"I'm in charge, and you're not! That's all there is! If you don't like it, I suggest you go back to Lord Horin and argue with him. If you don't acknowledge my authority right now, I don't want you on this Quest; is that understood? This expedition may prove hard enough, even without having to contend with dissent between us!"
"You've got some front, Afelnor; I'll say that for you." Guy shook his head as if to clear some inner obstruction. "But that doesn't compare with experience, and you're a fool if you think it does. I have a dozen Quests to my name, and I'd lay you any odds you like that my magic's more potent than anything you can muster. Horin's old and confused; he never meant for you to be in charge, really; it stands to reason."
Grimm felt a cool, strange sense of calm beginning to flow within him. "I hope you enjoyed your meal, Questor Guy. I'd rather have you on my side, but it's plain that I can't trust you in the simplest of matters, such as common courtesy between us; I don't want you with me."
Despite recognising that Guy's experience might be a critical asset to the Quest, Grimm could not countenance the prospect of continual bickering on the trail. Guy was just too hot-tempered and intolerant.
"All right, Afelnor; as you say," the older Questor said quickly, opening his hands in placation, almost like a penitent supplicant in a church. "I apologise for my disrespect to you, Necromancer Numal.
"Brother Questor, I acknowledge your absolute authority for the conduct of this Quest. Am I forgiven?"
Guy's wide eyes and saintly expression suggested a misunderstood, guileless innocent, although the Dragonblaster had seen similar, abrupt volte-faces before.
Isn't this just like Guy? Grimm thought. He changes his mind at a moment's notice; how can I rely on a man like that?
Nonetheless, he had to acknowledge that the older Questor, if he was as good as his word-which was questionable-could prove a powerful factor in the Quest's potential success.
With a sigh, Grimm told himself he could not afford to be capricious or judgemental on his first Quest as senior mage. Horin's eyes, at least, were upon him, and the Dominie would expect him to be able to handle inner disputes.
"Very well, Questor Guy," he found himself saying, "If you're prepared to submit to my leadership, then I may change my mind. Now, if we've finished bickering, let's get down to business. We may have a long night ahead of us, so I'd rather get started as early as possible."
"As you say, Chief; let's get started, by all means."
If there was a trace of sarcasm in Guy's voice, Grimm chose to ignore it.
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Chapter 21: Rebellion
Grimm spent the next two weeks preparing for the Quest. He put himself through a punishing, demanding series of exercises every morning, studied maps and documents during the afternoon and worked on Redeemer throughout the night. He spent long hours muttering to the six-foot, brass-tipped rod, as he had during its preparation, pouring his strength into it in order to provide him with a store of magical energy to be used when needed.
Following Guy's advice, he cast a number of simple, useful runic spells on Redeemer, such as spells of Illumination and Warding. None was any match for his innate Questor power, but they were all useful spells and, once they were embedded in his staff, he would be able to access them without squandering his inner strength.
Guy Great Flame appeared to keep his promise, showing respect to both Numal and Grimm when the three were together, although Grimm knew the older Questor would bear closer scrutiny once the Quest was underway.
On occasion, either the demon Shakkar, Grimm's Seneschal, or Mayor Chod, the leader of the Council of Crar, would interrupt him with documents to be signed or decisions to be made, but the Questor's mind was focused only on the Quest. He allowed himself a scant four hours of sleep each night, telling himself at all times to push harder, harder!
****
Grimm threw himself into his strenuous regime of exercise, pushing his body to its limits, when a breathless messenger burst into his chamber without knocking.
"Lord Baron, there are two visitors for you!"
Grimm frowned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Didn't you think to knock before entering, man; where are your bloody manners? I'm busy; tell them to go and see the Seneschal, can't you?"
"I'm sorry, Lord Baron, They told me you'd want to see them at once."
Grimm snatched up a towel and wiped his flushed face. "If it's not the Lord Dominie, or Lord Prelate Thorn, you can tell them to wait their bloody turn!" he snapped.
"If that's your attitude, mage, you can keep your bloody Quest!"
The voice was familiar, and Grimm spun on his heels to see a slight, black-clad man, maybe five feet in height, with heavy, black brows overseeing an olive-complected face.
"Crest!" the mage cried, bounding towards the slender half-elf and grabbing him in a companionable embrace, almost barging the messenger aside in the process.
"So you do remember me," the elf said, shrugging off Grimm's attentions. "I got your message two days ago. I just hope this is going to be worth my while."
"Of course, Crest! Just name your figure; I'll meet it."
Another familiar voice sounded from outside the door. "What about me? I've got four mistresses and a life of dedicated hedonism to support."
Grimm opened the door to its full extent to reveal the foppish but deadly swordsman, Harvel, who extended his right hand. Grimm's smile widened, and he took the proffered member in a strong embrace.
"Harvel, you old blood-drinker!" the mage cried. "It's good to see you again."
"All right, mage; just go a little easier on the greetings," Harvel complained. "I might need to use that hand again!"
Grimm released the swordsman's hand, not having realised how tightly he had been gripping it. "Crest, Harvel, thank you so much for coming. Please, do come in."
He waved the messenger out of the room and shut the door.
"What's it all about, mage?" Harvel asked. "I don't imagine you've called on us just to help you escort some chinless princeling to his wedding. At least, I hope you haven't."
"It is a Quest, a proper Quest, and the risk may be great," Grimm replied. "However, before I tell you any details, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to promise to say nothing of it to anybody else. Not a word-and I do mean that. Lord Dominie Horin of High Lodge, the Guildmaster, asked me in person to undertake this Quest, and he's adamant that no hit of our purpose be allowed to leak out. I don't want any idle gossip, pillow-talk or casual chit-chat to jeopardise the expedition. Secrecy is paramount."
Harvel laughed easily, his face open and good-humoured. "If you pay me well enough, Questor, I won't even tell my Confessor about it."
Crest turned to face his warrior friend. "I never thought of you as a religious type, Harvel; a carouser and a lecher, yes, but not some bloody saint."
Harvel shrugged. "You don't know everything about me, elf. I'll have you know I'm a fully-fledged member of the Church of the One. All right, I haven't been to church since I was a child, but I'm saving everything for one big confession."
"No priest would listen to more than three hours of any honest confession you made," the half-elf retorted. "You'd be excommunicated before you'd even started."
The whip-wielding, knife-throwing thief turned to Grimm. "You have my word, mage: I won't tell a soul of what you tell me without your explicit permission. Harvel and I are ex-soldiers, and we know how to keep our mouths shut." He spat on the floor to solemnise the oath; the Questor felt a momentary frisson of disgust, but he knew the ritual sealed a firm, unshakeable covenant.
"Very well, gentlemen; if you'll give me a few moments to wash and dress, we'll go to my day-room, where we can discuss things in a more comfortable and civilised environment."