'Well, well, well,' the Prelate said, and Grimm could swear he heard a trace of amusement in Thorn's voice. 'I see that Questor Xylox's assessment of you bore at least a kernel of truth.'
Grimm said nothing. He had to admit that Xylox was correct on at least one count: he was hot-headed, and he realised he might well have overstepped the mark in his forthright assessment of the senior mage's character.
'However, provided the bounds of propriety are not breached, I appreciate a certain degree of outspoken candour in a Questor,' the Prelate intoned.
Grimm made to expostulate against an unfair judgement before the actual meaning of Lord Thorn's words hit him. He looked up, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Thorn nodded. 'That's right, Questor Grimm. I find it a useful asset to have independent minds at work on a single problem. I don't want mannequins or puppets.'
Grimm felt as if he had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw attached to his face. The severe Lord Thorn, using common vernacular-what was the House coming to?
'Relax, young Afelnor. I'm not about to throw you to the lions. I have known Questor Xylox for many years, and I hold the deepest respect for him as a Questor. However, I'd be the first to admit that, as a human being, he leaves a little to be desired. Our friend Xylox tends to imagine he has more influence in the House and the Guild than he really does. I don't take kindly to mages who think they can issue orders to reward or punish one of my subjects as they see fit.
'Consequently, I'm going to ignore Xylox's advice to bar you from further promotion; I think that a certain amount of initiative and imagination needs to be encouraged and fostered. I think you performed admirably on a long and difficult quest and, in recognition of that, I have recommended to Lord Dominie Horin that you be elevated to the Sixth Rank. You will be pleased to know that he has acceded to my request; congratulations, Questor Grimm.'
Grimm's head seemed to whirl. Instead of censure as a renegade and a rebel, he found himself congratulated and rewarded for a job well done. Thorn's next words did not reduce his disorientation: 'Would you like a drink, Questor Grimm?'
The young mage blinked, wondering if this was some test of his character.
'I have a particularly good brandy here,' the Prelate continued, 'and I find drinking more enjoyable in good company. I would be grateful if you would share a little of this liquor with me.'
The Prelate poured a generous dose of the golden liquid into a goblet, and placed it on the table in front of the stunned Grimm.
'Thank you, Lord Prelate,' was all Grimm could say as he picked up the goblet and took a healthy swig of the enlivening beverage. The fiery liquid steadied him, and he recovered his equanimity.
Thorn leaned back in his throne and stretched. 'Now, Questor Grimm, that's enough House talk. Relax, have a drink and tell me a little about yourself and your recent Quest, in your own words. I learn so little about many of the mages in my House, and my position is often tedious. I welcome the chance to meet talented young questors like you: you remind me of how I was at your age.'
The rest of the meeting seemed to pass in a blur. Grimm felt as if his world had been turned upside down, and he had no idea of most of what he had said in response to Lord Thorn's prompting. He had come prepared for an argument, and to defend himself, and Thorn's unexpected reaction had quite wrong-footed him. He walked out of the Prelate's office as if he were floating on air.
Thorn had even granted him leave to stay in Crar when he was not on House or Guild business. Drexelica would be pleased.
As the door closed behind the Afelnor boy, Thorn smiled, and toasted himself with more brandy. 'In no time, I'll have him eating out of my hand. Look out, Mother, there's a storm brewing.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 4: Misgivings
Grimm smiled as he strode back to his chamber. The interview had gone better than he could have hoped, and the young mage had the ultimate goal of the coveted Seventh Rank in sight at the young age of seventeen.
As he passed the Breaking Stone, he paused and slapped a hand against his forehead. He had intended to ask Lord Thorn, the only living eye-witness to the deed, more about the circumstances of Loras' attempted murder of Prelate Geral, and he had forgotten. With Thorn in such good humour, it would have been an ideal opportunity, and, doubtless, tomorrow the Prelate would be back to his normal cold, acerbic self. Grimm toyed with the idea of going straight back to Thorn's chamber, but this would be a breach of protocol. With his slate wiped clean, it seemed unadvisable to sully it by annoying the Master of the House with aimless questions.
'You appear lost, Brother Mage,' a cold, sepulchral voice said behind him. 'May I help you?'
The young mage spun around, to see a tall, spare, black-clad figure. The man carried a plain, unadorned staff, which meant that, although technically a First Rank Mage, he had not yet distinguished himself enough to gain the first gold ring. The man appeared to be of middle age, but this was unsurprising, since most mages took decades to reach mastery. Mage Questors were the only exceptions to this rule.
'Please, don't trouble yourself, Brother,' the Questor replied. 'I was lost only in thought. I am Questor Grimm Afelnor.'
'Necromancer Numal Falwort, at your service,' the pale-skinned apparition intoned, and Grimm remembered.
'Congratulations on your Acclamation, Necromancer Numal,' Grimm said. 'We met once before, when I was a new Student.'
The tall man's brows knitted, as if he were trying to make the memories flow.
'Doorkeeper took me to the Refectory,' the Questor continued. 'There was a group of noisy Students, and you were with a couple of Neophytes: one was an Alchemist, and I don't recall the other. You told me you had wanted to be a stage entertainer, a dancer or a mimic.'
Numal's face cleared. 'Of course; I remember now. My companions were Adept Herbalist Funval and Adept Alchemist Malwarth. Malwarth's first Staff shattered on the Stone, and he is working to build a second. Funval is also working hard on his own.'
The new mage's eyes flicked towards Grimm's staff with its five rings, and Grimm saw the ghost of envy flitting across his face.
Grimm did his best not to cringe with embarrassment; the early maturation of Questors was a bane to many mages, who studied for decades to achieve mastery.
Numal must have noted the young man's discomfort. 'I'm sorry, Questor Grimm. I know little of what you Questors go through, but I've heard it's no picnic. I shouldn't envy you your youth.'
The price of Grimm's early Acclamation was a long, lingering glimpse into the abyss of insanity, into which he had so nearly fallen. It was not something he would wish upon anybody.
'Don't worry, Brother Mage,' he said, shrugging 'I'm getting used to it… almost.'
A long pause ensued as the two mages looked at each other, until Numal broke the impasse.
'Questor Grimm, would you care to attend my little ceremony tonight? We Necromancers are a solitary lot, and there won't be many friendly faces there.'
'I wouldn't miss it for the world,' Grimm declared, smiling.
'Excellent,' Numal said. 'I'll ask Doorkeeper to set you a place.'
'Thank you, Necromancer Numal, I'll make a point of being there.'
The black-clad man fidgeted a little, as if uncomfortable. 'Please, Questor Grimm, just call me 'Numal'. I won't feel like a true mage until I have that first ring on my staff.'
Grimm nodded. 'In that case, please just call me 'Grimm', Numal,' he said.
