I'll kill him! he raged inside his mind. Guy is just a primping peacock and no true mage! I'll squash him once and for all, like the bug he is!

As the older Questor braced himself and lowered his staff, War-maker, still smirking, Grimm began to gather the golden tendrils of thaumaturgic energy into a tight, ordered knot, ready to unleash them against his hated adversary. He knew Guy must be doing the same, but he felt more than capable of overcoming the foppish mage. In the instant he drew in his breath, ready to let forth a stream of patterned power, Drex stepped between the two would-be combatants.

"What's the matter with you?” she screamed, stamping and raising a small fist to Guy's face. “Fighting like silly schoolboys; you should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Grimm felt his anger dissipate like a puff of smoke in a strong wind, and he stepped back from Guy, realising how idiotic this confrontation was.

We have a job to do, he thought. We can't afford to have stupid arguments like this; either or both of us could have been injured, incapacitated or killed!

Drexelica withdrew, frowning.

Grimm drew a deep breath. “I apologise humbly for my outburst, Brother Mage,” he said at last, extending his right hand. “No, I don't want to fight you."

Guy looked at the proffered member as if he feared it might be diseased. “Thought better of it, eh? I'm not surprised you backed down."

Grimm felt blood rush anew into his face and fought to suppress his emotions.

Don't say anything to inflame the situation further, he thought, his entrails churning and his hands trembling from the effort of his inner battle. Whatever I think of him, we-I-need Guy.

"You're right, Great Flame.” The words felt like ashes on his tongue. “I… I acted rashly when I turned on you, and I've apologised for it. Please take my hand in the spirit of comradeship in which I offer it."

Guy snorted. “The spirit of cowardice sounds nearer the mark. Perhaps, instead, I should-"