Doorkeeper's forte.
'Lord Thorn, there's a boy in the scullery. I hope you don't mind, but I gave him a bed and some food. It was horribly cold and wet out there last night, you know, and I just thought-'
Thorn raised a hand to stop the flow of prattle from Doorkeeper. He sighed and, with difficulty, mustered a patient manner; angry words tended to cow the timid old man and to prolong exchanges. The Prelate's tone was nonetheless cool in the extreme, belying his placatory words.
'That's all right, Doorkeeper; I am sure that you will look after him well. What I would like to know is why you thought it necessary to disturb me over the arrival of some bedraggled indigent, especially at such an early hour. Such matters are scarcely my concern.'
Doorkeeper wrung his hands in discomfort. 'Ah, he, er, he wants to become a Mage, Lord Thorn. He's very keen to talk to you.'
Thorn sighed. 'The more proper channel for such an application is through the Magemaster on night duty in the Scholasticate, as you well know. What is so urgent that you must disturb me at this hour?'
'Lord Thorn, he gave me a package with a Guild ring in it. I was half ready for bed myself when he came, but, of course, I ran to the hall as soon as the portal opened. I have to, you see…'
Thorn raised a dismissive hand again, and sighed even more theatrically than before. 'Go on, then.'
Doorkeeper hesitated and then held out the waxed package in a timid manner, with an expression like that on the face of a stranded seal pup, an expression which had never failed to irritate Thorn. How the quivering old fool before him had ever managed to become a mage was quite beyond the Prelate's comprehension, and he was far from alone in this view. As Thorn took the package, he sensed the unmistakable presence of a Guild Ring.
The old fool had spoken the truth, but, then again, even that senile dullard wore a similar ring, so that meant little. The boy's father might be some superannuated Reader, or even a Doorkeeper from another House; scarcely a cause for such great excitement. Thorn thought of saying so, but he summoned the self-control expected of a Mage of the Seventh Rank, drew a sharp breath and forced himself to be calm. Sarcasm might have an even more negative effect than ire on the hapless major-domo.
With some effort, Thorn managed a passable simulacrum of a seraphic smile and said in a falsely honeyed voice, 'Thank you, Doorkeeper, that will be all for now. Well done. You may go.'
As the door closed behind Doorkeeper, Thorn looked the package over carefully. The aura surrounding it seemed familiar to him and yet he could not place it. Satisfied that the packet contained no threat, he opened it and found inside a letter and a Guild Ring, which somehow seemed to resonate with mastery. Intrigued, the Prelate opened the letter within, and was surprised to see not an illiterate scrawl but elegant, educated handwriting which spoke of its originator's erudition.
The Smithy,
Lower Frunstock,
Addleton
My beloved former brother mage and fellow Questor, I offer my deepest respect and most heartfelt salutations!
It is only after deep meditation that I send my grandson Grimm Afelnor to you, with the desire that you confer upon him the honour of taking him in as a Student. I understand well the deep misgivings you must hold at the prospect of taking to the Guild's bosom the seed of a traitor and renegade such as I.
The child knows nothing of my past, and I beg that you preserve this blissful ignorance whether you accept him or no. It is not just that a boy's life be blighted by the sins of his forebears, heinous though they may be.
It is as hard for me to write this letter as I am sure it will be for you to read it. I am currently employed as a smith in the hamlet of Lower Frunstock; but my health is no longer so rude as once it was, and it is becoming ever harder for my wife, Drima, and me to look after our orphaned grandson, Grimm.
He is a remarkably perceptive boy, with more than a trace of the power that once I bore, and he knows much beyond his seven years. He sees auras and can perform dowsing and other minor charms without having received a whit of training in these disciplines from me. He is gifted in languages, arithmetic and music, and his grandmother and I have taught him what we can of the secular arts.
He is a solemn, studious boy, ill-suited to the harsh, physical life of a smith. With the little sleight left to me, I sense the growing power within him. He is fluent in most of the tongues of this region, and he writes a fair hand in all of these. I know well that he has the beginnings of the Mage Sight, and I am confident that, should you do him the great honour of accepting the child as a Student, he will repay you and, indeed, the Guild many times over.
It is not for my own sake that I ask this, for I know only too well how little charity I deserve from you. I ask it for the good of a blameless child and for the enrichment and honour of the Guild that once I loved and swore to serve.
I do feel that in sending this intelligent and diligent boy to you in the hope that he may one day become a mage might go some small way towards expiating some of the heavy guilt that burdens my soul so. I enclose the ring I once wore with such fierce pride, in the fervent hope that it may some day be placed on the finger of my grandson, trusting that he will expunge a measure of the infamy and shame that I placed upon it.
Whatever you decide, I know that your choice will be fairly and justly made.
Your devoted servant and former Brother Mage,
Loras Afelnor
Thorn's hands trembled as if palsied, and the letter fell to the desk. Deeply troubled, he climbed to his feet and for a few minutes paced the room like a caged animal, brow furrowed in thought and heavy breaths shivering his body. Indecision racked him, but he knew that he had only one course of action. He sat down again. He took a green velvet bag from a desk drawer and extracted from it a glass orb, which he placed in the centre of his desk. He took a deep breath and put his hands gingerly on the globe, which began to emit an eerie, bile-green glow in response.
Mother, are you there?
After a few minutes' pause, Thorn felt the familiar mental tendrils of his mother, Lizaveta, winding their way into his sensorium like maggots squirming through a decaying cadaver.
What do you want, Thorn? I am busy training the latest group of novices in the ways of the Order. They are lazy and obdurate; they require constant attention and chastisement. Do you not remember the rule? I contact you; you do not contact me.
Mother, I thought that you ought to know that Loras Afelnor is not dead, as I had formerly assumed. He has sent his grandson to me, requesting that he be taken into the House as a charity Student. The Lord Dominie might find it strange, were I to refuse such a request from a former Guild Mage, even from a convicted renegade such as Loras. The chances of such a boy possessing significant levels of Thaumaturgic power would be far higher than for the son of a Secular.
I could plead a lack of places at the Scholasticate, but High Lodge well knows that I am campaigning vigorously in an attempt to attract more charity Students.
Thorn could have sworn that a disdainful snort sounded in his brain.
What is the problem, Thorn? Why do you need to bother me with your wheedling? It is your Guild House, not mine.
The Prelate sighed. This might be harder than he had thought. What if the child knows the truth about what was done to Loras, Mother?
Ha! Even the mighty Loras Afelnor has no idea of what motivated him to attempt to throttle that senile old fool, Geral. My spell was subtle, as well as powerful; Loras believes he acted as he did on his own volition. Do you truly believe he would send his brat to you for education if he had even the merest suspicion of the spell I cast on him?
The child will never find out the truth unless you are foolish enough to tell him; do you understand?
I understand, Mother, but it still makes me nervous, admitted Thorn.
So the mighty Thorn Virias, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank is scared of an infant! came back Lizaveta's hissing stream of mental words. If you feel incompetent to deal with him, send him to me. No man has ever been able to withstand my will, not even Loras. He was ten times the man or the mage that you will ever be. I think that I could have really enjoyed Loras as my own pet in those days. Muscular, intelligent, powerful, possessed of great willpower… yet even he succumbed to my power.
