pardon, Lord Grimm. There is sickness in the city of Hagarn; a grave illness, Baron. Doctor Querl is inspecting all incomers for signs of the ailment. I trust you understand.'
'Hagarn? I never heard of it, General.'
'It's seventy-five miles to the south-east of here, Lord Baron. That may sound a long way off, but it's better to be careful.'
Grimm suppressed a smile, despite the torpor that possessed him after the long, hot journey.
Quelgrum's taking his oath to protect the city from all assaults very seriously.
'Very well, General: we'll wait for the Doctor.'
'Don't you teach the hired help more respect than that?' Guy hissed from the back of the wagon. 'I'm so hungry, I could eat one of these bloody horses, or maybe two. Just tell soldier-boy to step aside and let us in.'
'Shut up, Guy.' Grimm knew the sullen Questor responded better to defiance than diplomacy. 'The man's just doing his job. You'd be more than ready to berate him if he skimped his duties and you got sick.'
He could not hear Guy's sotto voce reply, but the tone of his voice, if far from cheerful, carried a note of grudging, grumbling acceptance.
A strange apparition, dressed from head to foot in a leather cape with a cowl stepped from the portal. A bizarre mask in the form of a bird's face covered the man's face, and he wore heavy gauntlets. The unearthly figure seemed to float over to the side of the wagon, since the cape hid his legs and feet from view.
'Would you mind stepping down, please, Lord Grimm?'
Despite the hollow, ethereal tone caused by the strange mask, Grimm recognised the gentle voice of the man who had nursed him in the aftermath of the final defeat of Starmor in the streets of Crar. The Questor owed Querl a lot for bringing him back to the world of the living, after his prodigious expenditure of energy during that Quest.
'Of course not, Doctor Querl.' Grimm's face crinkled into a smile. He complied with the physician's request, and Querl subjected the mage's mouth, ears and neck to a close examination, his searching eyes just visible through the heavy glass lenses in his mask.
'You seem unaffected by the disease,' the medical man concluded. 'May I now examine your companions?'
Numal submitted to his examination without a murmur, although Guy grumbled and complained throughout his own, as Grimm had expected. At last, the doctor declared himself satisfied that all three mages were in good health.
Quelgrum approached Grimm and saluted. 'Welcome, Lord Baron. It's good to have you back.'
'It's good to be back, General,' the young mage replied. 'Might I prevail on you to visit me this evening, after I've had a good wash and something to eat? I have an important matter I'd like to discuss with you.'
'I'm at your command, Lord Baron.'
Grimm nodded. 'Perhaps you'd like to accompany us into the city, General?'
'Thank you, Lord Grimm; these old legs aren't what they used to be,' the soldier said in a soft voice; Grimm suppressed a smile, guessing that the General did not want any of his juniors to hear this admission of mortality.
The magic-users clambered back onto the vehicle, and Quelgrum ordered the gates of the city opened. Grimm flicked the reins, and the wagon trundled into Crar, with the General riding on the foot-rail beside the young Baron.
This isn't the Crar I know!
The Questor's eyes took in the pristine, gleaming buildings and the spotless thoroughfares. Ramshackle ruins had been replaced by new, spotless edifices, and the marketplace, once a dingy, dismal haunt of Starmor's puppets, now sported gaily-caparisoned stalls, by which people chatted, haggled and argued in an animated fashion.
'Not quite how you remember it, eh, Baron?' Quelgrum's voice bore an unmistakeable note of pride.
'Is this all your doing, General?'
The military man, nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
'Can't keep a bunch of soldiers hanging around with nothing to do,' he grunted, his ruddy face suffusing with an even deeper shade of red. 'I talked to Seneschal Shakkar, and we agreed the place could do with a bit of brightening up.'
Grimm smiled broadly. 'Thank you so much, General. Your efforts on behalf of the city of Crar are noticed and welcomed. Well done.'
The old soldier shuffled on the wagon's footplate and shrugged. 'Here's your tower, Lord Baron.'
The mage gasped; what had once been a forbidding, black stump, a huge, rotting tooth presiding over the decay of the city, now glowed with a rich, golden lustre. When he had last left Crar, the turret had just been covered with a coat of white paint, but it now looked transformed in its new, gilded attire. It looked like a beacon of hope, rather than a hastily-repainted bastion of doom.
Guy poked his head from under the cover of the wagon. 'Your place, I suppose?'
Grimm could tell the older Questor was trying to smother admiration under a mask of indifference.
'Yes, it's my place, Questor Guy.' He did not try to hide the pride in his voice. 'Nice, isn't it?'
Grimm brought the wagon to a halt in front of the magnificent structure. At once, an adolescent boy ran out to greet the wagon, sweeping a shapeless cap from his head and knuckling his temple.
'I'm Ranulf, Lord Baron,' the youth said, his voice breathless. 'I work for the town ostler. Look after your horses, milord?'
The mage assumed a serious, forbidding expression. 'I want them well fed and watered, groomed, and kept in a clean stall, is that clear?'
'Oh, yes, your Baron-ness, sir! Quite clear, your worshipfulness.'
'Good,' Grimm grunted. He fished a silver piece from his robe pocket and showed it to the boy, whose eyes grew wide; the Questor doubted the boy had ever seen such wealth before. 'Hold out your hand.'
Not taking his eyes from the shiny coin, the youth complied, and Grimm dropped the silver piece into his open hand.
'This is for you, Ranulf. If I'm happy the horses have been well-treated when I need them again, I'll give you another; I'll settle up with the ostler separately.'
Ranulf managed a clumsy bow and put his knuckles to his brow once again. 'I'll look after 'em as if they was me own, your Lordshipness. Thank'ee for yer gen… yer gennyer…'
'Generosity, boy,' Quelgrum prompted in a soft voice, as he stepped down from the wagon.
'Yeah, that,' Ranulf said, his voice tinged with gratitude. 'Thank'ee, Sir. If you'd be so kind as to give me the reins, your Baronship?'
Grimm vacated his seat, and Guy and Numal descended from the back step of the vehicle.
'Are we expected to carry our own bags?' Guy grumbled.
'Don't complain; it's good exercise, Brother Mage,' Grimm said in an airy voice, grunting as he hoisted his own pair of bulging, leather holdalls. 'We Questors need to stay healthy, after all; the travails of the road can weigh heavily on the unfit.'
Once everything had been unloaded from the wagon, Grimm noted with pleasure that the boy, Ranulf, drove
