height of discourtesy for one mage to scan another's aura, especially that of a senior practitioner of the Art, Dalquist had no need to resort to his Mage Sight to determine that Crohn was holding something back. The Magemaster seemed to be avoiding eye contact, despite his normal, level gaze, and he tapped the brass head of his Mage Staff into his left palm in a distracted fashion.
'Are they the only criteria for selection, Magemaster Crohn? It seems to me that emotional stability would also be a prime factor. It seems to me that a flighty or emotional lad might pose a serious risk.'
The older man's left palm reddened as he increased the rate and force of tapping, and Dalquist knew Crohn was wondering just how much he could safely reveal. An unfavourable word from Crohn to Lord Thorn could make life uncomfortable for even a Seventh Rank Mage, but the Questor believed the Senior Magemaster was, at heart, a just and decent man. Crohn might have put Grimm through hell, but Dalquist no longer believed the old magic- user was an unthinking sadist.
To Perdition with it! Let's see just what it takes to persuade Crohn to talk.
In fact, a pair of words sufficed: 'Erek Garan.'
Crohn's eyes widened, and the tapping stopped. 'Just what do you know about Neophyte Erek, Questor Dalquist?' His voice was just a shadow of the stern, commanding tone he must have intended, and his face looked haunted.
'Senior Magemaster Crohn,' Dalquist said. 'I suspect I understand why this subject disturbs you. Would you care to sit down, and may we forget Mage Speech for a while? It tends to cramp my mind.'
Crohn looked around him, as if he guessed some unseen spy were watching and listening from the shadows but, with an anguished look on his face, he nodded and slumped into his seat. Dalquist dragged a chair over to the desk and sat opposite him.
The old tutor swept a trembling hand through his mass of white hair. 'It has been preying on my mind,' he confessed, as if a great load had been lifted from him. 'It would be good to discuss my fears with someone else.'
Dalquist leaned closer to Crohn, his tone soft and conspiratorial. 'I believe Erek Garan was totally unsuitable as Questor material and that, in times past, he would never even have been considered for the Ordeal. Magemaster Crohn, I think there's something sick in the heart of this House.'
There: it was out now, and there was no going back. To Dalquist's immense relief, the Senior Magemaster just nodded in dumb acquiescence.
Is the old man just a good actor?
The younger man felt tempted, more than ever, to scan the tutor's aura, but he restrained himself. He would play it by the book, even if other, more senior, authorities did not feel quite so constrained.
'Of course, I acknowledge the value of Questors to the Guild, and I owe my life to this place, Magemaster Crohn. I don't want to destroy Arnor House, still less the Guild. I'm no renegade or a traitor, I assure you. I want only justice here, Senior Magemaster; justice denied to that poor, artistic boy, Erek.'
Crohn said nothing, as if he expected Dalquist to commit himself further before opening up any more than he already had.
The Questor's voice hardened, strengthened, without becoming any louder. 'Grimm Afelnor told me about his own Ordeal, Crohn. What I went through was bad enough, but he endured a living nightmare no human being should be allowed to visit upon another.
'The Ordeal's changed, Senior Magemaster. From what I know happened to Erek, which is sketchy enough, and from the details of Grimm's seven months of torment, I believe that Lord Thorn no longer cares how many paupers are put through the Ordeal, as long as they're powerful enough, and I don't think he cares if they live, die or go insane. He's gambling with their lives and their minds, and I have good reason to believe he's casting a Compulsion on Grimm, right now.
'I think Thorn wants Grimm as his own, personal, human weapon, and that he's trying to mould his mind to this end.'
Crohn looked shocked. 'Do you realise what you're saying, Questor Dalquist? I allow that a mistake was made with young Erek, and I mourn his untimely passing. However, I have no reason to suspect foul play.'
'Would you have selected Erek Garan to be a Neophyte Questor if the decision had been yours, Magemaster Crohn?'
After a long pause, the Magemaster shook his head, although he said nothing.
'You knew Senior Magemaster Urel for far longer than I did. Do you think that in flagrant disregard of Lord Thorn, he chose to drive such a boy into a state of terminal insanity?' Dalquist knew he was browbeating the old man, but he no longer cared.
Another shake of the head.
'Was it your own idea to push Grimm Afelnor so hard that he would either break out with catastrophic force or lose his mind?'
'Never, Questor Dalquist: on many occasions, I raised my objections to Lord Thorn, but he just reviled me as a coward, and threatened to replace me with a sterner Magemaster. I knew I was pushing the boy too hard, but I believed my Prelate when he said it was for the good of the Guild. No… I wanted to believe it. I was weak.'
The old man squeezed his eyes shut, but Dalquist could not help but notice the lines of pain on his face, or the single tear that rolled down the side of his nose.
'It's all right, Crohn,' he said, taking pity on the troubled man, extending his hand across the desk. Crohn took it in a firm grasp.
'I'm sorry, Dalquist,' he whispered, bowing his head.
'Magemaster Crohn, I believe our Prelate is exerting his influence on a young, loyal Mage Questor, in order to use him as his own tool. To what ends, I cannot guess, but I suspect that Grimm's well-being is not among them.'
Crohn recovered his composure and sat up straight, looking Dalquist in the eye.
'I agree that, if true, this situation should not continue, Questor Dalquist. What would you suggest?'
Dalquist felt almost amused: here was the august Senior Magemaster, seeking advice from a man many years his junior.
'I'll confront Lord Thorn with my suspicions on this Compulsion spell, Crohn. If any man can face down a Questor, it's another Questor. With regard to the lax selection of Neophytes for the Ordeal, I'd appreciate your backup. Would you come with me?'
Crohn stood up, his face clear, firm and concerted. 'I will, Questor Dalquist. Shall we go to Lord Thorn's chamber now?'
'There's no time like the present,' Dalquist said. 'Let's go.'
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Chapter 10: 'I Haven't Been Quite Myself'
'No thank you, Questor Grimm. I think I've had enough. If I may say so, I think you have, too.'
Grimm laughed. He felt in excellent humour, here in the spiritual home of the whole Guild. 'Nonsense, Necromancer Numal. I'm fit as a fiddle. Go on, have another.'
Numal looked edgy. 'If it's all the same to you, Questor Grimm, I think I'll take an early night.'
The young mage shrugged, as if his companion might be making a big mistake. 'Oh, well, that's your loss, Numal. Just take the location gem in hand and tell it where you want to go. I'll see you tomorrow. As far as I'm concerned, the night's young, and I want to enjoy it. To cap a wonderful evening, I'll be seeing the Lord Dominie tomorrow. That's a pretty big honour, you know, almost like seeing Lord Thorn.' His mouth seemed to caress the name.
'Isn't it rather the other way around, Grimm? Lord Horin's more important than Lord Thorn.'
'Not to me, and nor should he be to you,' the Questor snapped, taking another draught of wine. 'Sure, Horin's a big wheel in the Guild. But Lord Thorn's like our father; he's the man who made us what we are. I do think you could show a little more gratitude, Numal! He's…'
Grimm blinked. He regarded the glass in his hand with sudden distaste, and put it down. 'I'm sorry, Numal, what was I saying?'
He shook his head, confused. What had he been saying? The drink must be affecting him more than he thought.
