Kargan spun around, almost cracking his head on the low ceiling beams. In the dim light from the inner doorway, he saw a small, dumpy woman with greying brown hair. This, he guessed, was the artist.
'Ah… Drima, this is Magemaster Kargan, from Arnor,” Loras said. “Magemaster Kargan, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Drima.'
The Mentalist noted that Drima's presence seemed to have driven the cold, formal Mage Speech from the former Questor's lips.
'A Magemaster!” Drima's face dimpled into a warm smile. “We're honoured to have you here, Lord Mage. Do you have any news of our beloved Grimm?'
Kargan shuffled his feet a little. “The last time I met him, he was a Questor of the Fifth Rank, Mistress Drima,” he mumbled. “He's been away from the House for some time, but I understand he's away on a Quest at this moment. He is doing very well for himself; after his first Quest, he was elected Baron of Crar. Questor Grimm is wealthy and respected. You should be proud of him.'
'I'll always be proud of him.” Drima's smile now appeared a little forced. “Grimm was always a good boy. Still; that's not why you're here, is it?'
Drima's clear, blue eyes seemed to bore into the Magemaster's very soul.
Kargan shot a nervous glance at Loras, but the smith nodded. “Don't worry, Lord Mage; my wife knows all about it,” he declared. “You may speak freely here.
'Drima, Lord Kargan is here to discuss… that other matter. Can't imagine he has anything new to tell me, but he seems quite insistent.'
'Oh, is that so?” Drima's voice became cold and her lips compressed. “Loras, would you mind seeing to the range for a few moments? It doesn't seem to be heating up properly.'
Loras nodded. “Of course: I leave our honoured guest in your capable hands.'
Kargan thought he saw the trace of a smile on the smith's lips as he left the room.
'Won't you sit down, Magemaster Kargan?'
The Mentalist lowered his large frame into the nearest, flimsy chair, taking care lest it break under his weight. Drima sat opposite him, her eyes blazing.
She looks almost like a Questor, Kargan thought, averting his gaze from the stern visage. It's not Loras I have to convince; it's his wife.
Kargan sat on the very edge of the chair, hardly daring to breathe as Drima's gaze scanned him.
'Don't you think he's suffered enough?” she said, at last, her voice brittle and anguished. “What good will it do to drag up the past again? Loras has paid a thousand times for what he did.
'And what did he do, you may ask? He took mercy on a dying man's agonies; what's wrong with that?'
Kargan's mother had died forty years before, and his only memories of her were of a cold and distant woman. He had been brought up by a succession of nannies and tutors, and the Scholasticate had given him a sense of belonging he had never known before. However, this woman's voice bore an air of cool authority that neither his nannies nor his mother had ever possessed; he knew he would never convince this woman by trying to browbeat her.
'Mistress Drima,” he said, opening his hands towards her. “Questor Loras did not act under his free will when he did… that. He was under a spell; he was betrayed by Lord Thorn! All I wish to do is to bring out the truth of Loras’ innocence.'
Drima shook her head and sighed. “What good would it do, Magemaster, even if your claims are true? I urge you… I beg you to drop this. Can you not let us live in peace? It's not as if you can turn Loras back into a Questor, is it? All you can do is to disturb a worried man who has salvaged a meagre amount of happiness after a long-ago moment of weakness and compassion!'
Kargan leaned forward, seeing his chance. “It wasn't weakness!” he said, his voice low but intense. “It was a Geomantic spell, cast by Prelate Thorn's mother, a bitter witch angry that Loras had spurned her interest in him!
'She forced him to try to smother Geral; do you hear? This is not a belief, a hypothesis, a conjecture-it is fact! Do you truly wish your husband to belabour himself for the rest of his life for an act in which he had no choice?'
'Even if what you say is true,” Drima said, her eyes hooded, “Loras will still be a simple smith. All you would do is make him angry about something he can't change; what use is that?'
The Magemaster felt a little enthused by Mistress Afelnor's change in position; she was still defensive, but she appeared to be softening her attitude a little. Now, he felt, it was time to strike.
'Is it better for him to wallow in unmerited self-accusation, or to know the truth? What's wrong with plain, simple truth, Mistress Drima?
'Loras was no murderer, compassionate or otherwise! He was the tool of an evil woman, and he was betrayed by a man he regarded as his brother! Is it wrong to tell him so? I can prove to Questor Loras what was done to him, and I may be able to arrange for his powers to be returned to him!'
'If you wish your husband to remain ignorant and wracked with guilt, and if Questor Loras agrees, then I'll go,'
Kargan sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Seeker bobbed behind him like a playful dolphin, as if enjoying the conversation.
'Since you claim to have proof, I'd be grateful if you'd show it to me,” Drima said, her tone neutral.
'I can't, Mistress Drima. The proof is in the form of a powerful spell that will show Questor Loras what happened to him as if he were there. However, I need his co-operation if the spell is to proceed.'
'How will you convince Loras that this isn't some trick or illusion?'
This question gave Kargan some hope: Drima seemed to be shifting from an attitude of outright opposition to one of cool interest.
'I would start by showing him something only he knows,” the Magemaster said. “The choice of time and place is up to Loras; all I will do is to cast the initial spell. Once the enchantment is enabled, we can visit any location and period within Loras’ memory. He can terminate the spirit journey at any time he wishes.'
'Are there any risks involved in this, Magemaster Kargan?'
Kargan shrugged. “It is a powerful enchantment, Mistress; what we mages call a Schedule Nine spell. I cannot pretend it has no attendant dangers, but I have successfully cast the spell before, on Grimm's friend, Questor Dalquist, a Mage of the Seventh Rank. That is how we uncovered this plot: Dalquist, at least, is convinced.'
He stopped himself from telling Loras’ wife that Dalquist's life might now be in danger. There was no need to complicate matters further.
'If only I could be sure…'
Drima seemed to be wavering, and Kargan guessed that only a little further pressure might be needed to convince her. He could not be sure that Loras would go along with him, but he hoped Drima's attitude might sway the former Questor.
'Mistress Drima, why did you become a teacher?” the mage asked.
Drima blinked. “What does that have to do with it?'
'Please, Mistress, answer my question. Humour me.'
Drima wrinkled her brow, but she answered.
'I wanted to make a difference,” she said with a shrug. “I love children, and I also love to see them grow up, gaining a clearer and clearer picture of the world as they gain wisdom.'
'Would it not have been better to leave them ignorant and innocent? Have you not dashed their illusions, battered down their youthful beliefs and sundered their view of the world?'
Drima gaped. “I see what you're seeking to do here, Magemaster,” she hissed, “but I don't appreciate the comparison!'
'I too am a teacher, Mistress Drima. I try to turn callow, carefree boys into responsible adults. I do not see innocence as a positive virtue, but a dangerous state that can only be protected or eradicated; there is no middle ground. Innocence has no concept of right or wrong, and it can be perverted. I seek to give protection against mindless perversion by filling empty minds with moral and technical knowledge.
'What I try is to give my charges the ability to make their own decisions. Such decisions may be right or wrong, but I believe a tutor's responsibility is to destroy innocence. Is it right for Loras to languish as an innocent in pained ignorance, or is it better to open his eyes to the truth? He did not choose to assault Prelate Geral, even if
