Harvel hurried away, and Kargan waited in the courtyard. His eyes scanned the rude cottage, with its slumped roof, and he thought of the last time he had seen Loras. He had not been present at the Questor's trial, but he had seen him many times before, bedecked in sumptuous, lustrous silk robes.
Does Loras still sing? Kargan recalled Loras beautiful rendition at a House festival thirty years or so before. It doesn't seem as if he has much to sing about, now…
In a few moments, Harvel returned, in the company of a heavy-set man with a shaved head. Despite his forge uniform of simple, grey dungarees and a leather apron, Loras’ burning, black eyes were unmistakable, and Kargan knew he was looking at the former Questor. Age had not yet bowed this man, and his gaze was as level and intense as the Magemaster remembered it.
The smith spoke in a pleasant and deferent tone. “I am Loras Afelnor, Lord Mage. I understand that you are from the House, and that you are here to tell me news of my grandson, Grimm. Is he well?'
The studied formality of Mage Speech was still apparent in Loras’ voice, even after all these years, and Kargan replied in the same style.
'I am Mentalist Kargan of Arnor House, Master Loras. To answer your question, Questor Grimm is now a Mage of the Fifth Rank. Even now, I believe, he may be on some new Quest. The last time I saw Questor Grimm, he was healthy and hungry to serve the Guild.'
Loras nodded. “That is as it should be for a young Questor.” He turned to the younger smith and said, “Harvel, would you mind tending the fire a while? The bellows are leaking a little, and the flame needs constant attention. You might also want to have a few words with the collier concerning his wares; I fear he may be short-changing us on his latest loads.'
Harvel knuckled his brow. “I'll sort it out, Master Loras. You can rely on me.” With that, the younger smith disappeared into the forge.
Loras scanned the Mentalist at some length, until Kargan began to wonder if the former Questor was dissecting his very soul.
'What do you really want, Mentalist Kargan?” Loras asked, after several minutes. “It is plain that you are not here just to discuss my grandson's well-being.'
'I am a Magemaster at the house. I trained Questor Grimm in Runes, Incantation and Spell Structure. However, I wish to speak to you about… about the events leading to your expulsion from the Guild.'
Loras’ expression hardened. “I have long since acknowledged my guilt in that matter, Magemaster Kargan,” he said. “It is in the past, and not something about which I wish to discuss with a stranger.
'Please consult Master Harvel about any needs you have,” he continued. “Our discussion is at an end. I have a forge needing my attention.'
Loras began to walk away. Kargan yelled, “You do not remember the act at all, do you, Questor Loras? Answer me!'
Loras stopped and swung around, his brows hovering like thunderclouds over his black eyes “My memory of the act is irrelevant, and no business of yours. I know what I did, and it shames me still. I do not wish to be reminded of it, and I do not take kindly to your use of my earlier title.
'Say no more and go in peace, or carry on and make yourself an enemy, Magemaster Kargan. It is up to you. I no longer talk of my Guild past, and I fell that to do so would serve no useful purpose. Goodbye.'
The old man turned and resumed his steady walk.
Kargan felt a little cowed by the vehemence of Loras’ speech, but he refused to succumb to it.
'You met Prioress Lizaveta, did you not, Questor Loras?” he demanded. “She did this to you! I have absolute, undeniable proof that I am ready to show you. Do you want to bask in guilt for the rest of your days, or do you wish to see for yourself what really happened?'
Loras stopped, although he did not turn around “I wish you to stop addressing me by that title, Magemaster Kargan! It is ancient history. Just what do you hope to achieve by this nonsense, raking over these old coals?'
'I am trying to bring justice to the Guild, Master Loras! You have been wronged, whether you know it or not, and you owe it to the Brotherhood you once served to acknowledge that. The same wrong enshrouds your grandson, Grimm! The Traitor's Spawn, himself! That is what the Students used to call him-and some had even worse epithets for him.'
After several moments without motion, Loras swung around to face Kargan. His face was blank and impenetrable, but he nodded.
'I will play along with this charade for a little while,” he said. “If what you say concerns Grimm, I will go along with you for the nonce. However, I feel we should take this matter inside; Harvel knows nothing of my past.'
Kargan bowed. “As you wish… Master Loras.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 29: ‘Convince Me!'
'Welcome to my humble abode, Magemaster Kargan.” The former Questor proffered an exaggerated bow. “What do you think?'
Kargan scanned Loras’ cottage with a critical eye. At least the roof was covered with good terracotta tiles, unlike the rude thatch that adorned many of the other houses in the village. Nonetheless the slumping roof-trees and the cracked walls boded ill for the building's longevity.
Kargan chose what he hoped was a diplomatic reply. “It looks… snug.'
Loras snorted. “It is frigid in winter, and the chimney leaks smoke into the house, despite all my efforts,” he said. “In summer, we swelter and suffer from plagues of horseflies.
'Perhaps you consider such an abode beneath the dignity of a Mage of the Seventh Rank, with your fine satin robes?'
'Not at all,” was Kargan's swift, reflexive reply. “I think-'
'It is no less than I deserve,” Loras muttered. “My only sorrow is that my wife, Drima, has to share it with me. At times, it is only her selfless devotion that allows me to bear my burden of guilt.'
This last struck Kargan with some force: as a Guild Mage, he was forbidden any kind of liaison with females, and loneliness was his frequent companion.
'At least you have something I lack,” the Magemaster said, his voice harsh. “Something denied me by my vocation. I am no eunuch, and sometimes I would gladly trade my useless wealth and comfort for the love of a good woman. Know this, Master Loras: I envy you, but I would never begrudge you your only comfort. Be so kind as to allow me my own.'
Loras shrugged. “My apologies, Lord Mage; sometimes I become somewhat bitter and twisted. I beg your forgiveness.” The smith's tone was anything but apologetic. “Perhaps if I had paid more attention to my own duty and less to my purse, I might not be…'
The smith took a deep breath. “That is all in the past,” he continued, as if repeating some habitual mantra. “It is perhaps unjust of me to take out my frustrations on you. Please, Lord Mage, come inside.'
Kargan had to duck as he followed Loras through the door, into what he assumed was the reception room. Four rude, straw-upholstered chairs clustered around a small, round table by an empty fireplace. The Magemaster had never felt the cold hand of claustrophobia, but the dimly-lit interior and the low ceiling seemed oppressive. Kargan noted two tasteful, colourful paintings of country scenes on the otherwise bare walls; they, at least, served to brighten the small, drab room a little. He bent to examine the pictures, marvelling at the wealth of detail in them.
'Drima's handiwork,” Loras said. “She used to be the village schoolteacher. She taught arithmetic, art and literature, and she still likes to keep her hand in, from time to time.'
Kargan appreciated art in all its forms. “These paintings are magnificent! I would love to hang such decoration in my own cell…'
He stopped himself, remembering that he might never return to his cell if his mission failed. Everything depended on his meeting with Loras.
'Who's your guest, Loras?” The light, feminine voice bore a trace of the local accent, but the diction was crisp and clear.
