"Granfer Loras was an old hand, and he'd been on dozens of difficult and dangerous Quests. You can be sure he never acted just on the spur of the moment. And with an infinite number of spells potentially at his command-invisible, undetectable spells-you can bet he'd never have chosen to push a pillow in the old man's face. Not unless he wanted to be caught, and I don't believe that.
"The only other explanation I can think of is that someone-a single mage with unbelievable magical power, or a group of mages acting in concert-ensorcelled him into doing what he did." Grimm hissed through his teeth in an attempt to dispel the tension within him. "Everyone in the House expected Granfer to succeed Geral as Prelate. From what I heard, he wouldn't have had to wait long. He didn't need to take the risk of assassinating the old man just to get him out of the way… and even if his motivation was pure mercy, why did he choose such a blatant, obvious method? Geral couldn't have put up any resistance; Granfer could have stopped his weak heart in a second with a quick, merciful spell, instead of trying to smother him. He wouldn't even have had to leave his room.
"It doesn't ring right, Drex. It doesn't make any sense at all."
Drexelica leaned forward, cupping her chin with her right hand as if considering what to say next.
"Who got the most out of your granfer's disgrace, Grimm?"
The young mage shrugged. "Lord Thorn, I suppose. When Geral finally died, Lord Thorn became Prelate instead of Granfer."
He saw Drex's eyes narrowing, and he shook his head, seeing where the discussion was heading.
"Lord Thorn was Granfer's staunchest friend!" he protested. "The expected sentence was death, and only Lord Thorn's pleading swayed the adjudicator at Granfer's trial. If Thorn'd been the guilty party, why would he want to spare Granfer's life?"
Grimm sighed. He had nothing more than a slew of vague suspicions and doubts, nothing on which he could put his finger. He had considered the matter in some depth, but he knew he had no reason whatsoever to suspect Thorn of any wrongdoing. A spell capable of making a full Questor act against his will, while believing he was acting under free will, must be beyond the power of any single mage. Such an enchantment might have been carried out by a Great Spell, a large group of potent thaumaturges acting in concert, yet it seemed that Loras had been a popular mage, both within the House and at High Lodge.
No, Lord Thorn could not have done this.
After long cogitation, Grimm spoke.
"No, Drex, I don't for a moment think Lord Thorn did it. I have absolutely no reason to suspect him. In fact, books I read at High Lodge led me to believe that the only possible explanation involved powerful Geomancy, witch magic, rather than Guild magic."
Drexelica started. "I'm not all that powerful, but I've read quite a lot about witchery, Grimm. You must believe me when I tell you no ordinary witch could cast a spell like that. It would take a more powerful witch than I've ever heard of. Why would a strong witch hate your grandfather so much? Witches don't have a lot to do with the Guild."
Grimm shrugged. "I don't know, Drex. Perhaps Lord Thorn could just tell me a little more about Granfer's manner when he committed the act: a peculiar expression on his face, an abnormality in his aura: something, at any rate. I mean to ask him, as soon as I get back to Arnor."
Drexelica put her hand on Grimm's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. "If you're serious about doing that, do be careful, Grimm. You don't want to make Lord Thorn angry with you, do you? You said he can make you a poor servant for years if he wants to, and I don't want to lose you."
"I don't know what I want," the young Questor confessed in confusion and discomfort, waving his hands as if seeking divine inspiration. "But I'd never forgive myself if I knew that I'd left some stone unturned. Granfer's a stern man and a hard taskmaster, but he'd do anything for me. He and my grandmother Drima are all the family I've got."
"I know," the girl whispered. "Of course you need to find out what happened, but just be careful. Will you do that? Men can be so clumsy and tactless at times, and I worry for you."
"I'll be careful, Drex, I promise. Lord Thorn is severe, but I think he's fair and reasonable at heart, if he's in a good mood. He'll understand why I have to know, I'm sure. And in any case, I wouldn't worry too much about me being condemned to the scullery. I'm more useful as a Questor, and in any case, I'm sure I'm rich enough to pay off my education now. I've never been told what the tariff is for Questors, but I've got plenty of money now."
Drexelica hugged him. "Just you take care of yourself, Grimm, and come back to me. If you get yourself killed, you'll have me to answer to. You wouldn't like that, I promise you. I have my mother's temper at times, and she was a real witch in every sense."
She wagged a mock-admonitory finger in his face.
Grimm laughed, despite his sombre mood. "I'll be careful, I promise."
Then his face fell again. "You do realise that I may have to stay at the House for a while longer before I can come back home? I don't want anything more than to stay here with you, but I'm not a free man yet. After a few more Quests, a little more boost in reputation, and I may be trusted to spend all my free time in Crar without running away."
Drex nodded, her expression a little bleak. "I'll wait for you, Grimm Afelnor. I'll trust your friend Shakkar to look after me, and I'll be thinking of you while you're away."
Grimm shrugged. "It may not be too bad, Drex. Lord Thorn may not order me to stay at the House after all, and Quests don't come about all that often. I'll let you know, whatever happens."
"I know you will, Grimm. Anyway, enough of that! Why don't you tell me all about your first Quest, and your friend, Dalquist?"
"I'm sure Thribble here can tell it better than I could," Grimm replied, smiling. "What do you say, Thribble?"
The demon hopped onto the table in front of the divan, enthusiastic and athletic. "I thought you would never ask, human. I love to tell stories."
Drex clapped her hands and turned to Grimm. "He's so sweet, Grimm! I love him!"
"Sweet!" the demon squeaked in indignation.
"Please, just tell the story, Thribble, while I get my bags packed for the journey. Perhaps you'd like a little wine or brandy to lubricate your throat?"
"Brandy would be marvellous!" the demon crowed, clapping his tiny paws. "Well, young female, I first met Questor Grimm when the demon Starmor ruled this city: but it was a very different city then. Questor Grimm and his companions were trapped…"
Drexelica sat silent, her eyes wide as Thribble launched into his tale with his customary gusto. Grimm felt happy to let the demon take his mind off his uncertain future.
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Chapter 3: Lord Thorn's Assessment
The morning was warm and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky, but the young thaumaturge barely noticed. As Grimm rode up the winding mountain pass to the fortress that was Arnor House, his mind remained focused on his forthcoming meeting with Lord Thorn. On his last Quest, the senior mage, Xylox the Mighty, had promised that his report to the Prelate would be 'on balance, favourable'. However, the older Questor had made little secret of his dislike for Grimm, even if he appeared to respect his junior's resourcefulness and power. All depended on whether Lord Thorn's view coincided with that of Xylox, and the young Questor knew the Prelate's temper to be unpredictable at best.
At the very least, it seemed probable that Grimm would be required to stay at the House for a further period, away from his Barony and his beloved Drexelica. At worst, he might be censured, with a black mark to go on his record, which might blight his Guild career and bar further promotion.