and on demand. He moved on to others of the Minor Magics, and he began to develop a feel for the object to be affected, so as to be able to divert just enough energy to bring about the desired change.
When his sessions with Crohn were finished, he moved on to other lessons. He found Herbalism fascinating, and he was a quick study. He still found Courtly Graces somewhat difficult, but even Magemaster Faffel did not fail to note that Grimm was making rapid progress. Music, as ever, was a blessed release, and Grimm quickly became the skilful player of a number of instruments, preferring the intimate embrace of stringed instruments such as the viol and the chitarra.
Grimm felt a new confidence in his step as he moved around the Scholasticate. He spent much of his spare time in the Library, looking in ancient librams and magical treatises, and he was allowed to keep irregular times in the Refectory so he could find convenient points at which to adjourn his studies. He found great pleasure at being able to ignore the strident, nagging Refectory bell, although he needed to locate a Magemaster or Adept who might open the Refectory door for him.
He spent little time in the recreation yard with the other boys, and he bore dark circles around his eyes and a pallid complexion: these, he learned, were the signs of the diligent Neophyte. Despite his gruelling work schedule, he felt happy and content, feeling that he was making slow but steady progress towards the coveted ring and staff of a true Guild Mage.
One afternoon, he decided to take a brisk stroll around the yard during the daily recreation period instead of his habitual hour in the Library. He was joined by Madar, now sporting a healthy growth of russet beard and in full control of a firm baritone voice.
'Grimm, wait!' Madar cried. 'Don't you have any time these days for your old friends?'
Grimm started and turned to face Madar. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Madar, I didn't notice you,' he said in a distant voice. 'It's really good to see you. I do keep meaning to take time to see you and Argand, but this Neophyte business is hard work, and I don't keep standard hours.'
The redhead snorted. 'It looks like it, too, Grimm. You look like death warmed up-or even death cooled down. You need to get some fresh air and good food; not the slop they give you in the Refectory. You know I'd be only to happy to give you some of my goodies.'
'You are good to me, Madar, and I do appreciate that so much,' Grimm replied with heartfelt intensity. 'I'd really love to meet up and talk over old times, and I will, I promise. I can't make it tonight, I'm afraid; I have some spells to practice for tomorrow. And don't worry too much about my victuals; I'm allowed better food now, although not quite as good as the food you used to share with me.'
'The phrase, 'used to', sounds awfully final, Grimm,' Madar said. 'Which slave-driver's pushing you right now?'
'Magemaster Crohn.'
'That bloody tyrant! I'm not surprised you look as you do. Argand's a Neophyte, too, of course, and he's studying to become a Scribe under Dothan, who's no bundle of laughs either. You remember when we had him for Interpretation when Kargan was away?' He grimaced.
'Oh, Crohn isn't as bad as he seems when you get to know him,' Grimm said. 'But, if I want to become a Reader, I've really got to work at it. It'll be all worth it when I'm Acclaimed.'
'Come on, now, Grimm! A Reader? False modesty sits ill on you; you've got to be considering Weatherworker at least, surely!'
Grimm smiled. In truth, he did expect to become more than a Reader, the lowest rung on the ladder of Magedom. 'All right, Madar. If I want even to become a Reader.'
Madar smiled. 'That's the Afelnor I thought I knew. So, Grimm, how does magic really work? What do you do all day?'
Grimm felt a tight band form around his head; now that his spell-studies were at such an advanced stage, Crohn had decided to place a Compulsion on him, after all: a spell that prevented him from revealing what he had learned. Although it irked him a little that the Magemaster did not trust him to keep his mouth shut, the Neophyte knew only too well that it might be dangerous to satisfy his friend's curiosity.
'I can't tell you, Madar. No, look, I mean it; I can't tell you, even if I want to. I'm under a bloody Compulsion Crohn put on me, and you can guess how powerful that is. All I can say is that now I really understand why they're so secretive about this.
'Look, Madar, how about you and me and Argand getting together tomorrow in the Refectory, so we can chew over old times, if not old food? I've got a couple of free hours in the evening, too, and I'll be in my cell if you want to stop by. It'd make a real change for me, and I'd really enjoy it.'
'It's a date,' Madar said with warm sincerity. 'I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll be seeing Argand in the refectory tonight, and I'll see if he's free tomorrow night. I surely hope so, because I don't get to see much of him, either, these days.'
The two Neophytes shook hands, and Grimm had to rush off; he knew Crohn wouldn't take kindly to him being late for his evening session.
'So, Argand, how do you like it as a Neophyte?' Grimm asked the next day.
'Well, my arm aches from pushing a quill over the paper all day, and the hours are long, but Dothan isn't anything like old Crohn. If I've done well, at least he tells me so.'
'I always heard Dothan was a bit of a tyrant,' Madar said. 'I was talking to some of the boys that had him as Magemaster, and none of them has a kind word for him.'
'It's true he doesn't have much love for snotty Students who think they know it all,' Argand responded. 'But he says he feels he's doing worthwhile work when he trains a Neophyte who really wants to learn.
'He certainly lets me know it if I miss out a curlicue or joining line when I'm Scribing, but he's patient and doesn't hammer the point home. The difficult thing is that Dothan's a great mimic. He can reproduce any regional accent you care to name, and he tends to switch accents in mid-chant, which causes no end of problems for me. Imagine 'effuther' in Frasian! It comes out like 'afforthe' and, unless the spell context is clear, you can get into all sorts of trouble trying to join the runes up. The runes themselves are easy enough; after all, they're only the usual straight lines. But the joining cadences link the spell together, so if you get it wrong you end up with nothing, or worse.'
'But you can't link 'affa', 'ore' and 'thek' together smoothly unless you change the pitch; there'd be a 'quack' in the middle-you couldn't miss it,' Madar protested.
'When you're a Student, the Magemasters chant at one-tenth the speed of real mages, Madar. The 'quack' would be gone before you had time to register it.'
Argand looked frustrated, as if he had a little difficulty in conveying his thoughts. 'All the chants you two have ever met are standard ones. Scribes have to cope with all sorts of new chants.
'Imagine some Scholar has come up with a new spell, and he wants it recorded. It could take hours at Student speeds; he wants it scribed and notarised as soon as possible, so his work is recognised and rewarded without delay. These Scholars are famous for their impatience and not always as careful with their diction or tone as Readers are.'
Grimm frowned. 'Surely, Scholars go through the same repetition and chanting practice as the rest of us. After all, even they were Students and Neophytes once.'
Argand grimaced. 'Unfortunately, Scholars rarely cast spells,' he said. 'Unlike Readers, who strive for perfection to the last detail with every spell they cast. It seems it's almost a point of honour for Scholars to pronounce their arcane chants in any way they choose. After all, they're just repeating, not casting. You can bet they're really careful how they sing it when they're trying it out for real in their cells or outside the House, sure! But then they get bored with it and want to get it down on paper as soon as possible, so they can get back to their scrolls and librams, ready to invent their next masterpiece.'
'Still, rather you than me, Argand,' Grimm replied. 'When you start to actually expend power, it can really tire you out. On most days, I just want to crawl back to my cell and sleep. But how did you get into this Scribe business? If you don't mind me saying, you haven't exactly got the best ear and voice around here, and, from what you're saying, you need good pitch reading to do what you do.'
'It's different for Scribes, Grimm,' Argand said. 'You need a quick ear, sure, but not a perfect one. Dothan says
