'I don't have any hair,' was Numal's sullen reply.
Grimm shrugged. 'That's just a figure of speech. I'm sure a lot of mages lose control of their mouths at these affairs, and I doubt your heartfelt little outburst last night was any exception. Remember, I fell over and spewed my guts up in front of the Lord Prelate himself, so you can count yourself lucky.'
'Looks like he couldn't be bothered to turn up for a mere Necromancer's celebration,' the new mage observed. 'You can bet if I'd been a Weatherworker, a Shapeshifter or…'
'Or a Questor.' Grimm disliked the self-pitying tone in the Necromancer's words, and his mood was not improved by his growing headache.
'I know it must look that way, Numal,' he continued, 'but Magemaster Crohn told me Lord Thorn was in mortal combat with the quarterly accounts, or else he'd have been there.'
Numal, his expression still sour, opened his mouth to speak, but Grimm pre-empted him.
'Numal, my friend, did you join the House as a Charity Student?'
'Of course not: my tuition fees were paid by a trust fund set up by my now long-dead parents. They were keen enough to get rid of me, I noticed. Oh, I got to go home during Scholasticate closures, of course. All my parents ever asked me was how I was faring with my studies: about the Magemasters, what I was learning. But I don't think they ever asked about me, my wishes or my feelings. My parents were both teachers, and I don't think they cared about anything else in the world.
'After seven years as a Student, and twenty more as a Neophyte, they died of Badlands sickness during some damned stupid expedition. Oh, the trust fund carried on paying for my tuition, and my uncle Baran, my father's brother, began to take me in during the holidays. He was no barrel of laughs, either. He was a merchant, and I think he thought more of his damned accounts than of me. Just like Lord Thorn.'
'My heart bleeds for you, Numal,' the Questor snapped. 'I don't even remember my parents; they died when I was very small. You wanted to be an entertainer, and I wanted to be a blacksmith, like the father I never knew, and my grandfather. So I guess neither of us got what he wanted.'
Numal's mouth opened again, but Grimm interrupted him again. 'Please let me finish, Necromancer Numal. Thank you. All right, I passed from Student to mage in ten years, but they were ten years in which I never set a foot outside the Scholasticate walls. Unlike you, I loved the people who brought me up, but I saw my grandmother only once in those long years. I didn't get to see my grandfather until after my Acclamation. My grandfather, Loras: the Renegade; The Oathbreaker; the Traitor. I'm sure you've heard of him.'
Numal's eyes opened wide. 'You are his grandson?' His voice was no more than a whisper, as if Grimm had spoken blasphemy or treason.
'I guess you can imagine how that glittering reputation brightened the days of a charity Student,' the young mage growled. 'Traitor's spawn: that's a pleasant little nickname, isn't it? I spent ten years walled up here, eating slop with the rest of the paupers while you ate the finest food the Refectory has to offer. I studied hard; I had to, just to keep myself from being condemned to an endless period of meaningless servitude.'
Numal frowned and reasserted himself. 'Ten years? You think that's a long time, Questor? I studied for four whole decades, just for a pretty ring and a piece of wood I made myself!'
Grimm felt heat flooding into his face. 'Oh, that's not all, Numal, not nearly all. During the last seven months of my blissful tenure as a pauper Neophyte, I was slapped, harangued, beaten, starved and reviled on a daily basis by my tutor. He gave the other boys free reign to add to my misery, without the least interference from the Magemasters. At the end of that, I became a Questor, but it was a close call between that and losing my mind. There were many, many days and weeks in those seven months that I gave serious thought to committing suicide, and only my determination to gain this pretty little ring sustained me.
'How was your time as Neophyte, Numal? A little tedious, perhaps? Was the prime steak you were served a little tough on occasions? I'll wager any price you name that those last seven months made your forty-odd years seem like a picnic.'
Grimm noted Numal's slack jaw, and several moments passed before the older mage got it under control.
'Can they really do that to you?' the Necromancer whispered, his eyes wide. 'Magemaster Sheban was often brusque and curt when I skimped on my preparation, but he never raised a hand to me.'
'They can do anything they want to a charity boy, Numal. Have you ever been forced to eat a whole bar of soap when you protested after the fifteenth slap of the day? Have you ever had to repeat a spell-chant twenty times without error, only to be beaten when fatigue made you botch a single syllable on the twenty-first? Have you ever looked over the edge into that black, deep abyss of insanity, and thought that it looked inviting?
'I ended up with the same meagre tokens of success you hold, but they mean something to me. They mean I survived: I prevailed against everything they threw at me. To me, that's no small matter.
'Yes, Lord Thorn and the Conclave bigwigs came to my damned party, but I was just glad to be alive and sane. I got drunk, stupidly drunk, but I never once moaned about the malign hand Fate had dealt me. I bear the Guild Ring and I have my Mage Staff, and I'm bloody proud of them-as you should be of yours.
'Still, if you want to wallow in self-pity, go ahead. It's a free world, isn't it?'
Grimm felt astonished by the force of the tirade that had burst from him. Although he had never once raised his voice enough to attract the attention of the other mages in the Refectory, the fiery intensity of his feelings had not been dulled in the least.
Cold guilt began to wash over him; he had been unconscionably hard on Numal, his elder by many years, and he had a fervent hope that he had not alienated the man beyond redemption. His outburst had been unforgivable; he had used the Necromancer almost as a pugilist's punching-bag, using his Questor's iron will like a mailed fist.
'I'm sorry, Numal,' he said, his tone conciliatory and regretful. 'I had no right to talk to you in that manner. Please accept my deepest apologies.'
A long pause followed, and Grimm feared he had gone too far. Xylox had been right; he was too hot-headed. He felt immense relief as Numal proffered a wan smile and shook his head.
'Grimm, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that they could put a boy through that sort of ordeal. You're right. I never had to face hardship like that for a moment. I owe you an apology.'
Numal rose to his feet, threw back his hood, and began to sing at top volume. His voice was rich, melodious and full.
'Let's all sing of Daffo the Clown,
'Daffo the Clown, Daffo the Clown!
'Let's all sing of Daffo the Clown, it's always fun when he's around!
'Merriment, pranks and japes surround our friend,
'Daffo the Clown, Daffo the Clown!
'Humorous and cheerful right to the end,
'Daffo the Clown's in town!'
As the other occupants of the Refectory stared in astonishment, Grimm smiled and gave respectful applause while the fearsome-looking Necromancer bowed.
'Please excuse me, gentlemen,' he called to the stunned assembly. 'That was just a momentary excess of glee at my recent Acclamation; my apologies to you all for disturbing your meditation.'
After a few grunts and grimaces, the other mages returned to their former activities.
'Numal,' the young mage said, 'the House may have gained a mage, but the stage has lost a great talent!'
The older man shrugged. 'Whatever I felt in the past is gone, and I can't help it now. I'm a Mage Necromancer. I never wanted to be one, but I guess I'll have to make the most of it. Now, I can go where I want to, when I want to. And we mages live a long, long time.'
'We do,' Grimm agreed, although he harboured doubts about his own longevity if he had to complete many more Quests as arduous as the two he had already undertaken. 'It's a new dawn, my friend.'
As if to underline the Questor's words, the first true rays of morning sunlight began to stream through the high windows of the Refectory, and Numal smiled.
'Listen, Numal,' Grimm said. 'I'm about to leave for a few days at High Lodge. I wonder if you'd like to accompany me; it's a long journey if you're on your own. Would you like that?'
'High Lodge!' Numal breathed. 'I've heard it's a spectacular place.'
