The main concourse of the Lodge was as bustling and noisy as Grimm remembered it from his previous visit, and he saw the tall, imposing form of the Senior Doorkeeper standing just inside the doorway. The Doorkeeper's black staff, resplendent with seven gleaming gold rings, hovered obediently at his side.
"Greetings, Brother Mages,” the urbane mage intoned in a rich, deep voice.
"Greetings, Senior Doorkeeper,” the Questor replied.
"Ah, Questor Grimm, it is good to see you here once more,” the urbane, dark-skinned mage rumbled, and Grimm marvelled anew at the man's prodigious powers of memory, even if the ritual greeting held little warmth.
"Senior Doorkeeper, may I present Necromancer Numal, only recently Acclaimed? Numal, this is the Senior Doorkeeper of High Lodge...
" Numal! ” Grimm jabbed an impartial elbow into the Necromancer's side.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Senior Doorkeeper.” Numal turned his wide eyes from the milling crowd of mages and Secular petitioners filling the enormous lobby.
"Remember, Mage Speech only,” Grimm whispered, noting Numal's inadvertent contraction and the Senior Doorkeeper's disapproving gaze at this breach of Lodge protocol.
Numal drew himself to his full height and cleared his throat. “My apologies, Brother Mage,” he said, with the full punctilio expected of a thaumaturge. “I found myself distracted by the magnificence of this splendid establishment."
"Understandable,” the elegant major-domo said, nodding. “Welcome, Necromancer Numal, to High Lodge. Your baggage is being conveyed to your rooms: four-thirty-five and four-thirty-seven in the Accommodation Block. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?"
* * * *
Grimm knew the Lodge was like a rabbit-warren, all but impenetrable in its intricacy, except to its incumbents. "Senior Doorkeeper,” he said in a polite voice. “Our long journey has given me a considerable thirst, and I would relish the chance to slake this before we settle in. Would you be so kind as to furnish us with Location Stones, so that we may find our way without imposing on your valuable time?"
The dark man's eyes widened, as if Grimm's request might constitute some heinous breach of protocol, but he nodded.
"Very well, Questor Grimm. Your request is irregular, but not unreasonable.” He fished in a commodious pocket, and drew out a pair of green gems. “I will trust you to return these baubles before you leave High Lodge. They are not to leave here with you. Is that well understood?"
Grimm bowed his head. “Brother Mage, I swear as a representative of Arnor House that your trust will not be misplaced."
He took the gems, passing one to his bewildered and uncomprehending companion. “Thank you, Senior Doorkeeper."
He felt tempted to add “That is all, my man,” but stopped himself. He might find the mage's prissy ways irksome, but it would be folly to antagonise him; he was only fulfilling his role to the best of his abilities.
"Oh, I have just one more thing to ask,” he said, remembering his mission. “Are the Sisters of Divine Serenity still domiciled here?"
Senior Doorkeeper nodded. “Yes, Questor Grimm. Many Seculars here are in need of spiritual enlightenment, and the Sisters fulfil that need admirably, although they accept no male devotees. May I ask, therefore, what interest a Fifth Rank Mage Questor might have in an exclusively female religious Order?"
"My interest is purely academic, I assure you, Doorkeeper. It is, after all, incumbent upon a Guild Mage to be aware of the tenets of alternative creeds, so that he may avoid unfortunate breaches of protocol in social situations.” This might be the simple answer, the rote answer, but the Questor felt surprised and not a little disgusted at how easily the falsehood rose to his tongue.
His expression unreadable, the imperturbable Senior Doorkeeper flowed away, back into the anonymous crowd.
Grimm felt the ache in his head begin to grow again, and he grabbed Numal by the shoulder. “Do you fancy a drink or two, Numal? It's been a long morning."
The Necromancer seemed fascinated by the ebb and flow of humanity within the hall, but he nodded, tearing his eyes from the mortal tide. “All right, Grimm. Yes, I suppose a drink might be nice."
The young Questor felt as if he were trapped within some crazy dream, a ball being batted back and forth in some cosmic game. It was as if he were already drunk, before he had sampled even a drop of alcohol. Something seemed to push him onwards.
Action, not idleness! the insistent inner voice screamed.
Was he going mad? He had to do something to still the raving beast in his head. Vortices seemed to swirl and careen within his skull, but he no longer cared. The head-voice screamed at him, urging him not to rest. Grimm knew he must stay awake, although sleep seemed to offer such a sweet consummation.
"I know just the place,” he said at last, winking. “Come with me."
As the two mages walked across the crowded hall, a small sound, like the mewling of a wounded cat, emerged from Grimm's throat, but it was swallowed by the clamour of the swarming multitude.
* * * *
Lord Thorn groaned as hot shafts of pain stabbed his brain, and his trembling hands hovered over the green crystal, barely touching it. He could hear Questor Grimm's words through his spell-link with the youth, but only with great effort.
Half a bottle of brandy had failed to allay the incessant, agonising stabs that now plagued him, and he knew his spell of Compulsion had not gone as well as he had thought. Somehow, the Afelnor boy seemed to be fighting the spell. Something had to give, and Thorn felt determined it was not going to be him.
Once more, the liquor made its burning trail down the Prelate's throat, but he resolved that he would take no more.
Names curse it, this boy is strong. But I'll be damned if he's as potent as a Seventh Level Questor of forty years’ seniority!
Reaching into reserves he had not touched for decades, Thorn reasserted his authority and reinforced his spell, despite the silver lances of pain that now speared into his eyes. After a few moments, he felt the resistance, the self-examination cease, and he began again to hear through the youth's ears: "Do you fancy a drink or two, Numal? It's been a long morning."
Good lad, Questor Grimm. Drink should lower your resistance.
Thorn's eyes ached and his body felt as limp as warm lettuce. He fell back in his throne, exhausted, and he knew despite his proud boast to himself, he was not the potent sorcerer he had once been.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 9: Introspection and Investigation
Dalquist sighed, shut his book with a bang and rubbed his sore eyes, realising that he had just read the same paragraph three times without registering its contents. The sun's orb was bisected by the horizon, and the Library was now empty.
Tertiary Rune Structures in Translocative Applications would have proved a tedious and challenging book to the vast majority of mages. However, to a Mage Questor, a thaumaturge who could make his own magic without recourse to the strictly-regimented, pedestrian panoply of rote-learned runes, it was little more than sheer torture. Added to this, the Questor's mind was far from focused on his reading.
He considered how honoured he felt when Senior Magemaster Crohn requested that he become an Associate Magemaster: to any teaching Guild House, the Scholasticate was the very hub, the life-essence that sustained it. One of the most valuable contributions a mage could make to his House was to engage in the effort to turn callow, ignorant Students into full Guild Mages. However, the gulf between a Mage Questor and a practitioner of any other Speciality was enormous. Most Magemasters took decades to master the complex rune interactions governing their crafts, whereas Questors were free spirits, unfettered by the restrictions of a limited set of spidery characters, their only limits were those imposed by their imaginations.
No, he told himself. It's not studying these runes that's disturbing my concentration. It's Grimm.
Dalquist squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his left palm onto his forehead, as if this might clear h
is thoughts. He remembered Grimm as a frightened, insecure seven-year-old Student, trying to pretend that he had not been weeping. There had been power in his eyes even at that tender age, and also signs of great intelligence. Dalquist had led the boy to the very place in which he now sat, and Grimm had reacted as if all his birthdays had arrived at once.
Later on, there was a traumatised adolescent, recovering from his violent Questor Outbreak and so pleased to see his older friend. Dalquist spent many, many days and months with the new Adept, in the company of Crohn, patiently teaching the boy how to control and ration his thaumaturgic energies, so he could use his mind to open a door without smashing down the surrounding wall at the same time. Grimm had been patience and persistence personified, despite the trauma he had suffered.
Dalquist recalled the young First Rank Questor, his confidence growing every day on the arduous Quest to free the city of Crar from the influence of the demon lord, Starmor, his friendship with the senior mage burgeoning into a relationship of staunch trust and mutual respect.
Despite the seven nightmarish months of Questor Ordeal Grimm had described, far worse than Dalquist's own period of suffering, the young man turned into a stable, level-headed person, amiable and reliable.
Yes, he had turned surly and vicious during the period of his unintentional addiction to the herbs Trina and Virion, but that had passed. Were the insidious pangs of drug withdrawal perhaps reasserting themselves?
Dalquist opened his eyes, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling without seeing. Indeed, Grimm's rages, while his body had craved the fumes of the mind-altering herbs, had been sudden and severe, but they had been uncontrolled, directed at anybody in his vicinity. On their meeting the day before, Grimm had seemed as companionable and placid as ever, until the subject of Lord Thorn's possible complicity in the indiscriminate application of a new, more vicious Questor Ordeal had arisen.
Grimm then turned on his fellow mage, his most loyal ally, Dalquist Rufior. The change in his demeanour had been startling, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl as he extolled the virtues of the House, the Guild, and of Lord Thorn in particular.
This was not the Grimm Afelnor Dalquist remembered, but a pale imitation with Grimm's face: a marionette dancing at the command of another.
A single, muttered word escaped his lips: “Thorn."
A shock of realisation flashed through Dalquist's brain like a lightning bolt, painful in its intensity.
It has to be Lord Thorn who turned Grimm in this way...
The only Mentalist within the House of sufficient skill to overcome the phenomenal, Ordeal-induced willpower of a Questor seemed to be Magemaster Kargan, and he seemed on good terms with his former pupil. Only another mage of the same calling or a potent Questor might even hope to achieve the feat. The only other Questors in the House, apart from Dalquist himself, were the doddering Olaf and the haughty Xylox.
Olaf was no longer the mighty thaumaturge he had been in his youth, and Dalquist could not imagine him prevailing in a contest of wills with Grimm.
On the other hand, Xylox could not be so swiftly dismissed as a candidate.
Dalquist knew Xylox and Grimm had been on far from good terms during their recent Quest, and the petty mage was just the kind to seek to instil in the high-spirited young Questor a sense of proper respect for his superiors. Nonetheless, Xylox the Mighty, despite his extravagant soubriquet, was notable for his parsimony, not least in the expenditure of his magical energies. Dalquist had once Quested with him, and he had lost count of the number of times he had been subjected to the man's censorious watchword: a true Questor conserves his strength.
Xylox, whatever his faults, was ever true to his dicta, and Dalquist could not imagine him expending a vast amount of thaumaturgic power just to teach a recalcitrant junior mage a lesson.
That left the Lord Prelate. At sixty years, Thorn was still young for a mage, who might reasonably expect to live to an age of a hundred and thirty years or more. He was a Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, with almost four decades of experience. Whilst it was not unknown for Neophytes and Adepts to be placed under spells of Compulsion to reveal nothing of their training to Seculars or Students, it went against all House protocol to place such a spell on a full Guild Mage, who might reasonably be expected to fulfil his sworn Oath under all circumstances. Loyalty to the House and the Guild was burnt into all magic-users at an early age, but by more conventional means.
Dalquist rubbed his chin.
Just what are you trying to imply, Rufior? he chided himself. Why would Lord Thorn feel the need to impose his direct will on the House's most junior Questor?
This is going nowhere. I need more information. For example: has the Questor Ordeal really been increased in severity since my day, or could Grimm have been exaggerating?
Senior Magemaster Crohn might be the key. He had been Grimm's personal nemesis during the Neophyte's Ordeal. Had he been suborned to exceed the normal bounds of discipline in order to produce a new Questor at all costs, or had it been his own idea? It would require the height of tact and diplomacy to discover the truth from such a senior and well-respected mage, but Dalquist believed himself equal to the task. He was an experienced and careful mage, and he was not about to raise major ructions in the House, based only on vague suspicions and doubts.
* * * *
Dalquist located Crohn, at last, in one of the Scholasticate classrooms, wading through a tall pile of papers. It could not be denied that the man was a dedicated and thorough educator.
The Senior Magemaster looked up, and his face brightened as he rose to his feet. “Questor Dalquist, how may I help you? How go your studies?"
Although the Questor's mind was turbulent, he remembered his Mage Speech. One of the advantages in this formal, cumbersome mode of discourse was that the slow, wordy manner of delivery gave time to think of just what to say.
"None too well, I fear, Senior Magemaster. As you may imagine, I have already forgotten much of what I learned about runes."
Crohn wagged an admonitory finger. “That is the trouble with you Questors: in one ear, and out of the other. I would remind you that we have an urgent need for more Magemasters; or would you prefer to pollute Arnor House with unorthodox-thinking Outsiders?"
Dalquist smiled and shook his head; it was, as Grimm had averred, impossible to imagine this irascible old man as a heartless sadist, despite his irascible, mercuric nature.
"No, Magemaster Crohn, the post should remain within the rolls of the House. I still wish to persevere in this. I know how important it is to provide a good education for our Students."
A lively discussion ensued, as the two mages deliberated over niceties of education. Dalquist bided his time, hoping to make his visit appear natural and unforced, but he was just waiting for a hiatus in the conversation to present itself.
At last, Crohn fell silent in his discussion of Scholasticate minutiae, and the Questor saw his moment.
"Senior Magemaster Crohn, I have, as you may well imagine, an abiding interest in the methods by which we turn our young protégés into Questors. Naturally, such a technique is used only on charity cases, but I note that our rolls for the coming year include many more such Students than we have had for many a season. I therefore wish to ask you if there are any new innovations in this field. I am well aware that this particular discipline is not within my current purview, but I feel strongly that I might now be well employed in this specific, important subject."
Crohn blinked. “My apologies, Questor Dalquist; exactly what is it that you wish to know?"
"Does the House now have a different policy with regard to potential Questors than it had in my year? I note that Questor Grimm, for example, under your tutelage, rose to the rank of Mage Questor in seven months, whilst my own Ordeal lasted two years under Questor Urel. Is some new method being employed?"
Crohn sneezed, as a fly flew under his impressive nose. “My apologies, Questor Dalquist,” he said, regaining
his habitual composure. “I must say that I am not sure such a disclosure is appropriate for an Associate Magemaster."
"What of an Associate Magemaster who is also a Questor of the Seventh Rank?” Dalquist demanded, raising the stakes. “With the greatest respect, Senior Magemaster, what do you know of the especial problems of a Neophyte Questor? Who better to bring him to the peak of performance than another Questor?"
"So?” Crohn sounded cautious, guarded in his response. The omission of Dalquist's name and honorific was more than sufficient evidence to the Questor of the senior tutor's disquietude concerning the subject.
Dalquist affected a light-hearted laugh, hoping to disarm Crohn."Senior Magemaster Crohn, I do believe that you doubt my motives in this regard!"
"Very well, Questor Dalquist,” Crohn said, after a considerable pause. “I can see the rationality in your suggestion, and I would welcome your insight into the Questor psyche, should a suitable candidate become available."
The Questor chose his next words with care. “I wanted to ask you about that, Magemaster. Of course, I am well aware that only Neophytes with charitable status are considered, but how are such boys chosen from amongst their peers? As a Questor, I may well be able to aid you in selection."
"Naturally, the most powerful youths are chosen,” Crohn said. “Intelligent boys, and the most diligent and determined of Students."
The Questor found Crohn's statement somewhat glib and uninformative. Although it might be considered the height of discourtesy for one mage to scan another's aura, especially that of a senior practitioner of the Art, Dalquist had no need to resort to his Mage Sight to determine that Crohn was holding something back. The Magemaster seemed to be avoiding eye contact, despite his normal, level gaze, and he tapped the brass head of his Mage Staff into his left palm in a distracted fashion.
"Are they the only criteria for selection, Magemaster Crohn? It seems to me that emotional stability would also be a prime factor. It seems to me that a flighty or emotional lad might pose a serious risk."
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