The older mage sighed, and his eyes blazed. "Questor Dalquist; I would gladly exchange reminiscences with you, but perhaps it should wait until we are safely back at Arnor."
Grimm affected a fit of coughing to cover the broad smile he felt spreading across his face. He knew the senior mage would prefer some of these memories and perhaps Dalquist, too, to be dead and buried.
"We have more urgent matters to discuss, such as the completion of our Quest," Xylox said, resuming his arrogant, overbearing role as Senior Questor.
"My first duty is to return to High Lodge with Perfuco and his fellows, in order to requite our obligations to the Guild. Questor Grimm, I suggest that you accompany Quelgrum and his army to Crar and deliver a solemn oath of fealty to each man, binding him to the defence of your Barony and the greater needs of our beloved Guild; I trust you to inspect each man's aura, and to dismiss or destroy any whose motive is not true."
Grimm felt gratified that Xylox had modified his opinion of his junior Questor to the extent that he would trust him to carry out such an onerous and responsible duty. Nonetheless, one thing remained to settle.
Drawing the older mage to one side, the young thaumaturge whispered, "Your report to Lord Thorn, Questor Xylox, have you decided what you will say in it?"
Several seconds of silence crawled past.
"I still consider you a disrespectful, impetuous whelp, Questor Grimm," Xylox growled, "but I acknowledge that you are a resourceful and powerful mage, and that our Quest might have been less successful without your aid."
Grimm fought to keep the astonishment from his face; from Xylox, this was high praise, indeed!
"After deep consideration, I find that your contributions to this enterprise have been of some value to the aims of the Guild," the mage continued, in a conspiratorial tone, almost as if discussing treason. "I feel duty bound to declare your many shortcomings in comportment, but my report with regard to your performance will be, on balance, favourable. You need fear no longer for your continuance as a Guild Questor; I feel now that our House would be the poorer for your loss. I shall report that you are injured and exhausted after your efforts on behalf of the Guild. I will recommend that you remain in Crar for a period of at least two months. You have my implicit trust, and I assure you that I have sufficient honours heaped on my name not to exaggerate my own role in our victory. I will also recommend Questor Dalquist for his resourcefulness."
It felt as if a ton weight had been removed from Grimm's shoulders, and the young Questor fought welling tears.
"Thank you, Questor Xylox," he whispered.
"Well met, Questor Grimm," the senior mage drawled. "Now we must arrange our transport. I have no intention of travelling to High Lodge in one of these cursed, Technological vehicles, and so I trust to Questor Dalquist to provide a more suitable conveyance. I leave you to your own conscience in this regard."
"I shall accompany the General and his men in their metal contraptions," Grimm declared. "They will need direction, and I do not propose to walk to Crar"
"What of these Technological weapons and machines?" Xylox demanded. "What will you do with them?"
"I have decided to retain them," Grimm said, meeting Xylox's stern gaze with equal intensity, "but only to be used in the case of direct assault on the Barony of Crar, or on the Guild. I will fulfil my sworn Oath in all regards; these men and their resources are at the disposal of the Guild whenever they may be required."
"Very well, Questor Grimm," Xylox growled, shaking his head. "Much though I loathe all ramifications of this ancient art, I would rather it were used in our service than in the hands of a renegade. I offer you a free hand in this regard. However, I will deal with the detestable Armitage myself; he will die at my hands, but I shall be merciful."
An automatic reaction arose within Grimm to reject this proposal, but he quashed it. Armitage was too dangerous to live; he did not care what he did to any being, so long as it advanced his knowledge. The man was evil, and Grimm could not find any objection to the prospect of Armitage's death.
"Good hunting, Brother Mage," he said. "Armitage may be considered dead already, and I will not weep for him."
Although Grimm had left far behind the insecure boy he had once been, a small segment of his conscience nagged him over his rapid acceptance of the cool murder of a fellow human, no matter how callous.
****
The large train of vehicles stopped short of Crar, at Grimm's command, and the Questor walked the last quarter-mile to the formidable city gates alone.
"Who goes there?" came the challenge from the bastion.
"I am Baron Grimm," the mage replied. "I have brought an army with me. I bring Crar security and safety against any foe. Starmor is dead, and this force will preclude invasion from any other of his ilk. I request free passage for our protective force, which is under my complete command. Send the Mayor; he should vouch for me."
The suspicious face at the ramparts disappeared, to be replaced in due course by that of Mayor Chod.
The Mayor peered at Grimm from the high walls and commanded that the gates be flung wide, without delay.
The Questor breathed a deep sigh of relief. At least he had not been forgotten!
****
Grimm felt irritable and befuddled. All he wanted was a soft bed and surcease, after five exhausting days of interviews at the side of his trusty demon Seneschal, Shakkar. Crar was safe, and the mage wanted nothing more than a comfortable bed, content in his successes. He wanted to be alone.
However, when he finally climbed the winding, softly singing staircase to his chamber, he saw Drexelica standing just inside the open door.
"It's all right," she whispered to him.
Grimm blinked, fighting torpor. What did she mean?
"We all need somebody else in our lives, boy-mage," she said, her voice as beguiling and as entrancing as any Mentalist's.
He recognised the power her voice had over him, even though he knew she was using no magic on him. This did not feel like the frantic, desperate passion he had felt when the witch-nun, Madeleine, had attempted to control him at High Lodge.
Grimm's feelings were as strong now as they had been then, but he knew that his confused emotions were at least his own, and very different from those he had felt just before the reckless battle against Quelgrum's forces.
"You masked my aura from Perfuco, didn't you, Drex?" he said, without a trace of condemnation.
Drex shrugged. "I can't deny it, Grimm," she said, smiling. "I tweaked your self-confidence, too, but just a little. I did use witch magic, but does that make it bad? I did it for you, not for me."
Her arms were open, and Grimm found himself unable to resist. He said nothing, launching himself into her embrace and kissing her with a fierce passion, born of the release of tension after a long, hard struggle. The kiss seemed to last forever, but it came to an end at last, and he looked at the beautiful girl, a nervous expression distorting his features.
"It's all right," she whispered, as Grimm trembled, his breath rapid and shallow. "It's all right, my baby."
Grimm reached for her again, as warm waves of long-pent, physical need washed through him, but he stopped short, groaning in frustration.
"I can't, Drex," he moaned, although he wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted. "I can't. It'll destroy my magic. I have a vow not only to my House, but to redeem the Afelnor name in the eyes of the Guild, for my grandfather's sake. I want you, more than anything else, ever, but I can't have you."
"Is that what they tell you, Grimm?" she snorted, stamping her foot. "I don't believe it. I think they just say that to make you put all your energy into their bloody Quests. They think your having someone more important than them weakens their hold over you. I don't believe this fairy tale at all."