hard-working, and nothing is too much trouble for him. However, I am no longer convinced that he is mentally strong enough. I would like to take a little longer to be sure, but I think he might be more useful as a Scholar. His insights and his application are remarkable in one so young.'
'I am not interested in some commonplace Scholar, Urel, I want a Questor!' Thorn snapped.
'They are not known to fall from trees, Lord Thorn.' Urel was a strong-willed man of considerable presence, and he was not one to back down if he believed he was in the right. 'We are talking about a difficult and dangerous procedure applied to a real, live, adolescent boy. I would not proceed unless I felt very confident of success. I am not at all confident on this occasion.'
'Do not presume to tell me what makes a Questor, Urel. I have seen Garan, and I am confident. You are a good Magemaster, but you are an Illusionist, not a Questor. You also do not understand politics as I do.
'I am the person who deals with High Lodge, not you, and I tell you that I need another Questor. As a Mage Questor, I believe Erek Garan is ready, and I instruct you at least to prepare for his Ordeal. He enjoys music, I believe. That will give you something to work on.'
'I will do this only under protest, Lord Prelate.' Urel stood his ground well.
'Your protest is noted, Senior Magemaster,' Thorn replied. 'However, this is not a democracy. I order you to come up with a suitable plan of attack and report back within the month. Make this a stiff Ordeal, brutal if necessary, for we cannot wait much longer.'
'Very well, Lord Prelate, I will do as you command, but, as I have said, I will go further only under protest.'
'Protest as you will, Urel,' the Prelate snapped, 'but kindly do as you are bidden. The rewards justify the risk.'
'I suspect that Erek's parents would not agree, were they still alive.'
'However, they are not still alive, Magemaster,' Thorn shot back, trying hard to control his rising temper. 'I am Erek Garan's father now and, like a father, I will be duly proud of him when his Staff rebounds for the third time from the Breaking Stone. On that day, I suspect that even you will consider these privations worthwhile.'
'May I remind the Lord Prelate that this House does not revolve around Questors?' responded Urel, obdurate as ever. 'We have a duty to all mages, Adepts, Neophytes and Students here. I have a duty towards the well-being of young Garan, too.'
'Whether you find satisfaction in the fact or not, Magemaster, the operations of this House do revolve around me. I have needs you do not, and cannot, understand. I have an urgent need for a Questor, and that is all that you need to know. That is all, Urel.'
Thorn bent to his desk, effectively dismissing the Senior Magemaster from his presence.
Chapter 15: Song and Dance
Grimm was taking comfort in the books of the Library, as was often his wont, reading a fascinating tome concerning the fabulous achievements of the pre-Fall savants known as Scientists. They had learned to fly, to plumb the depths of the oceans and even to recreate long-dead creatures, all without the aid of magic. He was so engrossed in his reading that he did not notice a tall, young man entering the room.
As the newcomer gave a polite cough, the Student looked up to see an earnest, young man with blond hair tied back in a severe queue. A neat beard framed his jaw, and he wore simple, black robes, marking him as a poor boy like Grimm.
'They told me I'd find you here,' the stranger said, in a pleasant, friendly baritone. 'My name is Erek Garan, and I am attempting, for my sins, to mould a motley assortment of cracked warblers and flat-footed hoofers into something that approximates a musical entertainment. I understand that you are quite a good singer. Would you be interested in trying for a part in the show?'
'I am Grimm Afelnor, Sir Erek,' Grimm said carefully, 'and I would really like to help you any way I can.' The Students had been told to speak respectfully to their elders, and this was also firmly ensconced in the Rules.
''Erek' will be fine, Grimm. I'm no Mage or Adept. Until recently, in fact, I was a Student just like you. I'm a Neophyte, halfway between a cur and a Sir. Like a stray dog, I am more used to being addressed as 'Hey, you'.'
Grimm smiled broadly at Erek's cheery demeanour. Even without access to his Mage Sight, which he now knew would be considered impolite, he could tell this was an intelligent, good-humoured person who was slow to anger.
'Erek, I'd really like to sing with you, if I can,' Grimm said, pleased that this lofty Neophyte had chosen to approach a lowly Student. 'I have a friend called Madar who's a very good singer, and another friend called Argand who can't sing at all, but I know he likes to dance. They're rich boys, but not at all snobby. Can they come, too?'
At that moment, as if they had been summoned, Madar and Argand burst into the room, dishevelled and muddy. 'Grimm,' Madar cried, 'You'll never guess what that idiot… oh, sorry, Sir.' He broke off, noticing the presence of Erek.
'Breaches of Rules 1.7.1, 1.7.3 and 2.2.6, unless I am sorely mistaken,' intoned Erek, in a fair imitation of the glacial Crohn, as Madar, Grimm and Argand looked aghast, 'but, maybe, if you don't say anything, I won't, either. I would, however, point out that some of the older Adepts take their afternoon naps in here, and they're not as forgiving as I am. Best to keep it quiet next time.'
Grimm, remembering his manners, introduced Erek to his friends.
'I'm very pleased to meet you, Madar, Argand,' Erek said, smiling. 'I hear great things about you from young Grimm, here. Young talent should be encouraged. Will you accompany me to the assembly hall? I'm sure I can find you all something to do in the entertainment that I'm planning. Are you interested?'
With fervid nods of assent, the three friends followed Erek down the stairs and through the corridors to the assembly hall. On Grimm's first true day as a Student, his impression had been that the hall was small and cramped, due to the mass of people crammed into the room. Now, it seemed cavernous.
Numerous Students of varying ages milled about. Some of them sawed wood; others laid flat on the floor, painting huge canvases, and others practiced singing, dancing or speaking parts with companions in small groups around the hall. Grimm had never seen anything like it. It looked to be an exciting and fulfilling activity, and the sheer glamour of the enterprise held him spellbound.
Erek walked over to another boy of about the same age. Grimm could not hear what the two lads said, but he saw Erek gesticulate toward him and his friends.
The two youths moved towards the young Students.
'Gentlemen,' Erek intoned, as if addressing a gathering of grandees, 'This is Akral Sharetz, the stage manager and talent scout for the extravaganza we hope to stage here. If you can impress him, he has agreed to find you parts for the entertainment. We don't have as many youngsters as we had hoped for, so you have a good chance if you are talented.'
A loud crash sounded from the back of the hall. 'Hey, Farral!' Erek shouted, 'Be careful there, those props cost money!' He dashed off, leaving Grimm and his friends with Akral, an old hand of fifteen or so, with sandy-coloured hair and a restless, adventurous air.
Akral folded his arms across his chest. 'Well, boys, let's see what you can do, shall we? Let's have your party pieces.'
Confidently, Madar assumed the pose of a Shalian Bard, his left leg crooked at the knee, his right arm resting at a jaunty angle on his hip and his left arm curved above his head.
'This is a charming old melody called 'I Met a Young Maiden at Buxom Fair',' he declared, for all the world like a worldly troubadour, winking at his small audience and starting to sing in a sweet treble that was at odds with the bawdy lyrics of the song. Grimm did not understand many of the words that flew so fluently from Madar's mouth, but he understood enough to know that the song was no genteel ballad.
Akral roared with laughter, and then clapped with enthusiasm as Madar finished the last stanza with a perfectly executed bow, sweeping an imaginary feathered cap from his head in a graceful arc.
'Well sung, Madar,' said the fair youth, his face pink from his laughter. 'I would wager you never learned that
