that I will reveal nothing to another soul,” he said, without the least hesitation, his face serious.
Kargan nodded. He could expect no more solemn oath from any Guild Mage.
'For many years,” he intoned, “I have had an interest in researching new material, despite the fact that I am no Scholar. During my studies, I learnt of another compendium of incantations: the Libram of Kern. Its name is only whispered by members of the Presidium and, even to the most senior of magic-users, it is little more than a rumour.
'Twenty years ago, as a precocious Mentalist of the Third Rank, I was sent by Prelate Geral on an expedition under the command of Questor Parpat-'
Dalquist nodded. “Ah, yes: If I remember rightly, he was called ‘The Hammer', and he died of-'
'Please do not interrupt, Questor Dalquist!'
Kargan glared at the younger mage, who raised his hands in acquiescence.
'Thank you. As I was saying, I was sent on a Quest under Questor Parpat. It is not one you will find in the ‘Deeds of the Questors', since it involved the treachery of one Prelate Barkan and his entire House. They had seceded from the Guild and set themselves up in opposition to us.'
The Magemaster smiled at Dalquist's astonished gape. “I thought that might attract your interest; it's not common knowledge. Suffice it to say that such a situation could not be allowed to continue. We were sent to depose Barkan and replace him with someone more… shall we say, amenable to High Lodge's way of thinking.
'The confrontation between Questor Parpat and Prelate Barkan was spectacularly destructive, as you might expect.'
Kargan smiled. “With all due modesty, I will add that my own Spell of Dominance proved a critical factor in our success. However, in the wreckage of Barkan's study, I came across a copy of the Libram of Kern. It meant nothing to Questor Parpat, of course, but I'd heard of it. I secreted the book and brought it back here. It details spells regarded as too dangerous and too capricious to be used by normal mages, even by those of the Seventh Rank.
'For many years, I've jealously guarded this Libram and consulted it at every opportunity. After two decades of study, I believe I understand Bledel's spell in its entirety, and I am willing to try it. That is, if you are willing to submit to it.'
Dalquist rubbed his bearded chin as if it itched. “What's involved in this forbidden spell, Magemaster Kargan?'
Kargan shrugged. “I won't pretend this is a simple matter, Questor Dalquist. Our trouble, so far, has been that we've been chipping around the edges; we've been trying to access your memories from the inside, trying to break through a barrier.
'This spell translocates the caster and the subject into… well, the technical term is ‘former realities'. It takes them both to a specific moment in the subject's past, so that the blocking event can be viewed by both parties as external observers, outside the constraints of the subject's memory. From the spells I've already tried on you, I know both the when and the where of the matter. All we need now is the what.'
Dalquist held out his hands, palms upwards. “It sounds almost tailor-made, Magemaster Kargan. What's the downside of the spell?'
'It will take an enormous amount of energy from me,” the Magemaster replied. “Also, the least miscast may mean that we become dislocated in time, drifting through the whole period of your life like wandering ghosts while our physical bodies moulder and crumble into dust. You'll understand why I don't feel up to casting it at this time. My staff is almost dead, and I'm flat beat as far as spellcasting goes.'
Dalquist lifted his own staff. “Magemaster Kargan, Shakhmat, here, is fat with stored magical energy. In an instant, I could pass you as much strength as you could accumulate in a week. We Questors need a lot of power for our spells. If you're prepared to try it now, while the mood's upon you, I'm more than willing to take the chance.'
Kargan sat down and rubbed his forehead. If there was one thing he had learnt in his long life, it was that Questors were, above all, profligate and powerful mages, expending inordinate amounts of energy on each of their strange spells. He felt it might be better to attempt the potentially hazardous spell while the mood was upon him.
Despite his aching bones, the Mentalist knew his physical body was not yet too tired to continue.
Thaumato-corporeal transference, he thought, finding comfort in the vast array of arcane technical knowledge his experience as a Questing mage and a Magemaster had given him. It's just the weakness of my mage sensorium leaking through to my para-mortal form.
He thought back to his younger days on the trail, with Questors expending their all in a single, tumultuous, incomprehensible yell, and he realised the gulf of magical strength that must lie between him and this young, troubled mage.
'All right, Questor Dalquist,” he said. “Give me whatever thaumaturgic energy you can spare. You'll need to keep back some strength for your own continuance. I just hope your Shakhmat has enough strength…'
Dalquist held out the staff. “Take whatever you need, Magemaster Kargan.'
The Mentalist laid his hand over Shakhmat, drawing strength from it. His jaw dropped and he gasped as a massive surge of energy flooded into his body. Clenching his teeth, he withstood the mighty tide of power, accommodating and accepting the influx.
'Enough!” he gasped, as he seemed to feel his head bulging.
'Are you sure, Magemaster Kargan?” Dalquist asked. “There's plenty more here, I assure you.'
Kargan drew a deep breath, marvelling at the unaccustomed access of energy washing through him. He felt almost young again, revelling at the feeling of invulnerability that coursed through his veins, nerves and muscles.
'That's more than enough, Questor Dalquist,” he crowed. “I feel twenty years younger! Well, if you're ready to take a trample through your memories, I'm willing to try it.'
'I'm about as ready as I'm ever likely to be, Magemaster Kargan. Let's do the deed.'
Kargan took a deep draught of water, swilling it around his mouth and gargling before swallowing it. Despite the potential calamity that might follow from any miscast, he felt enthused.
To my knowledge, only Bledel Soulmaster has ever succeeded in this spell, he thought. After decades wasted in prating at worthless, ungrateful, unheeding Students, this is my chance to show my true mastery. Even if nobody ever knows but Questor Dalquist and me, I'll still have done something almost unique in the annals of the Guild.
Kargan cracked his knuckles and stretched, easing the knots from his muscles.
'I'll just sing a little ballad first, if you don't mind, Questor Dalquist. It helps to free up the throat.'
'Go right ahead, Magemaster Kargan. Whatever you need to bring you to peak efficiency is fine with me.'
Kargan smiled to himself. Let's see if I can get a Questor to blush, he thought, and took up a singing pose, his hands clasped under his sternum.
'There once was a girl as fresh as new-mown grass,” he carolled. “Red were her lips, and fine was her shapely…'
By the end of the ditty, which grew lewder with each passing verse, the Mentalist smiled at the sight of Questor Dalquist's cherry-red cheeks.
Dalquist lay back on his couch and marvelled at Kargan's virtuoso performance. Although the complex sequence of runes was beyond his ability to follow, the Questor felt astonished at the apparent ease with which the aged mage negotiated complicated transitions and cadences that would have tied the average mage's vocal chords and tongue in knots.
How long can a single spell last? he wondered. It must have been fifteen minutes now, and his voice sounds as clear and firm as if he'd only just started.
He felt a little disconcerted that he sensed no effects yet from the powerful incantation. All of Kargan's previous attempts had invoked a slowly-growing torpor, which had begun to seep through Dalquist's bones after only a few seconds’ casting. However, he knew that the incantation must still be intact, since Kargan had told him
