accusers.'
Horin chuckled. “You are facing me, Questor Loras, even though you cannot see me. However, if you wish…'
Loras heard a few muttered syllables, and the green mage globes disappeared in the blink of an eye. After another brief spell-chant, the blackness fell like a heavy curtain released from its rail, to reveal a splendid, wood- panelled chamber, with no windows, and only two sets of doors. The centrepiece of the room was a large table in the shape of a horseshoe, with the ends closest to him. Behind the centre of the arc sat a calm-faced, ancient- looking man amidst a wild profusion of scrolls and papers, many of which had spilled onto the floor around him.
The former Questor felt surprised at Lord Horin's apparent age; of course, most mages were old men by the time they reached the Seventh Rank, but Horin looked ancient. His forehead was deeply grooved, and the skin of his lower face hung in heavy jowls. Where most magic-users resorted to magic to hide the signs of advancing age, it seemed that the Dominie did not bother with spells of vanity.
Remembering protocol, Loras executed a deep bow, and he was pleased to find that his long-ago lessons in Courtly Graces had not deserted him.
'I do you honour, Lord Dominie,” he said, as he straightened up.
'Yes, yes, yes,” Horin said, waving his hands and donning a fussy pair of gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles. “I think we can do away with the formalities for now, Questor Loras. Come, approach me; I want to see the fabled Oathbreaker, and my eyesight is not what it once was.'
Loras stepped towards the older man with a measured pace, his eyes fixed on the black marble floor. He stopped a few steps away from the Dominie.
'No, Questor Loras; please come around to this side of the table.'
The smith complied, feeling a hot flush of self-consciousness at the Dominie's frank, appraising stare, but he locked his eyes on Horin's in any case. It would be the height of disgrace for a Questor to be stared down by a mere Specialist, regardless of his status.
'You do not look like a monster to me, Brother Mage,” the Dominie drawled, at last. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss.'
Loras obeyed Horin, sinking into a comfortable, leather chair with some gratitude.
'Do you like wine, Questor Loras?” Horin asked, lifting a half-full bottle of a pale liquid from the table. “It is Amber Pellurian; a very good year, too, I might add.'
Loras shook his head. “In case you had forgotten, Lord Dominie, I am on trial for my life. My mind is on things other than alcohol.'
Horin filled the goblet in front of him, raised it up and took an appreciative sip before replacing it.
'Of course, Brother Mage; a pity.'
The Dominie cleared his throat.
'I have suspected for some time that your earlier conviction might be unreliable. Your prior record speaks against it, and I have recently experienced Prioress Lizaveta's powers at first hand-I was scarcely able to resist them.
'Your grandson, Questor Grimm, was of great aid in ejecting the Prioress and her cohorts from High Lodge. I rewarded him with his seventh ring in recognition of this.'
Loras’ heart surged. “Lord Dominie, how is Grimm? I have not seen him for two years.'
'Questor Grimm is undertaking a special Quest for me, Questor Loras. I gave him the mandate to eliminate this woman's pernicious Order's influence in its entirety, by whatever means he deems fit.
'The only information I have received from my Secular agent in Rendale is that the Priory lies in ruins; I therefore expect Questor Grimm's triumphant return very soon.'
Loras yearned to see Grimm again, dressed in his Questor finery, his staff adorned with the seven prestigious gold rings. He daydreamed of greeting his grandson at the entrance of High Lodge in his own silken robes, a full mage once more.
'Now, to business,” Horin said, calling Loras’ attention back to the real world. “I wish to see you exonerated, Questor Loras. However, Guild Law constrains even me, even if I have the leeway to bend it a little to my own advantage.
'The essential thread of your argument seems to revolve around Prioress Lizaveta's former influence on you. However, you and your comrades can only prevail if we can link her influence to Prelate Thorn; otherwise, the charge of mutiny will be difficult to overturn.'
Loras took a deep breath. “She is Thorn's mother,” he said. “She ordered him to orchestrate my disgrace and subsequent dismissal from the Guild. He protested, but he seemed unable to resist her influence. Ever since that day, he has been dancing to her tune, so that one day he may become Dominie at her behest.'
Horin's rheumy, blue eyes widened. “You speak as if you know this as a fact, Questor Loras. Can you prove any of it?'
Loras shrugged. “That may be up to you to discover, Lord Dominie. Until very recently, I believed in my guilt and culpability with all my heart, and I considered Thorn my staunchest friend. However, Mentalist Kargan invoked a spell he called ‘Bledel Soulmaster's Temporal Divinatory Conjunct'. He actually showed me-'
'I have heard of this spell,” Horin declared, interrupting him. “It is a Schedule Nine spell, forbidden to mages without prior written permission from the Presidium. Several High Lodge Mentalists have attempted the spell; all failed. I rather doubt a mere House Mentalist could manage it. I consider it more likely that you were shown a simple Illusion. Is that not possible?'
The smith cocked his head on one side, considering the Dominie's question in detail before shaking his head. “No, Lord Dominie; it is not. Mentalist Kargan's spell dislocated my soul from my body; I am still mage enough to recognise such a dislocation, and a naked soul cannot be gulled by Illusions or Glamours. What I saw was real.
'If you summon Mentalist Kargan to this chamber and persuade him to repeat the spell, a competent Scholar armed with a suitable grimoire could surely attest to the spell's accuracy and authenticity. I saw the truth of my betrayal, without doubt.'
Horin rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair. “It is not as simple as that, Questor Loras. If Mentalist Kargan has indeed cast a Schedule Nine spell, he has broken Guild Law. I could not ignore that, and the Presidium would be unlikely to agree to a demonstration.
'The word of an accused man alone bears little weight here; it would not be accepted as proof. As for Lizaveta being Thorn's mother, that means little enough on its own.'
Horin took another sip of wine from his goblet, his expression distant and troubled.
'We need something better,” he mumbled.
Loras almost gasped as blazing awareness came to him: Lizaveta almost trapped him! I would wager any odds that only Grimm's skills saved him, and he dare not admit that! He would lose face in the eyes of the Presidium, leaving him open to any ambitious mage's challenge. He does not want the truth; he wants a political excuse for condemning Thorn.
The former Questor had not engaged in the darker side of Guild politics for several decades, but he had not forgotten the most important rules: deniability, distance and misdirection.
Literal truth did not matter.
'Lord Horin,” Loras said, causing the Dominie to snap out of his reverie and meet his intense gaze. “Is it a necessary condition of this trial that Lord Thorn be exonerated?'
Horin shook his head. “I believe Thorn is as guilty as you said, Questor Loras. Were it up to me, you and your fellow defendants would be freed in a heartbeat. However, I must not appear capricious, and I dare not declare many more Points of Personal Privilege.
'I need something concrete, not mere hearsay.'
Loras almost smiled. The truth was unimportant; what mattered was the semblance of truth; something that would ring true.
This was a game he knew well.
'Have you seen Lord Thorn's… personal Questor, Lord Horin?'
Horin shuddered. “I have. The poor lad is confined in an iron-walled cell. He is too dangerous to allow him to run about at will. He is powerful and maniacal.'
