He was given the role of a travelling minstrel, and he studied the part with intense diligence in his free time. He was expected to sing a song whilst accompanying himself on the lute and, although he was not very accomplished on the instrument, he acquitted himself well, since the tune involved only simple strumming. Although nervous as he took to the stage, dressed in a loose, threadbare motley that threatened to overwhelm his slight frame, his voice did not betray him. Part of him was relieved when he had finished, but, after more than respectful applause, he found himself wishing he might carry on.
Madar and Argand were his most enthusiastic applauders, and even Kargan, who had composed the ballad, took the time to compliment Grimm on his delivery.
* * * *
Grimm was happier than he had ever been in his life as the year ended. He would be on his own once more for the winter break, but he was growing in self-confidence; it now felt almost as if the Scholasticate was the only home that he had ever known.
At the start of Grimm's third year in the Scholasticate, he and his year-mates began to be burdened with even more new subjects, but Grimm accepted the increasing workload with zeal. Whilst he found Appreciation of Art tedious, and Gymnastics difficult, because of his ill-co-ordinated body, he enjoyed Literature and found Herbalism, taught by the mild-mannered and soft-voiced Magemaster Chet, fascinating. He never tired of studying in depth the properties and uses of different herbs and plants, always hoping to surprise Chet with some new discovery, since Chet, unlike most of his fellow Magemasters, actually encouraged extracurricular studies. As a Herbalist of the Seventh Rank, Chet possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of his craft and could not be bested by any nine-year-old Student; he was, however, always appreciative of Grimm's efforts, and of those of other diligent Students.
Another new subject that Grimm enjoyed was Elementary Logic, which was taught by Crohn. He learned the uses of syllogism, sorites and deduction, and he revelled in trying to unravel the conundrums and puzzles posed by the Magemaster, as did most of the other boys. His finest hour was when Crohn asked the class to attempt to answer the question “What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?"
Many boys offered the opinion that the statement was a paradox, insoluble and intractable. Others opined that nothing would happen, but that object and force would explode into naked energy. Grimm raised his hand, was acknowledged, and rose to his feet.
"Lord Mage, it seems to me that if any force meets any object, either the object moves or it does not. If the object moves even a little bit then it is not immovable. If it does not move, then the force is not irresistible.
"So I don't—sorry, Lord Mage; I do not—know if there is such a thing as an immovable object or an irresistible force, but I do know that you cannot have both in the same world."
Crohn had said that he would show that some propositions are not amenable to a plain yes or no solution, but he declared himself unable to fault Grimm's logic.
"Why, yes; I do believe you are right, Afelnor. I had never thought about the question in that way. Excellent—very well done."
Safe in the inner depths of his mind, Grimm grinned at the Magemaster's discomfiture as the class tutor quickly posed another conundrum, “If I said ‘Everything I say is a lie', could you believe me? Afelnor, your solution, please."
Grimm licked his lips in confusion. If the statement was true, this would also mean that the statement was false, and therefore everything Crohn said was true ... but that would mean that he was, in fact, a liar! It was puzzling indeed but, buoyed by his earlier success, Grimm tried to apply his rudimentary command of logic to analyse the apparent paradox.
"Lord Mage, may I assume that the opposite of ‘Everything’ is not ‘Nothing', but ‘Not everything'? If so, then the opposite of the statement becomes ‘Not everything I say is the truth'. This is perfectly sensible."
Crohn seemed to have recovered his equanimity now, as if he were once more on solid ground. “A fair attempt, Afelnor,” he said. “However, I am afraid that the logical opposite of ‘Everything’ is, in fact, ‘Nothing'. Also, if you are going to completely reverse the statement it becomes ‘Nothing I do not say is the truth’ a: rather nonsensical statement, but one which reiterates the original proposition. You cannot just invert selected parts of a statement in order to produce its inverse; all clauses and concepts must be inverted."
Grimm struggled on. “But surely, Lord Mage, a true inverse would be ‘Nothing anybody other than I does not say is the truth'?
"I stand corrected,” Crohn said, his tone acidic. “However, this does not change the sense of the matter. One can indeed attempt to tackle such a problem by addressing its inverse. However, one then has to re-state the original problem as a logical inverse of what one has just proved. The inverse of ‘Nothing anybody other than I does not say is the truth’ turns inexorably back to ‘Everything I say is a lie', and we have solved nothing.” Grimm struggled to confute Crohn's argument but nothing came to mind. Choosing discretion as the better part of valour, he gave the required polite bow and sat down.
While the boys were kept imprisoned in the Scholasticate during the educational year, Students were allowed a mid-year visit from their families after their third year, and the huge Refectory was filled with passionate reunions on these occasions. No other form of contact with the outside was allowed except for this visit. Perhaps this monastic isolation from the real world, combined with the long years of study, was the biggest reason for paying Students to leave the Guild before gaining a magical vocation.
Grimm sometimes had to fight tears when he saw the emotional embraces, and some other poor boys were sobbing openly, deprived like him of the least iota of familial warmth and love.
Also, unlike the paying boys, Grimm would not be entitled to home leave at the end of each year; Magemaster Crohn had explained that the likelihood of charity Students returning to the House to justify the Guild's investment after the depredations of the harsh regime was slim. Nonetheless, charity boys would be allowed to send and receive letters from home at the end of their third year; this gave Grimm hope, and buoyed him up.
Madar seemed almost ebullient on visiting days, often elbowing Grimm and Argand to point out some physical or behavioural quirk in the visiting parents.
"Doesn't it bother you, Madar? Don't you miss your parents at all?” Grimm asked.
"I can hardly remember them,” Madar replied with a cheerful grin. This seemed no brave pretence; Grimm's friend was telling the truth.
"My idea of fun is not sitting opposite my father while he tells me about his latest doxy and how well his business is going, while I know he's just counting the moments ‘til he can go back home to his hoard and his mistress. My mother died when I was small. So no, I don't miss them in the slightest. What about you?"
"I didn't know either of my parents,” Grimm said. “They both died of a fever when I was about two. I lived with Granfer and Gramma after that, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I do miss them sometimes. What about you, Argand?"
"I do miss my Da and Ma at times,” Argand confessed, “but a few years away from my big sister Serah won't do me any harm. Come on, let's go and play marbles in the yard."
* * * *
On his tenth birthday, Madar and Argand staged a small pageant in honour of their friend, and Grimm knew that he was truly home. He felt guilty that his memory of his grandparents’ faces was fading, but he knew that in the year to come he would be able to receive letters from home, and to write back. Life was good.
Chapter 18:
Messages From Home
Dear Granfer and Gramma,
Thank you very much for the lovely cake you sent me on my tenth birthday. It was very nice and I shared it with my friends Madar and Argand. They also enjoyed it. It is so good to be able to write you after all this time and I look forward to a letter from you.
I am doing well at runes and pretend spells and our mage master Kargan says I am good at singin
g. Magemaster Crohn is often fierce, but I do not think he really means it. I see him smile sometimes when he thinks nobody is looking.
Would you believe it, I am quite a good dancer now; even Magemaster Faffel has stopped hitting me with his stick. He is quite hard sometimes, so I am pleased. Madar is a good dancer; he helped me a lot.
I can play the lute a little bit now and I sang on stage as a minstrel a few weeks ago. Next year you can come to see me at the end of the term. I have lots and lots to tell you, but no space here.
Lots of love, Grimm
* * * *
As Grimm was on his way back to his cell one night, he was intercepted by Doorkeeper and given the letter he had been waiting for. A communication from home, at last! He hustled to his cell and tore open the letter with clumsy, eager haste.
To his surprise, there were two different letters within the envelope, one signed by both his grandparents and one signed only by Granfer Loras. He read the latter epistle first.
My beloved grandson,
I hope this letter finds you as it leaves me. By now, you will know the truth about my former life, and I am deeply sorry that I did not tell you of this before, but you will appreciate that this is not a matter on which I can easily dwell.
Not even your grandmother knows of my past, and neither could I find it in me to tell your late father, my own son. I believe it is deep shame that drives me to hide the truth in this matter from those who know nothing of it.
However, now that I know that you know all too well what and who I was, I find it easy to write you these few lines. It is so good to be able once more to speak of my past and to write frankly to my beloved grandson.
I am ashamed of what I once did, Grimm, and I hope that you can find it within yourself to face and to master the legacy of shame that I have left you. However, please believe that I did not send you to the Guild because I wanted you to absolve me by being a better mage than I was.
I believe with all my heart that a bright lad like you, with such power, would be wasted as an apprentice smith in a dull backwater like Lower Frunstock, and I know that only within the Guild will you find any kind of fulfilment.
I regret I will be unable to visit you at the end of the year, for obvious reasons, but your grandmother is counting the days, and my heart will travel with her.
I love you, and I am deeply proud of you.
Loras Afelnor, once Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called the Firelord.
A lump filled Grimm's throat as he read the letter. Seeing his grandfather's full Guild style and cognomen, written in his own hand, brought home to him what the histories and remembrances relayed to him by the likes of Doorkeeper had not; Loras really had been among the most puissant of wizards, a wielder of the most destructive powers.
He had not always been the imperturbable, good-natured smith that was all Grimm could call to mind. Once, he had been a manipulator of arcane powers and a mage of the highest order. For too long now, Grimm had felt the weight of the shame transferred to him by that one, inexplicable, misguided act of Loras'. From this moment, he swore, he would persevere, taking inspiration from the man his grandfather had been before his downfall; a man widely liked and respected within the House and, until that day, one of its most potent magic-users.
Grimm knew the first letter had been for his eyes alone, and he tucked it inside his tunic. The second, much longer, letter was from both his grandparents and written in his grandmother's hand.
Dearest Grimm,
I would guess that, at this stage, you are finding it hard to imagine the apparent eternity of years that lie before you as in the Scholasticate, and I wish that your grandfather and I could come to see you, to express our love and pride for you in person.
Rest assured that we will both move heaven and earth to be with you at the end of the year, as soon as we are able.
Please keep a warm place in your heart for us, as we always shall for you, and never think for one moment that we ever wished to be parted from you.
Borrin and Mardel are asking after you and they begged you to visit when you are a mage dressed in fine robes. Poor boys; they miss you, too, and they have no idea of how long it takes to train a mage.
You will be pleased to know that Orel has finally married Aria. As a wedding present, your granfer made Orel a full partner in the smithy. Loras is not as young as he was and needs a hand with the heavy work, which Orel is happy to lend. Orel and Aria also send their love and hope that you are well...
The letter went on for several neatly-written pages more, and Grimm devoured the news of the home he had not seen for so long. He knew Loras could not have told Drima that he could never visit the House; at the end of the year, Grimm presumed, Granfer would have to make some excuse not to come. Grimm understood the reasons for the deception; Loras was banished forever from Guild premises, and to confess this would be to reveal his shameful past. Although he yearned to see Loras again, he understood why this was impossible.
He begged a piece of paper from Doorkeeper and began to pen a reply, in the full knowledge that all outgoing messages were subject to scrutiny before they were sent.
He had no desire to betray Loras's secret, even to his grandmother Drima, and he had to think long and hard about what to say. After much cogitation, he dipped his pen in the ink and began to write in his best cursive hand, only mastered after long and impatient tutelage by the acerbic Faffel.
Dear Granfer and Gramma,
Thank you very, very much for your welcome letter. I am glad that you are both well, and have managed to get a bigger piece of paper this time from Doorkeeper, who is a mage here.
My main teachers are Magemaster Kargan who teaches Runes, Singing and Presence and Magemaster Crohn, who teaches Power, Control and Magical Theory. I am doing well with these subjects, but some others like woodworking and Courtly Graces, I am not nearly so good at.
It was funny when I came here because Doorkeeper said there was once another boy here who looked just like me and almost had the same name. Isn't that strange? Other mages have said the same thing. He got to be a very good mage, and they called him Firelord, but he died young, so I have promised to live up to his memory by doing my very best and to study really hard.
I am very proud to be carrying on the memory of this other mage.
I have a little room of my very own called a cell. It is number 17 and it is not very much when you see what some of the rich boys have, but it is mine, and I am in it now.
The food is all right, and Madar and Argand are very rich and they get lots of good stuff and often give me some of theirs, which is very nice, though not as nice as yours.
I look forward to seeing you when you can come. I think of you always and I will read your last letter again and again to remind me of you, and our good times together in the smithy.
I have to practice some more singing tonight. Kargan says that the Firelord had a lovely voice and that I do, too, so that is all right.
Please say hello to Borrin and Mardel for me and tell them I will see them and you as soon as I become a proper mage with a staff and a ring. I will probably have a big beard by then and they will not recognise me.
Your loving grandson,
Grimm Afelnor
Grimm folded the letter over, wrote the address neatly on the other side and went to ask Doorkeeper to send it for him.
The letter from his grandparents had reawakened some pangs of homesickness in him, but, in replying, he had come to realise the good things in his life that he would never lose. The pride and love expressed in the letters gave him renewed strength.
He might still have to be alone in the Scholasticate at the end of the year, but there was always the Library to hold his interest, and his friends and family would still be with him, if only in spirit. He felt replete and blissfully happy.
Grimm found that the remainder of the year did not drag, as he had feared that it would. New subjects and extra studies filled his days and nights, and Magemas
ter Kargan always had a keen eye for slackers. Grimm continued to improve with his Courtly Graces, and he even won fourth prize in a woodwork competition, receiving a small plaque to hang in his cell. At least the plaque made the room seem a little more lived in, Grimm thought. Nonetheless, his mind was not as focused on his work as it might have been. He was looking forward to the winter break this year.
* * * *
It was finally the end of Grimm's third year in the Scholasticate, and most of the paying boys had already said their goodbyes and left for home. For some weeks, Grimm had awaited his promised visit with aching eagerness, but by now he was beginning to grow desperate. The last vestiges of hope were beginning to fade when his attention was called by Magemaster Crohn.
"Afelnor; a visitor has come to the House from your former home. Remember that no other personal visit will be permitted for another three years, so make the most of it.” This was classic Crohn-speech; blunt, unemotional and to the point.
"Enjoy this visit to the full, Afelnor, but please ensure you do not dishonour the Scholasticate with unseemly shows of passion. Some emotion is to be expected, but keep it within the bounds of decorum. Power and presence: remember that, above all."
Crohn softened his tone somewhat. “I am happy for you, Afelnor. You are a good Student, and I am sure that you will not let the House down. Enjoy your visit."
Grimm made his way to the assembly hall as quickly as House decorum allowed. What if he could not recognise his grandmother? Her face had already begun to fade from his memory. He need not have worried; in the centre of the hall she stood, looking little different from how he remembered her, except that she seemed to have shrunk a little. Forgetting Crohn's words for a moment, caught in the grip of emotion, he ran into her arms and hugged her. Tears flooded his eyes, and he felt quite unable to speak.
When his voice did recover, he managed to sob, “Oh, Gramma Drima, it is so good to see you. Thank you, thank you so much for coming here. I have been so looking forward to it."
A Mage in the Making Page 14
