"Spying on another mage's aura is the height of impertinence!" Xylox cried. "How dare you commit such an abominable act on your superior?"
"I did not do so, Xylox," Grimm said, now feeling calm as he rose to stand, "although I must admit to severe temptation to do so, at times. However, you have amply confirmed my strong suspicions by that accusation. Had your motives been pure, you would have known that your aura would have been proof positive of the fact. In accusing me of training my Sight on your psyche, you have only proved what I already suspected."
Xylox's mouth opened again, but no words came from the older mage.
"You may tell Lord Prelate Thorn whatever you wish about me, Xylox," he said, "and I feel sure he will believe you. However, you are sorely deluded if you believe Lord Thorn will dismiss one of his few, precious Questors, a hard-won weapon, a bargaining tool, on the basis of a negative report from you.
"I give you a choice, Questor Xylox. Either accept me for my true worth as a mage, or know that I, your junior, will despise you as a bigot, a braggart and a sadistic tyrant: a man who attempts to prove his mastery, not through cool logic and powerful magic, but through mockery and petty slights towards those who are ill-able to defend themselves. I respect you as a powerful Guild Mage, Xylox but, as a human being, you leave much to be desired."
His words hung in the air, seeming to wheel around and around, like the vultures drifting overhead.
"There; I've said all I have to say, and bugger your precious bloody Mage Speech, for once," Grimm said, crossing his arms across his chest. "If you want to tear into me, and put a few more defamatory words into your diligent, impartial report to Lord Thorn, feel free to do so; you'll only reinforce my opinion of you. I just don't care anymore, Xylox: do what you want, as you always do."
The young mage stood with legs apart and arms akimbo, defiant and angry, as silence descended on the tent. He overtopped his senior by at least three inches, and he felt ill-disposed to show the least trace of humility or placation to the infuriating older mage. Long moments passed, and Xylox's expression passed through stages of anger, contemplation, and genuine worry.
Grimm knew he had shot his bolt; he had said all he intended, or wanted, to say; his anger had been expiated. His threat to Xylox might be puny, compared to what a bad report from the older mage could do to him, but he felt satisfied.
"Well, I'm in your hands, Xylox the Mighty," he said, in a mild voice, smoothing his ragged hair with his hands as best he could. "I still stand by my Oath, and I swear again to give my utmost for the success of this Quest. Whether you accept that in the spirit in which it is given, or not; it's up to you."
****
Xylox's staff, Nemesis, received its seventh and final ring before its owner reached twenty-eight years of age. He had held this coveted rank for twenty years, and he regarded it with fierce pride, although he tried to imply that such mundane concerns were beneath his lofty notice. Most of his early Quests were under the supervision of older Questors or alone, and he had to admit, even to himself, that he revelled in being the senior mage in a Guild Quest.
He had never had many, if any, true friends, and even he recognised that he had subsumed his loneliness by trying to be the most powerful, the most successful, Questor in the Guild. His considerable wealth brought him little pleasure, compared to the good opinion of his Prelate and the awe of his juniors.
He had hoped, without success, to tame this wayward, recalcitrant stripling, Questor Grimm, through displays of puissant abilities and his stern, sorcerous mien; but he had to admit that the skinny whelp had proved a reasonable asset towards the success of the Quest, even without such inducements. In addition to this, the young upstart had shown a surprising level of skill and thaumaturgic strength, before Xylox had defeated him in their enforced battle in Armitage's laboratory-or so he persuaded himself.
Xylox the Mighty recognised that something had gone wrong between the two mages from the start; he had convinced himself that the tall youth must have been to blame, but he could not put his finger on anything that Questor Grimm had ever done to give him such a poor opinion of him.
Perhaps I have been a little too hard on this youthful tyro; the young are so soft and intolerant of criticism these days, he thought. They seem incapable of handling the least rebuke.
Nonetheless, the senior magic-user felt hot embarrassment at how Grimm's forceful opposition had managed to goad him into violence, destroying the cool, dispassionate, rational air he had cultivated for so long. This fact alone showed that the youth did possess remarkable willpower, a prime attribute for a Guild Questor. The grizzled sorcerer also had to acknowledge, at least to himself, Questor Grimm's assertion that, without the energy that Xylox had stored in Nemesis, their battle might well have become difficult for him. He could not countenance the idea that he would have been defeated by the young Questor, but he had to admit that even his most powerful spells had failed to crush the youth. Yes; Grimm Afelnor would bear watching, but he might be a useful ally and a troublesome enemy.
"Questor Grimm," Xylox said, "this is not easy for me to say, but I acknowledge you as a mage of considerable power and resourcefulness. I admit that I must accept some of the blame for our failure to communicate, and that, on occasion, I may have allowed my zeal for the Quest to cloud my sense of fair play and justice."
Grimm's eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides, softening his confrontational pose.
"I do not wish for us to be enemies," the older man continued, his face flushed; it was not just the desert heat that was to blame for this, as he struggled with words that were difficult for him to utter. "It is not good for morale, or for discipline. I accept that, at certain times, I may have appeared to you to be overbearing or arbitrary in my dealings with you, and for this, I… I apologise, without reserve, if this is so."
Xylox swept a hand through his hair, feeling a sense of deep embarrassment, even desperation, but the young mage remained silent, merciless; it was plain that Grimm expected more.
"I recognise also a trace of envy within myself at your rapid accession to the Fifth Rank, and that this may also have coloured my opinion of you from time to time. It is essential for the smooth running of this Quest that we mages present a united front, and so, in the interest of harmony between us, I promise to restrict my assessment of your character to your deeds in the furtherance of this enterprise."
"You have made similar, short-lived compacts to the same effect in the past," Questor Grimm said, his tone cool and dubious. Those black eyes seemed to burn into Xylox's soul, challenging and condemning him. "They did not last long, and I refuse to acknowledge that this has been due only to impertinence or rash behaviour on my part. You seem to glory in belittling me, exerting your authority through arbitrary and unjust demands, rebukes, strictures and downright insults. I have always been focused on this Quest, and I regard my status as a Guild Questor with no less pride than you; I am not about to jeopardise it by some brief, meaningless dalliance with a young girl, even if you think I do. I ransomed Drexelica only because I detest slavery in all its forms, not because I was thinking of sating my adolescent passions. This is the single act that you hold against me, because you cannot conceive that any but the baser instincts could reside within me. I have never given you any reason to believe this. It is pure prejudice: nothing more, nothing less."
Xylox was unused to being addressed in this manner, but even he had to admit that there was an uncomfortable ring of truth in his junior's words. He mulled over Grimm's actions during the Quest; other than rescuing the girl from the threat of slavery and debasement, had he really done anything to cause Xylox's low opinion of him?