self-opinionated, too.'
Crest's brows threatened to disappear into his high hairline. 'More hot-tempered and self-opinionated even than you, Grimm? Get him in here now, before we have a full-scale war on our hands! And is there any chance of getting some breakfast around here? I'm starving.'
'While you're at it, Questor, how about handing round the maps for the route you're thinking of taking?' Harvel said. 'Crest and I are pretty well-travelled, and we may be able to give you a few more bits of useful advice. Come on, you look like a soggy piece of string; you're worn out! You can't do it all on your own, you know. You've got our word that we won't peach to anyone what we're doing, so just trust us, can't you? Crest and I have planned more expeditions than you've had hot dinners, so let us do the planning while you get fit and mage-like. We'll do the logistics, too, if you like.'
Grimm shook his head. 'General Quelgrum's doing the logistics.'
Harvel glanced at Crest and rolled his eyes. 'Oh, yes; I forgot you had a real, live General on your household staff, Lord Mage! I suppose I should feel honoured, but just five minutes ago you were trying to kill each other, as I recall.
'If you want to invade some foreign country and lay it to waste with a lot of fire and noise, I'm sure Quelgrum's your man. But if you want to plan a sneaky, underhand, skulk through the gutters, I think you'll find Crest and me more than qualified to do the job. So just leave the good General and your arsehole mage friend to us and relax for a change, can't you?'
Grimm felt as if matters were being taken out of his hands, but he no longer cared. Waving his hands in surrender, he felt a smile beginning to crawl across his face.
'Hey, this mage can almost smile!' Harvel said, and Grimm allowed his expression to collapse into a full, unfettered grin. 'What do you think, Crest, is he human?'
Crest nodded. 'Grimm, go and stuff your face, or scratch your spots, or do whatever else you normally do at this time of the morning, and take it easy for one day in your life.
'I wouldn't trust General Quelgrum a lot further than I could spit a rat. So just leave a message for him and and your fellow mage to come and see us, give us your maps, and then sod off, there's a good Mage.'
'Don't forget the food.' Harvel wagged his right index finger in admonition.
Grimm felt as if he ought to be angry, but he also felt as if ten tons' weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
'I'll do that; thank you, fellows. I was beginning to feel I was going to make a complete idiot of myself,' he said, as the tension eased.
He knew he could trust these men.
'Early days yet, mage,' Harvel said. 'It still might happen, but we can all be idiots together when it does, eh?'
Grimm laughed happily, thinking of the happy prospect of a day spent with his beloved Drexelica. 'Thank you so much, my friends.'
'That's enough!' Crest snapped, in a mock show of annoyance, and Grimm recognised a parody of his own attitude just minutes before. 'Just get us what we need, push off and enjoy yourself!'
Grimm stood and offered an elaborate bow.
'By your command, Lord Crest,' he said, smiling.
As he walked from the chamber, he felt as if a string was being pulled tight within him, as if he might be losing control, but he let it go with gratitude.
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Chapter 22: Heartfelt Discussions
Grimm discovered Drexelica sitting alone in the immaculate kitchen of the tower. He could not help but notice the disconsolate expression on her face, and the way she flicked through the pages of a book, sparing each page only a scant glance. Despite the fact that his shadow fell across her, she did not look up.
'Drexelica, it's me: Grimm.'
'I used to know somebody with that name,' she said, without raising her head. 'I wonder where he's gone.'
The Questor noted the unmistakable catch in her voice, and made to sit on the table opposite her high-backed chair.
'Please don't sit there,' she said in a harsh voice. 'That table's for preparing food, and I've only just cleaned it.'
'What's the matter?' Grimm said. 'You don't have to sit in here. There are plenty of more comfortable rooms in the tower.'
As her eyes lifted to meet his, the young mage noticed grubby tracks on her cheeks.
'What's wrong with the kitchen, Lord Baron? Isn't that where a serving maid belongs?'
'I don't think of you as a serving maid, Drex. I love you!' Grimm longed to take her in his arms, but he felt too awkward and confused to do so.
'At least you remember my name,' she said, her eyes glistening. 'That's something I can be grateful for, I suppose.'
The Questor realised that in the fortnight since his arrival back at Crar, his main topics of conversation with Drexelica had gone little further than requests for meals. They had slept together, but he had always been too tired to exchange more than desultory titbits of information. The forthcoming Quest had so consumed his mind that he had spared no thought for the woman he loved.
Leaning closer towards her, he felt the catch in his own voice as he said, 'Drex, I've been a fool these last two weeks, and I want to make it up to you in any way I can.'
Grimm felt helpless in the face of the torrent of tears which she no longer held back.
'Please don't cry,' was all he could say. 'It'll be all right now. I've come to my senses, I promise.'
The girl rose to her feet, flinging her book to the floor. 'It'll never be all right!' she sobbed. 'I want to tell everybody that we're together, but I can't! I want us to be a normal couple, but the bloody Guild always gets in the way! As soon as this Quest's over, there'll be another, and another, and another! I owe you my life for what you did for me in Griven, and I'll never forget that, but I had such… high hopes for us. When we first came here, I thought we could be happy together, but now I know it's never going to happen. Never!'
Grimm felt his mouth move, willing words of comfort and wisdom to come forth, but his tongue and throat seemed paralysed. Despite his love for Drexelica, a part of him longed to be somewhere else, battling demons, dragons or ogres; somewhere he knew the rules. Here in the kitchen, facing a sobbing girl, he felt powerless and pathetic.
He watched as Drex screwed her face up and shivered, taking several deep breaths. When she opened her eyes again, he saw that they were red, but tearless.
'I'm sorry, Grimm, I shouldn't take it out on you. I guess I couldn't expect much more from a life with a Guild Questor. Don't worry; I'll still be here for you when you need me, I promise. I'll be your cook, your maid, your bed-mate for as long as you want me. I just wish I could be your wife, instead.'
That last calm, wistful statement hurt him more than her tears.
'I know, Drex, and I wish it, too,' a voice that sounded almost like his own said. 'But I can't just resign; if I did, it'd be me who became the slave, in the scullery at Arnor House. I have a debt to pay before I can be free, a debt of servitude as a Questor. Once I'm free of that, I promise I'll marry you.'
'And how long will that be?'
With a start, Grimm realised he had no idea of the extent of his debt to the House for his nine years of intensive tutelage; he had never thought to ask. How many years or decades of dedicated service? One advantage accruing from accession to the rank of Guild Mage seemed to be longevity; was that gift a factor in his indebtedness?
'I don't know,' he confessed, awash in a sea of unaccustomed ignorance. 'But if you'll wait for me to be free, I'll be yours, I promise. I also swear that, when I'm in Crar, I'll never neglect you again, the way I did this time. I
