counting the days, and my heart will travel with her.
I love you, and I am deeply proud of you.
Loras Afelnor, once Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called the Firelord.
A lump filled Grimm's throat as he read the letter. Seeing his grandfather's full Guild style and cognomen, written in his own hand, brought home to him what the histories and remembrances relayed to him by the likes of Doorkeeper had not; Loras really had been among the most puissant of wizards, a wielder of the most destructive powers.
He had not always been the imperturbable, good-natured smith that was all Grimm could call to mind. Once, he had been a manipulator of arcane powers and a mage of the highest order. For too long now, Grimm had felt the weight of the shame transferred to him by that one, inexplicable, misguided act of Loras'. From this moment, he swore, he would persevere, taking inspiration from the man his grandfather had been before his downfall; a man widely liked and respected within the House and, until that day, one of its most potent magic-users.
Grimm knew the first letter had been for his eyes alone, and he tucked it inside his tunic. The second, much longer, letter was from both his grandparents and written in his grandmother's hand.
Dearest Grimm,
I would guess that, at this stage, you are finding it hard to imagine the apparent eternity of years that lie before you as in the Scholasticate, and I wish that your grandfather and I could come to see you, to express our love and pride for you in person.
Rest assured that we will both move heaven and earth to be with you at the end of the year, as soon as we are able.
Please keep a warm place in your heart for us, as we always shall for you, and never think for one moment that we ever wished to be parted from you.
Borrin and Mardel are asking after you and they begged you to visit when you are a mage dressed in fine robes. Poor boys; they miss you, too, and they have no idea of how long it takes to train a mage.
You will be pleased to know that Orel has finally married Aria. As a wedding present, your granfer made Orel a full partner in the smithy. Loras is not as young as he was and needs a hand with the heavy work, which Orel is happy to lend. Orel and Aria also send their love and hope that you are well…
The letter went on for several neatly-written pages more, and Grimm devoured the news of the home he had not seen for so long. He knew Loras could not have told Drima that he could never visit the House; at the end of the year, Grimm presumed, Granfer would have to make some excuse not to come. Grimm understood the reasons for the deception; Loras was banished forever from Guild premises, and to confess this would be to reveal his shameful past. Although he yearned to see Loras again, he understood why this was impossible.
He begged a piece of paper from Doorkeeper and began to pen a reply, in the full knowledge that all outgoing messages were subject to scrutiny before they were sent.
He had no desire to betray Loras's secret, even to his grandmother Drima, and he had to think long and hard about what to say. After much cogitation, he dipped his pen in the ink and began to write in his best cursive hand, only mastered after long and impatient tutelage by the acerbic Faffel.
Dear Granfer and Gramma,
Thank you very, very much for your welcome letter. I am glad that you are both well, and have managed to get a bigger piece of paper this time from Doorkeeper, who is a mage here.
My main teachers are Magemaster Kargan who teaches Runes, Singing and Presence and Magemaster Crohn, who teaches Power, Control and Magical Theory. I am doing well with these subjects, but some others like woodworking and Courtly Graces, I am not nearly so good at.
It was funny when I came here because Doorkeeper said there was once another boy here who looked just like me and almost had the same name. Isn't that strange? Other mages have said the same thing. He got to be a very good mage, and they called him Firelord, but he died young, so I have promised to live up to his memory by doing my very best and to study really hard.
I am very proud to be carrying on the memory of this other mage.
I have a little room of my very own called a cell. It is number 17 and it is not very much when you see what some of the rich boys have, but it is mine, and I am in it now.
The food is all right, and Madar and Argand are very rich and they get lots of good stuff and often give me some of theirs, which is very nice, though not as nice as yours.
I look forward to seeing you when you can come. I think of you always and I will read your last letter again and again to remind me of you, and our good times together in the smithy.
I have to practice some more singing tonight. Kargan says that the Firelord had a lovely voice and that I do, too, so that is all right.
Please say hello to Borrin and Mardel for me and tell them I will see them and you as soon as I become a proper mage with a staff and a ring. I will probably have a big beard by then and they will not recognise me.
Your loving grandson, Grimm Afelnor.
Grimm folded the letter over, wrote the address neatly on the other side and went to ask Doorkeeper to send it for him.
The letter from his grandparents had reawakened some pangs of homesickness in him, but, in replying, he had come to realise the good things in his life that he would never lose. The pride and love expressed in the letters gave him renewed strength.
He might still have to be alone in the Scholasticate at the end of the year, but there was always the Library to hold his interest, and his friends and family would still be with him, if only in spirit. He felt replete and blissfully happy.
Grimm found that the remainder of the year did not drag, as he had feared that it would. New subjects and extra studies filled his days and nights, and Magemaster Kargan always had a keen eye for slackers. Grimm continued to improve with his Courtly Graces, and he even won fourth prize in a woodwork competition, receiving a small plaque to hang in his cell. At least the plaque made the room seem a little more lived in, Grimm thought. Nonetheless, his mind was not as focused on his work as it might have been. He was looking forward to the winter break this year.
It was finally the end of Grimm's third year in the Scholasticate, and most of the paying boys had already said their goodbyes and left for home. For some weeks, Grimm had awaited his promised visit with aching eagerness, but by now he was beginning to grow desperate. The last vestiges of hope were beginning to fade when his attention was called by Magemaster Crohn.
'Afelnor; a visitor has come to the House from your former home. Remember that no other personal visit will be permitted for another three years, so make the most of it.' This was classic Crohn-speech; blunt, unemotional and to the point.
'Enjoy this visit to the full, Afelnor, but please ensure you do not dishonour the Scholasticate with unseemly shows of passion. Some emotion is to be expected, but keep it within the bounds of decorum. Power and presence: remember that, above all.'
Crohn softened his tone somewhat. 'I am happy for you, Afelnor. You are a good Student, and I am sure that you will not let the House down. Enjoy your visit.'
Grimm made his way to the assembly hall as quickly as House decorum allowed. What if he could not recognise his grandmother? Her face had already begun to fade from his memory. He need not have worried; in the centre of the hall she stood, looking little different from how he remembered her, except that she seemed to have shrunk a little. Forgetting Crohn's words for a moment, caught in the grip of emotion, he ran into her arms and hugged her. Tears flooded his eyes, and he felt quite unable to speak.
When his voice did recover, he managed to sob, 'Oh, Gramma Drima, it is so good to see you. Thank you, thank you so much for coming here. I have been so looking forward to it.'
Moisture twinkled in Drima's blue eyes, too, and her normally immaculate brown hair was a little tousled.
'Grimm,' she said, her voice husky, 'I wouldn't have missed coming here for the world. You have never been out of our hearts; never. I am only sorry that your Granfer took ill a few days ago and was unable to come.
'Our young apprentice, Jirrl-you remember him, I'm sure-brought me here. He's gone into town to try the local
