"He's workin’ on the fire,” Harvel said. “Old Loras doesn't do much o’ the really heavy work, now; thass up to me. You want shoein’ or heavy forging, I'm yer man."
Kargan felt unwilling to offend the smith. Harvel seemed a pleasant enough man, but the mage did not want to give too much away; he had no idea of what Loras might have told anyone of his tainted past.
"I would like a good, full set of tack, Master Harvel,” he said, showing his full purse, “and I'm willing to give you a good price for it. However, I'd like to see Master Loras first. I wish to bring him news of a relative of his."
"Ye're from Arnor?” said Harvel, and Kargan nodded. “That'd be Master Grimm, then. I took him there, ye know: it broke old man Loras’ heart.
"Ye wait here, Lord Mage,” he said. “I'm sure Loras'll want to see ye."
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.
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 he believes he did.
"That's all I have to say on the matter, Lady Drima."
The smith's wife opened her mouth and closed it again. She wrapped a stray tendril of grey hair around her right index finger and toyed with it, her hand trembling a little.
At last, she spoke: “I agree, Magemaster… that is, I prefer knowledge to ignorance. Loras is a grown man, and he should be given the opportunity to confront his demons, instead of cowering from them. I'll do my best to convince my husband that if what you say is true, it may be in his best interests to consider it carefully."
"Thank you, Mistress Drima,” Kargan took Drima's small left hand in his own wrinkled, liver-spotted extremity. “That is all I could ask."
Drima nodded and rose to her feet, slipping her hand from the Magemaster's.
"I'm doing it for Loras, not for you,” she said. “Please wait here and I'll see what I can do."
She left the room, shutting the flimsy door behind her, and Kargan slumped back in his chair.
Well, the die's cast now, he thought. Let's see how it lands.
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