"Do you admit, Lord Prelate, that you have been holding Questor Grimm Afelnor in a spell of Compulsion?" Crohn asked, as if he were a lawyer prosecuting a case.
"I do," Thorn said, although his voice was far from conciliatory, "but I am damned if I know what business this is of yours."
"As you well know, Lord Thorn, that is a severe breach of House and Guild protocol. Ordinance-"
"Since you are so fond of quoting House articles, Crohn," Thorn said, interrupting the Senior Magemaster, "I will quote one for your benefit: Ordinance 1–8. 'In matters of House Policy, the decision of the Lord Prelate shall override all other Ordinances within these Articles, except where contra-indicated by Ordinance 35–17 or Ordinance 18-4.'
"I believe we have now disposed of the former case, and the latter, which concerns High Treason, can only be decided by majority decision of the Presidium.
"It may be outside the bounds of normal House procedure to cast a spell of Compulsion on an Acclaimed Mage, but it is neither a breach of the Articles of Association, nor of the Guild Code of Practice. I have no need to justify my behaviour to you, or to anyone else."
The Prelate seated himself and crossed his arms. Although he still looked pale and dissolute, Dalquist could see he had now regained much of his composure and force of will.
"Lord Thorn," said Crohn. "What you say may well be correct in all details-"
"It is, Crohn, and you know it."
"— but this is not the only reason that Questor Dalquist and I wished to converse with you. There is also the matter of the training of Questors to consider. We believe you are taking unwarrantable risks with the mental well-being of Neophytes, through reckless selection of inappropriate candidates and the institution of a new and vicious regime of training. From conversations I have had with other Magemasters, I am convinced that the aim is no longer to frustrate and goad the potential candidate into his Outbreak, but to brutalise and bully him to the very limits of his endurance until he can bear no more. I believe you cared not a whit for the delicate mental state of Neophyte Erek Geran, and that your sole intention was to produce a powerful, loyal Questor at all costs, regardless of the risk to the boy's health and sanity. We all know the results of Erek's Ordeal, despite your attempts to muddy the waters with your claim that Senior Magemaster Urel had, in his zeal, exceeded his orders."
"I stand full-square behind that assertion, Senior Magemaster Crohn, and I challenge you to prove otherwise."
Dalquist said, "Of course, it is convenient that Magemaster Urel is no longer available to refute your claims."
"Remember to whom you are speaking, Questor Dalquist!" Thorn snapped. "I would be well within my rights to have you dismissed for your slanderous accusations, and I have a strong inclination to do so, be you a Questor of the Seventh Rank or no."
Dalquist bristled with righteous indignation, and he prepared to challenge the Prelate to carry out his threat, but he felt Crohn's warning hand on his shoulder.
"I have some knowledge of the Questor Ordeal, as you will be aware, Lord Prelate," the Magemaster said. "You will remember that I remonstrated with you on several occasions about the treatment of Neophyte Grimm Afelnor during his Ordeal."
"Treatment that you visited upon him, Magemaster Crohn." Thorn wore a faint smile on his lips, and his voice was now cool, low and dangerous. "I wonder why you waited until now to make your protest."
Dalquist feared that the momentum had shifted towards the Prelate. The moment was slipping away.
Crohn frowned. "I acted on your direct and explicit instruction, Lord Prelate. I would be more than willing to testify as much to the Conclave, or even to the Presidium. When I trained Questor Grimm, I was unaware of the normal procedures. My recent discussion with Questor Dalquist has convinced me that the severity of Afelnor's Ordeal was exceptional, and a breach of normal practice."
Thorn leant back in his throne and smiled. "Grimm Afelnor is a full Questor, and I have just recommended him for accession to the Sixth Rank, despite a most unfavourable report from Questor Xylox. I do not think Questor Grimm would agree that I have been brutal or callous. The grandson of the Traitor, the progeny of a humble blacksmith, is now a wealthy nobleman and near the peak of his calling before he has entered his third decade. Do you think the members of the Conclave or the Presidium will see this as vindictive treatment on my part? His Ordeal was successful, so it is plain that your wild claims of reckless disregard do not hold water."
Thorn leaned forward, his gaze level and self-assured. "If I am forced to testify before the Presidium, I shall, of course, tell the truth. Following the tragic loss of Neophyte Erek Geran and Senior Magemaster Urel, I took a more active interest in the training of Neophyte Questors. I assessed Neophyte Grimm Afelnor and recognised phenomenal self-control within him. I judged that he was able to withstand a stricter regime of training. The fact that he passed the test with flying colours proves that my judgement was sound. You cannot possibly equate the outstanding success of Questor Grimm with the sad fate of Neophyte Erek, a debacle over which I had no control."
Dalquist recognised how cogent and persuasive this argument would sound if it ever came before a tribunal. The addled and aged Senior Magemaster Urel had gambled and lost, whereupon the canny, analytical Prelate Thorn had made a reasoned and valid judgement, to the mutual benefit of Grimm Afelnor and Arnor House. A pauper boy found rank, wealth and privilege in one of the few ways open to him: the beneficence and bounty of the Guild.
Thorn leaned back again, his expression satisfied. "Gentlemen, I accept that this unwarranted and impertinent interference in my affairs may have been motivated only by basic decency and a sense of fair play. Those are noble ideals, indeed. Alas, I have my mind on higher matters: the success and prosperity of our beloved Guild. My responsibilities are onerous and demanding, and, on occasion, I am forced to make… distasteful decisions. I may not enjoy them, but my duties are clear, if often unpleasant. Yes, I am severe on occasion, but only because I am dispassionate and pragmatic, as my rank dictates.
"I am prepared to overlook this intrusion on this occasion, but I will brook no further interference into matters which do not concern you. In the future, you will treat me with the full respect that my rank demands. Do I make myself quite clear?"
Dalquist's iron resolve had begun to melt away into uncertainty. "It might be better to let the matter drop, Magemaster Crohn," he said.
What had seemed so clear and indefensible earlier now seemed hollow and insubstantial. Dalquist's righteous wrath had evaporated, to be replaced by a vague, puerile sense of injustice. This was no justification whatsoever for revolution and revolt; nonetheless, he felt that he could not just allow the issue to dissipate with such ease.
"Lord Prelate: may I ask why you felt it necessary to cast a spell of Compulsion on Questor Grimm? Surely the sincerity of his Oath of Allegiance cannot be in doubt after two dangerous and successful Quests?" He knew his voice sounded thin and peevish, and he hated himself for his loss of spirit.
Thorn clasped his hands across his chest. "I am quite within my rights to refuse to discuss such matters with you, Questor Dalquist, and I feel tempted to do so. You have meddled in matters of which you know nothing, and your lack of respect displeases me greatly, not to mention the inconvenience to which you have put me."
The words hung in the air, and Dalquist knew that he might be facing a severe reprimand, if not worse, but the Prelate's mouth twisted into a reasonable simulacrum of a companionable smile.
"Nonetheless, you are still young. You are also high-spirited and forthright, as I suppose a true Questor should be. At your age, I was as idealistic as you. I am, therefore, moved to answer you, impertinent though your question is. I will advise you that this information is not to be repeated outside this room, on pain of the charge of treason. Far more is at stake than you realise, Brother Mage, and I will not allow any further inquiries into the matter; meddle at your peril!"
Dalquist nodded, unable to m
eet the Prelate's gaze.
Thorn cleared his throat and continued, "Questor Grimm adduced some evidence that there may be an active, malevolent cult of witchcraft present within our beloved High Lodge. The leader of this cult is a witch of considerable power, and I feared that she might sway Questor Grimm from his loyalty and duty with her eldritch powers. Rather than choosing to risk this, I elected to reinforce his motivation with a spell of Compulsion, so that he might not be deterred from gathering evidence of the cult's influence, and to report back to me. I anticipate no untoward influences, but I cannot take the risk of a Questor turning against his Prelate. I pray that Questor Grimm is successful in this Quest, but you may well have put him at considerable risk through your rash actions."
Thorn presented the very image of conspiratorial concern, holding each mage's eyes for a few moments with his intense gaze before he spoke.
"I see now that it would have been better to take Questor Grimm into my confidence beforehand; my current, sorry state is the result of trying to mould and reinforce his will, and it has been a mighty struggle, I assure you. This boy has great potential within this Guild, and it will be recognised. I may have been over-cautious; neither his loyalty nor his strength of will is in doubt, but I feared the insidious incursion of external forces. For my part, I now pity any who seek to oppose him.
"In fact, I acknowledge a debt to both of you: once the spell was cast, I became lost in the struggle for Questor Grimm's will, no longer caring that even a Seventh Rank Questor of many years' tenure found it difficult to control him. Questor Grimm should, as I hoped, prove a great asset to our common cause, and I thank you for your concern and your diligence.
"That is all, gentlemen."
It had been a dazzling performance. Dalquist opened his mouth, but no words came. His suspicions continued to nag him, but he could not fault Lord Thorn's presentation. Why would such a man choose to try to impose his will on one of his most brilliant and loyal proteges, if he had not some more overarching, important reason to do so?
"Thank you, Lord Thorn," he found himself saying. "I apologise for my impertinence, and I acknowledge my lack of faith in your motives."
"I, too, Lord Prelate," Crohn added. "I cringe to think that I suspected you of injustice or cruelty. You are my Prelate, and I reaffirm my faith in your leadership."
****
Once the two men had left his office, Thorn emitted a low moan of agony at the red-hot bolts of pain shooting through his head. He knew he could not hope, in his current condition, to re-establish his link with Afelnor, but he felt a warm glow of pride that, even although his powers had been at such a low ebb, he had managed to exert his will upon his Senior Magemaster and another powerful Questor with a similar spell to that he had used on Questor Grimm.
The Prelate noted with some concern that he seemed to have lost peripheral vision, and his left hand was numb and lifeless. He began to appreciate better the immense power his mother, Lizaveta, had wielded when she had cast her spell on Loras Afelnor.
Thorn had told Crohn and Dalquist the truth: he had become sucked into the Compulsion spell until he had been unable to extricate himself of his own will. Thorn had intended a gentle push, a subtle encouragement to persuade young Afelnor to begin to see his Prelate more as a father than a master, so the Questor would be more prepared to go to any lengths to carry out Thorn's will. It had ended up as a battle of wills, and Thorn felt far from convinced that he had held the upper hand. He knew the reason for his inability to extricate himself from the spell: Thaumaturgic Resonance. Afelnor had been fighting him without knowing it, and it had taken all Thorn's power just to hold the spell on him, causing the Prelate to be sucked ever deeper into the link until it had taken over his whole being.
If the truth be told, Crohn and Dalquist have done me a service, Thorn thought. I might have died if they hadn't barged in like that.
That Grimm had fought back with such strength, despite being unaware of the spell on him, was impressive. Thorn desired more than ever to gain personal control of Questor Grimm's potent capabilities; however, he acknowledged that he was unlikely to achieve this by a direct conflict of wills.
The Prelate still hoped that Afelnor would uncover irrefutable evidence of Lizaveta's influence within High Lodge, but he could no longer assume that the boy would take action on his own initiative to protect his Guild. That was what he had been hoping, that Questor Grimm would feel such wrath at the threat to his beloved Guild that he might try to destroy Lizaveta without being told to do so. It had all seemed so likely, two days ago, that Thorn would achieve his goal of 'plausible deniability'. If Afelnor had failed or been discovered, he could not deny that he had acted without orders, and Thorn would have released his Compulsion spell by that time.
Now, such a happy conclusion seemed improbable.
The Prelate looked around the shambles of his room with distaste. He would need to order Doorkeeper to get all this mess cleaned up, and a bath, some food and sleep were now urgent needs, in that order.
In the morning, he would consider just how he would 'reward' Crohn and Dalquist for their faithlessness.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 12: Confessions
Sick with worry, Grimm followed the green trace of his borrowed Location Gem to find his way to his assigned chamber. Instead of entering, he knocked on the next door: that of Necromancer Numal.
"Come in."
Numal's tone seemed cordial enough. Grimm hoped the mage had overcome his earlier ill-humour, and he opened the door. However, he was soon disabused of this idea; Numal, who had been lying atop his bed, reading, sat bolt upright.
"What do you want?"
"Numal, please listen," Grimm begged. "I know now that I have been labouring under a spell of Compulsion for the last couple of days: a spell to make me more subservient to our lords and masters. I have a pretty good idea of who cast it on me, but he seems to have given up now. My mind is my own again, and I beg you to reconsider your decision to leave. I need you."
Numal rolled his eyes. "You don't learn, do you, Grimm? I told you before: I'm not about to put a blot on my career, before it's even started, by some illicit liaison. Even if I wanted to, which, I can assure you, I don't."
Grimm, despite his intention to be conciliatory to the Necromancer, bridled. "This is the last time I'll tell you, Numal: I don't want any kind of amatory relationship with you or any other man! Just get that idea out of your head, will you?
"I do need you, but only in your professional capacity as a Necromancer. I may have made a dreadful mistake, and I need your help! Of course, you're quite within your rights to refuse, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I'd rather you considered my request in a sensible manner before throwing it back in my face."
Numal opened his mouth again, as if to deliver a stinging rebuke, but he shut it again without speaking. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and faced the Questor.
"Speak, then." The Necromancer's tone was still far from amicable.
Grimm shut the door behind him. "I'm… I'm on a secret mission for Lord Thorn. I believe that undue forces may be acting upon Lord Dominie Horin. Regardless of the fact that Xy… rather, that I've been labouring under a Compulsion for the last two days, I still believe this, and Lord Thorn has instructed me to gather what information I can, before my return. After you left the bar, I had the great idea of confronting the person I suspect of orchestrating the whole thing. In retrospect, this was stupid, but I think the drink had far more effect on me than I expected."
Grimm swept a hand through his hair, screwing his face up in angry frustration. "I was so damned stupid!"
Numal sat with his arms entwined across his chest. He did not appear moved in the least.
"Well, it's an interesting tale, Questor Grimm, and I hope you can resolve your little conflict, one way or the other. But I don't see why I should indulge your fantasies any longer. Hunt your little demons as you will, but leave me out of it. P
lease shut the door on your way out."
Grimm opened his mouth to launch an irate tirade, but he managed to stop himself; haranguing Numal again would be counter-productive. He had been acting on impulse and reflex for the past two days, and it was time to use the self-control for which Questors were noted. He took several deep breaths and steadied himself.
"Very well, Numal; if you want me to go, I'll go. But I'd like to point one thing out to you: I'm pretty certain I could make you do almost anything I wanted you to. We Questors have magical abilities you couldn't begin to imagine. Nonetheless, I haven't done that."
"That's very generous of you, Questor Grimm. Is that all you have to say?"
Grimm swallowed and closed his eyes again.
Focus, Afelnor!
Grimm had fed Numal titbits of information, in the hope that the Necromancer would go along with him on that basis. However, the moody, quick-tempered mage did not seem to respond well to hints and innuendo. Despite Lord Thorn's injunction to retain secrecy at all costs, Grimm needed the mage on his side, and he needed to stay calm. As the senior, indeed, the only, Questor present, with no immediate means of contact with the House, he had to make a decision. He had to consider the Dominie compromised, so he would have to act on his own initiative.
While Numal looked on, wearing a cool smile, Grimm lowered himself into a chair and considered his options.
He might attempt to assassinate Prioress Lizaveta but, as she had said, the act might lead to his own death. He could try to present his suspicions to Lord Horin but, if the Dominie was really under the witch's spell, this might avail him nothing. Of course, the Prioress might have been playing some unfathomable game with him, although he doubted it; he remembered, only too well, the clarity of the dream that Numal had told him was a valid astral projection… yes, that was the lever to use with this hot-tempered man!
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