Still, the major-domo said nothing, his eyes wide. Grimm was put in mind of a small child who had been caught with his hand in a jar of honey.
"I understand if you cannot talk to me," the smith continued. "I imagine I am not too well thought of in Arnor."
"Questor Loras… I mean, Loras," Doorkeeper croaked, finding his voice at last. "You look well." Doorkeeper's tone was guarded and uncertain. "I… I shouldn't really be talking… that is…"
"It's all right, Lord Mage," Loras said. Doorkeeper blinked, and Grimm wondered if anyone had ever called him that before.
"Be so good as to take care of this Guild Questor, and take him back home." Loras' voice was thick, but steady. "Take care of yourself, too."
Grimm took his grandfather's hands in a firm grasp. "I'm going now, Granfer. I'm going back… home."
"Take care, Questor Grimm."
"And you, Questor Loras."
Grimm looked back at his grandfather until he was out of sight. Then he looked forward; forward to life as a Mage Questor, a true weapon of the Guild and redeemer of his family name. The sun glared, red and baleful on the horizon, marking the end of one day and the beginning of another.
As the wagon rolled back towards Arnor House, Grimm whispered, "I won't let you down, Granfer. The name of Afelnor will shine again; I swear it."