'Thank you, Lord Prelate. I will think on what you have said.' The Senior Magemaster spoke in a halting, tired voice, and Thorn knew he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams by managing to cow the old man in such a simple manner.
'Thank you, Mindstealer. My position is no sinecure, you know; I often need to make difficult, sometimes painful, decisions for the good of the Guild. I trust you appreciate that I am not always free to act on my own inclinations and desires, and that I must fulfil my duty as best I am able, regardless of the consequences.'
Crohn nodded; Thorn assumed the man was too full to speak, full of emotion at having let down the House. This suited the Prelate's purposes well.
Once Crohn had left the room, Thorn allowed a broad smile to spread across his face. The Magemaster was a valuable asset to the House, and the senior mage wanted to humble the man, instead of destroying him. He knew only too well that Crohn would be forced to step aside in favour of Faffel, but he would still prove a useful Magemaster. In the same manner, he intended to belittle Dalquist, giving him trivial, mind-numbing tasks until he might be needed in his role as a House Questor.
The Prelate took a brandy bottle from a desk drawer and poured himself a generous dose of the fiery restorative.
It's time to celebrate, he decided, downing a mouthful of the warming fluid.
Following an angry, almost incoherent telepathic message from his mother, Thorn knew that Questor Grimm had been instrumental in the dismissal of Lizaveta from High Lodge, and he did not believe, for even a moment, Horin's assertion that Questor Grimm was being employed in some kind of fanciful public relations exercise.
Afelnor must have been sent by the Dominie on a very important mission; only the destruction of Lizaveta and her hateful Order seemed to fit that bill. Thorn had no intention of stopping the youth from achieving the Prelate's ultimate aim: freedom from his despised, interfering mother, who had put him in his current, comfortable position at the expense of his dear friend, Loras Afelnor.
However, there was always the risk that the boy would discover Thorn's relationship with Lizaveta, and he might be tempted to reveal this to others. Worse than that, he might even discover Lizaveta's role in Loras' disgrace, and Thorn's complicity in this. The Prelate could not allow that to happen; what to do?
Thorn took another draught of brandy and sat in thought. He knew that he would never have enough magical power to overcome Lizaveta's defences, so as to compel the old witch to keep her mouth shut, so the important factor was to silence Grimm Afelnor.
Once Thorn's mother's influence was nullified, the Prelate would be more than happy to shun the dangerous corridors of High Lodge politics, but he knew that he would need a cogent argument to ensure that Afelnor kept his mouth shut. Perhaps it would be best to intercept the hopefully triumphant but weakened Questor on his return from Lizaveta's Priory, in person. By that time, Thorn was sure, he would be able to handle the young mage, and even kill him if necessary.
No; if Grimm was alive on his return from the Priory, he must die.
If Grimm was unsuccessful in his Quest, the Prelate could say that he had rushed to the rescue of his beloved mother, as soon as he had discovered the purpose of the young Questor's mission.
No, I can't do that, Thorn thought. A House Prelate does not Quest; it would raise too many questions. Perhaps Questor Xylox might accept the task… He's a bit of a prig and a bigot, but he could be just the man I need. He dislikes Grimm intensely, and he's an Arnor man through and through. I'll have to be careful, but I don't think I'll have too much trouble convincing Xylox that Grimm is a rebel and a renegade.
The Lord Prelate of Arnor House drained his glass and poured another. He felt happy to stay just where his was, and he would fight hard to keep that position.
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Chapter 23: Departure
By the end of the third week of preparation, Grimm felt satisfied that the group was ready to leave, and he invited the participants to a meeting in his day-room. The mage regretted that the mighty albino, Tordun, seemed nowhere to be found, although messengers had left word for the titanic swordsman in all his known haunts. Nonetheless, the young mage was not too disappointed; he had a powerful force at his disposal, and, it seemed, even the beginnings of a spirit of camaraderie.
He had always assumed that the main obstacle to forming a cohesive team would be the attitude of his fellow Questor, Guy Great Flame. To his great surprise, despite the haughty avowed disdain for 'hired help', the Great Flame seemed to have developed a genuine friendship with the warriors, Crest and Harvel. Grimm knew that General Quelgrum thought little of Guy as a human being, and the older Questor seemed to reciprocate this; however, each appeared to hold a grudging respect for the other, since their exchanges were at least polite, if cool and formal in tone.
Even Necromancer Numal seemed to have made an effort to increase his value to the expedition, devoting long hours in perfecting his command of the few spells in his magical armoury. It appeared that the lucky acquisition of the two rings on his staff, after a single action in which he had played only a minor role, had focused his mind on the task at hand.
Even Guy now addressed the Necromancer in a polite manner without overt insults, although the relationship between the two men was never particularly warm.
Eying the assembled group in the day-room, Grimm felt a warm shiver of pride running through him; this was his Quest, and these people were at his command. Nonetheless, he knew that the worst thing he could do to destabilise the coterie was to try to impose his authority as he had tried to do earlier. Each member of the team had a vital role to fulfil, were the Quest to succeed; the opinions of each of these older and more experienced men would be important, and should not be belittled or ignored. Grimm had learned a valuable lesson by trying to ride rough-shod over the feelings of others; he felt profound relief that the people he had offended had chosen to overlook his youthful thoughtlessness.
However, overriding the satisfaction he felt at the efficient preparations was Grimm's impression that his two old friends, Crest and Harvel, felt uneasy at the prospect of attacking a nunnery. Perhaps Harvel's religious upbringing, although subsumed by a life of debauchery, was re-asserting itself; perhaps Crest was unhappy at the prospect of assaulting a group of females. Whatever the reason, the fervid spark he had hoped to see was still lacking.
Grimm saw five pairs of eyes fixed on him as he cleared his throat and made ready to speak.
'Gentlemen, I want to say how much I appreciate the efforts you've all made on behalf of this expedition,' he said, taking care to meet the gaze of each man in turn as he spoke. 'Of course, I'm somewhat younger than all of you, and I may make some dreadful mistakes along the way, so please let me know if you think I'm making too much of an ass of myself. I promise to listen to whatever you say and give it a fair hearing, even if I reserve the right to veto it after proper consideration.'
Nobody spoke, but the men all gave cautious nods. Crest and Harvel, in particular, still seemed ill-at-ease, and the mage guessed they were remained to be convinced of the danger the Sisters of Divine Serenity might pose to the Guild.
'Now, I know most of you are still a little dubious about the threat this Order presents, but I'll just remind you that these witches' main talent seems to be mind control, and both Lord Horin and I have felt its very real power. These are not sweet, innocent little nuns, but a major menace to the Guild. I don't know if all the women of the Order are evil witches, or if some or most of them are just blameless dupes, but I'm duty bound to end Lizaveta's manipulative reign one way or the other.'
Crest proffered a half-smile and said, 'Don't worry, Questor, we're committed to this. We'll be with you all the way, believe me.' Nonetheless, the half-elf's tone sounded anything but enthusiastic.
Grimm knew he could place implicit trust in the warriors, but he would rather have them as fervent allies than as dutiful, resigned friends.
This isn't working! the mage thought, surveying five blank faces. I wanted to inspire them, but I just don't seem to be getting through to them! What's the matter? Do they think I'm exaggerating this situation, or something?
