You're wound too damn… tight, Afelnor! he chided himself. Let go, can't you? These are your friends, and you don't have many of those to spare! They're just worried about you, even if they don't need to be.
Grimm heaved a long, shuddering sigh, letting his frustrations and worries go as best he was able.
"Sometimes I find the yearning for the smoke a little intense," he said to Crest. "However, this isn't one of the times, I assure you. I'm just worried and overwrought. A good night's sleep will see me right, I promise."
After remaining silent for a few seconds, Crest said, "Well, least said, soonest mended, I suppose, so let's say no more about the matter. So where is this den of diabolic evil, then?"
"They were last seen heading south-east from High Lodge; that's all I know, I'm afraid, gentlemen. Still, at least I know it's not here, and I'm fairly sure it's not likely to be anywhere with an established Guild presence. I propose we start our search in Yoren, about three days' ride from here-a couple of my spies have told me a party of nuns passed through there recently."
"I know that town; it's pretty rough, Lord Mage," Harvel said. "Just as well you'll have a couple of seasoned warriors with you."
"Oh, I can take care of myself, Harvel. Don't worry about me."
Harvel leaned closer, a grim, humourless smile on his face. "In Yoren, they don't play fair, Questor, and they're people who tend to despise the Guild ring. I'd give that place a wide berth if I were on my own, and I've got eyes in the back of my head, not to mention full battle honours in three wars."
Crest's expression darkened. "Harvel's right, for once in his life, Questor. They may not like lawmakers-an attitude with which a man in my line of work can sympathise-but they really detest Guild Mages. So don't get cocky, Grimm. Remember that Harvel and I hail from Drute, and you know what a fun little town that is. So when I tell you even we Drutians steer clear of Yoren, you'd better believe that we know what we're talking about. Seventh Rank Mage or not, they'd eat you for breakfast. These fellows don't stand in line and take turns to attack you."
Grimm bit back an acid reply. He was strength and power personified; what could some pathetic provincial Secular with a bad attitude and a dagger do to him? Ready to give a cool and measured defence of his magical abilities, he noticed the terrible intensity on the faces of his two warrior friends. He opened his mouth to reassure Harvel and Crest of his invincibility, but he did not speak.
Yes, he might be the Dragonblaster, a Questor of the Seventh Rank, but he realised that he was desperately ignorant of the ways of the world. Both Crest and Harvel were experienced men of the world and hardy warriors; it would be foolish to laugh at their concerns. These men had been familiar with Guild Mages for longer than Grimm had lived.
Despite the proud protestations of his unthinking, demanding hormones, he was still a seventeen-year-old boy, and it would be wise to heed the advice of these men, even if it hurt him to admit it. As he had worked through his maps and itineraries, Yoren had seemed just another named dot on a piece of paper, and he would have marched into it as if he owned the place, without the warriors' warnings.
"I think… I'm sure you're right, fellows. I'll take your advice, I promise. Just smack me on the head if I get a little over-confident in Yoren."
The two warriors laughed, their worries evidently appeased by the Questor's conciliatory tone.
"We will, Lord Mage," the smiling Harvel said. "But just remember, it might be too late by the time we get to that stage."
What about Guy? The thought popped unbidden into Grimm's head. I may be a little too cocksure for my own good, but he's like a bull in a china shop!
"Er, gentlemen, there's another mage who'll be coming with us: another Seventh Rank Questor. It would be good if you had a few words with him before we go any further. He's just a little hot-tempered at times. A bit self-opinionated, too."
Crest's brows threatened to disappear into his high hairline. "More hot-tempered and self-opinionated even than you, Grimm? Get him in here now, before we have a full-scale war on our hands! And is there any chance of getting some breakfast around here? I'm starving."
"While you're at it, Questor, how about handing round the maps for the route you're thinking of taking?" Harvel said. "Crest and I are pretty well-travelled, and we may be able to give you a few more bits of useful advice. Come on, you look like a soggy piece of string; you're worn out! You can't do it all on your own, you know. You've got our word that we won't peach to anyone what we're doing, so just trust us, can't you? Crest and I have planned more expeditions than you've had hot dinners, so let us do the planning while you get fit and mage-like. We'll do the logistics, too, if you like."
Grimm shook his head. "General Quelgrum's doing the logistics."
Harvel glanced at Crest and rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes; I forgot you had a real, live General on your household staff, Lord Mage! I suppose I should feel honoured, but just five minutes ago you were trying to kill each other, as I recall.
"If you want to invade some foreign country and lay it to waste with a lot of fire and noise, I'm sure Quelgrum's your man. But if you want to plan a sneaky, underhand, skulk through the gutters, I think you'll find Crest and me more than qualified to do the job. So just leave the good General and your arsehole mage friend to us and relax for a change, can't you?"
Grimm felt as if matters were being taken out of his hands, but he no longer cared. Waving his hands in surrender, he felt a smile beginning to crawl across his face.
"Hey, this mage can almost smile!" Harvel said, and Grimm allowed his expression to collapse into a full, unfettered grin. "What do you think, Crest, is he human?"
Crest nodded. "Grimm, go and stuff your face, or scratch your spots, or do whatever else you normally do at this time of the morning, and take it easy for one day in your life.
"I wouldn't trust General Quelgrum a lot further than I could spit a rat. So just leave a message for him and and your fellow mage to come and see us, give us your maps, and then sod off, there's a good Mage."
"Don't forget the food." Harvel wagged his right index finger in admonition.
Grimm felt as if he ought to be angry, but he also felt as if ten tons' weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"I'll do that; thank you, fellows. I was beginning to feel I was going to make a complete idiot of myself," he said, as the tension eased.
He knew he could trust these men.
"Early days yet, mage," Harvel said. "It still might happen, but we can all be idiots together when it does, eh?"
Grimm laughed happily, thinking of the happy prospect of a day spent with his beloved Drexelica. "Thank you so much, my friends."
"That's enough!" Crest snapped, in a mock show of annoyance, and Grimm recognised a parody of his own attitude just minutes before. "Just get us what we need, push off and enjoy yourself!"
Grimm stood and offered an elaborate bow.
"By your command, Lord Crest," he said, smiling.
As he walked from the chamber, he felt as if a string was being pulled tight within him, as if he might be losing control, but he let it go with gratitude.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 22: Heartfelt Discussions
Grimm discovered Drexelica sitting alone in the immaculate kitchen of the tower. He could not help but notice the disconsolate expression on her face, and the way she flicked through the pages of a book, sparing each page only a scant glance. Despite the fact that his shadow fell across her, she did not look up.
"Drexelica, it's me: Grimm."