Mage Questor Grimm Afelnor, called the Dragonblaster, could think of no place he would rather be, and he almost wished the journey would never end.

The seventeen-year-old Baron of Crar’s limbs ached as the ill-sprung, cramped wagon bounced and skittered along the uneven road, his silk robes were in tatters and he badly wanted a long, hot bath, but he had found much-needed solace in the arms of his lover, Drexelica.

The winged demon, Shakkar, Grimm’s trusty Seneschal, floated overhead, and General Quelgrum sat at the reins, with only a thin canvas cover separating him from the vehicle’s interior.

Opposite the two lovers sat the young Healer, Sister Mercia, her head lolling and her eyes twitching as she slept. The half-blinded albino fighter, Tordun, sat at the far end of the wagon, with the soldier, Sergeant Erik opposite him. The two warriors seemed poles apart: one a bare-knuckled fighter, blooded in countless prize rings, reliant on his speed and his muscles; the other raised from birth in Quelgrum’s army, trusting in its ingenious pre-Fall metal weapons. Nonetheless, they seemed to have found common ground in an animated discussion about the relative merits of different styles of unarmed combat. They scarcely spared Grimm and Drex a glance as they argued and bickered. The hapless Necromancer Numal, who had once tried to seduce Grimm, sat lost in a gloomy reverie. His lips moved, but the words were stolen by the noise from the vehicle’s steel-shod wooden wheels.

Despite the crowded, confined space, Grimm and Drex might just as well be alone with each other, and the mage was happy for this condition to endure as long as possible.

  “What are you thinking, Grimm?” Drex asked, her voice barely audible over the clamour.

Grimm smiled and looked into her green eyes. “I’m thinking that I’m dirty, hungry and tired, but I’ve never been happier,” he said, careful to pitch his voice so that he would not be overheard. “I’m just happy to have you back from Lizaveta’s claws.”

“When I was suffering in the Priory,” she said, her eyes misting, “I kept going by telling myself you were going to burst through the door at any moment. I held out as long as I could, but I . . . I betrayed you, Grimm.”

 The mage grunted; only two weeks before, Drex had led him into the heart of Rendale Priory, home of the evil witch, Prioress Lizaveta, pretending to have escaped. She had been one of his most enthusiastic torturers, her memories and desires perverted by the powerful witch. Lizaveta had taken control of Grimm’s grandfather, the mighty Questor Loras, forty years before, and Grimm knew few people could have stood up to her potent magic as long as Drex had.

“Don’t blame yourself, Drex,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t. You’re back with me, and that’s all that matters to me. It’s over now.”

  If Drex had any doubts, she kept them to herself as the wagon jounced along the rough, winding cart-track towards Crar.

***

"Here we are, good people," shouted General Quelgrum from the front of the wagon, bringing it to a halt. "Back home at last."

Drex breathed a loud sigh. "Thank the Names," she said. "I couldn't have waited another minute. My legs are killing me. It's so good to be home again."

She lifted her head from his left shoulder and showed him the gamin grin that had first captivated him. Grimm answered with a happy smile. Despite all she had been through, his beloved had changed little from the moment when he first realised that the grubby, rebellious girl he had freed from slavery was now a woman.

"We're not quite finished yet, my love," he said. "I must carry out my duty to my Guild . . . I must."

He wished with all his heart that he could foreswear the vow he had given Prelate Thorn so many years before. He almost wished he could forget his oath to redeem his family name, but he could not bring himself to do so, no matter what he desired. He regarded an oath as sacred. He knew also that he could never rest easy while the spirit of Lizaveta yet resided in his lover's body, even if he took his duty and his responsibility into his hands and tore them into shreds.

"I know, Grimm," replied Drex, nodding with perhaps a little too much cheerful vehemence. "I know." She sighed again, running her right hand through her long, brown hair, although her actions seemed neither contrived nor coquettish.

"Let's not talk about it now," said Grimm, as Necromancer Numal and Tordun clambered out of the vehicle. "Let's have a long wash and some clean clothes before we go any further. We'll spend tonight here, eat well and leave in the morning. I just hope Prelate Thorn allows me a long retreat after all we've been through. He owes us."

"He owes us plenty!" agreed Drex, and her brow wrinkled. "What will you do if your mighty, sexless Lord Dominie says we can't stay together? You said he might do that."

It was Grimm's turn to sigh. "I don't know, Drex," he confessed, rubbing his brow. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't hesitate; I'd tell him just what he could do with his bloody Guild, and be damned with him! I want nothing more than to stay with you in Crar and never leave, but I also know how much my grandfather and grandmother have suffered over the years. I can't let them down."

Drex looked into the Questor's eyes for a moment, her brown eyes burning.

"I hate the Guild," she said, her voice trembling just a little, "but I know what family loyalty means. My father and mother died in a shoddy lean-to because Da couldn't get work. They said he'd stolen a lot of money from the chandlers where he used to work, although they couldn't prove it. After that, everybody in Griven thought he was a thief. But I knew it wasn't true. Why, he often used to give money to poor people before. . . before it happened. I'd have done anything to clear his name. He thought the chief clerk had stolen the money, and he was going to try to prove it. Then, the roof fell in. . . I wasn't there. I should have been. . . "

Now she was sobbing openly, and Grimm drew the girl closer.

"Hush, now, my love," he said, in what he hoped was a soft, soothing tone. "If you'd been there, you'd have died too; what good would that have done? Do you think your parents would have wanted that?"

Drex shook her head, her mouth twisted and her eyes glistening, but she did not speak.

"Come on then, Drex," said Grimm. "I want Healer Threavel to take a look at Tordun's eyes. If anyone can restore his sight, Threavel is the one. He's an ex-Guild man, too."

"I like Tordun," Drex admitted, her voice weak but level. "I'd like it if he could see again. I'm sorry if I got a bit emotional there."

Grimm laughed. "After being tortured by Lizaveta's cohorts, driven half out of your mind and possessed by the evil old witch's spirit, it's a wonder you can still function at all! You're a fighter, Drex, and I love you all the more for it. Even fighters have a right to be a little tearful on occasion. Just be strong for a few more days. If Horin lays down the law to me, perhaps I'll show him just what a Seventh Rank Questor's wrath is like!"

Drex drew a deep breath and nodded, her lips twisted in a lop-sided smile.

"How’s your passenger?" asked Grimm, deciding to change the subject. In truth, he had no idea how the Lord Dominie would react to any demand that the rigid Guild rules be relaxed to allow mages to consort with women. Although he knew that many respected sorcerers had broken this rule, such couplings had always been covert and casual.

Drex shrugged. "She's quiet now. I don't think she'll be any more trouble. Lizaveta made a big mistake showing me how her witchcraft works; I have no intention of communing with any earth powers until I know I'm well rid of her."

Grimm nodded. A witch and a mage – what on earth will our children be like? he wondered. Perhaps, when I'm free of my Guild commitments, we'll find out.

As he clambered down from the wagon into the brightness of a glorious morning, Grimm took care to suppress any sense of over-optimism; he had discovered just how false such feelings could be on several previous occasions.

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