The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster [Book 1: A Mage In The Making]
Page 5
With a mighty effort, he forced himself to draw a few, deep breaths, and he tried to take stock of the situation, but he felt hot tears begin to well from his eyes, unbidden. A jagging sob racked him, as a heavy wave of desperate homesickness washed over him.
He lay face down on the bed and wept with bitter anguish for a few minutes until it seemed he would break in two. With one last shuddering sob, he forced himself to sit up. For a few moments, he gasped like a beached whale until his breathing normalised. With stolid determination, he planted himself in the chair and picked up the book that Doorkeeper had said was so important.
The pages were yellowed and obviously well-thumbed. How many boys had read this before him? The number 17, which was stamped on the flyleaf, told him that the book belonged in this very cell, and Grimm felt a kind of communion with the previous incumbents of the cell. He hoped they had all become mages rather than scullery servants.
The first part of the book was interesting enough, detailing the history of the Guild and the House. Apparently, Arnor House was actually a hundred and fifty years older than the Guild itself. The Guild had been inaugurated four hundred years before by common consent between several feuding groups of magic-users, the Arnor Institute for the Arcane Arts among them.
The founding of High Lodge gave the squabbling organisations guidance and a common purpose. Eventually, more and more Houses joined the new Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges until it became the premier organisation for magic throughout the land.
Each House paid a certain amount to High Lodge every year, based on its ability to pay. High Lodge had the right to request temporary or permanent secondment of magic-users or scholars to the governing Lodge for the fulfilment of certain spells, or to ensure that there was always a full complement of mages at High Lodge. In return, the House was assured non-aggression from all other Guild Houses, financial aid in times of crisis and exclusive authority for all matters magical in its locality.
The highest honour for any Guild Mage was to be elected to the post of Lord Dominie of the Guild, who could only be selected from among the ranks of High Lodge every year.
A few brief paragraphs gave sketchy details of former Guild notables, and then the main part of the book began.
Student!
You have been granted the honour of induction into the Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges. This is an august and venerable establishment, and you are privileged to have become a part of it.
As a Student at Arnor Guild House, you have the responsibility to heed and obey the rules of the Guild and of the House. Read these well. The House Magemasters will accept no ignorance of the regulations as an excuse for failing to observe them, and punishments will be assessed against each transgression, up to and excluding dismissal from the Scholasticate and the Guild.
Section 1-Comportment and Bearing
Subsection 1-Conduct
Rule 1.1.1: A Student shall, at all times, maintain a deferent and respectful manner towards all Mages, Neophytes, Adepts and Scholars.
Grimm thought that seemed easy enough. He had been brought up to be respectful to his elders. He could only guess at what the word ‘deferent’ might mean, but he guessed it meant ‘polite'.
Rule 1.1.2: A Student shall obey diligently all orders and instructions given him by all Mages, Neophytes, Acolytes, Adepts and Scholars, excepting where such orders conflict with prior or subsequent countermanding orders given by the Prelate or the Student's class Magemaster, or except where such orders conflict with any other Guild Rule, or a Guild-approved House Rule. It shall at all times be considered that any orders given by the Prelate or Magemaster may be considered as licit, without reference to other rules and strictures.
Grimm could barely understand the ramifications of this Rule. He read through it carefully three times and it made little more sense to him. Deciding to return to this complicated rule later, he read on.
Rule 1.1.3: Except where explicitly permitted by the Student's Magemaster, or other licit authority, a Student shall at all times maintain a high standard of decorum and comportment...
The list went on and on in the same dry, impenetrable, prolix style. Grimm's eyes grew larger as the pages began to detail former freedoms now denied him. He would not be allowed to leave the Scholasticate for as long as his training lasted, a period of many years, or until he was dismissed to serve in the bowels of the House.
Although three meals were provided each day, woe betide the Student who was not in the Refectory by the time the tolling of the bell ended, for he would lose this meal and the next, in penance for the waste of food.
The requirements for cleanliness and neatness were rigorous. Rules were detailed for the laying out of dirty clothes for washing and for taking a bath. Each of these rituals was to be performed once a week at a specified time, and missing the narrow period allowed for these would result in the Student going dirty for the next week, and a ‘Schedule D, paragraph 1 punishment’ for poor hygiene if the Student could not otherwise keep himself clean. Grimm had no idea what a ‘Schedule D punishment’ was, but he guessed it would be severe.
The only alternative Grimm could see was to wash himself and his clothes with plain cold water in the small washbasin, an unappealing prospect, although the hygiene facilities, in truth, were little worse than those in his home smithy.
Hair was to be no longer than would fall to the bottom of the shoulder-blades, and it was to be kept clean and tied back.
Rules for the wearing of beards and whiskers were also specified, which gave Grimm a new reminder of how long he might need to stay in the Scholasticate.
Poor Students were expected to keep their robes in good condition and a needle and thread was provided for the repair of minor damage, but he who entered the Refectory or a schoolroom with torn or shoddily repaired robes would again be punished. Fortunately, Grimm had been used to darning and sewing for almost as long as he could walk. The smithy produced enough wealth for food and shelter but little else, and Gramma Drima's arthritic fingers rarely had been equal to the task.
Grimm read on for an hour, rule after rule and restriction after restriction. It seemed that the House consisted of nothing but constraints and strictures, and he began to despair of ever keeping track of the rules, let alone being able to quote them on demand. Even the sole movable objects in his cell, the chair, the table and the bed, had to be kept in precise, fixed locations and orientations.
He did not even understand many of the rules; whatever ‘unnatural practices’ were, he had no idea, and Grimm wondered if they involved play-acting. He was extremely well read for a boy of his age, but words like ‘narcotics', ‘impropriety’ and ‘insubordination’ were beyond him. How could he obey the rules if he didn't know what they meant? He was in trouble before he had even begun as a Student.
An unbearable weight of despair began once more to descend onto the boy's narrow shoulders, and another sob escaped his lips. Why had Granfer sent him to this place, so heavy with pomp, ceremony and regulations, where most of the boys came from families rich beyond Grimm's wildest dreams?
At least, if he had been sent to the local school, he could have mixed with other boys like himself, boys from working families like his own. He knew how his grandfather loved him, but the idea that the kindly, grizzled old smith could willingly send his grandson to be immured in such a stark, lonely prison for many years was beyond Grimm, and tears of self-pity began to well unbidden from his eyes.
Lost in misery, with endless unanswerable questions flying endlessly around his mind like balls in a frenetic billiards game, Grimm started at the sound of a knock at the cell door. He did not expect Doorkeeper back for some time yet. He composed himself, managing to utter a faint and tremulous “Come in".
The door opened with a weary-sounding creak, to reveal a tall man of maybe twenty-five years. Long, dark hair tumbled down over the visitor's shoulders, and his calm face was framed with a neatly-trimmed, brown beard.
"Doorkeeper told me there was a new charity boy; we're few and far between in this august establishment, so I thought I would take the opportunity to introduce myself: I am Questor Dalquist Rufior."
Chapter 6: Two New Friends
Grimm gave a deep, stiff bow.
"Lord Mage, I am Grimm Afelnor. I am pleased to meet you, sir."
The words were stiff and grave, betokening the formality of a rote-learned phrase. Dalquist noted the telltale, grubby spoor of tears extending from the lower margins of the boy's eyes. It was plain to the Questor that Grimm was still struggling to control hot, roiling emotions.
Dalquist smiled warmly. “There's no need to call me either ‘Lord Mage’ or ‘sir', Grimm Afelnor. In truth, I have been a Mage Questor only a month and, since I have no Quests to my name yet, I am still a Questor only in name. Please call me Dalquist, and only that.
"Doorkeeper asked me to visit you because I was once a charity boy like you, and I know just how you feel. You feel betrayed and impossibly alone, don't you, Grimm? All those rules and regulations that apply only to you seem too much to bear—am I right?"
Grimm nodded, and the ghost of a faint smile began to creep across the boy's face before being suppressed.
"It's all right, Grimm,” Dalquist said. “I don't remember any rule in the book about charity Students either smiling or enjoying themselves. I know everything seems horribly unfamiliar and forbidding to you now, but I promise you that this will change."
Dalquist pulled himself to his full height, cleared his throat and opened an imaginary scroll. “Rule 17.4.3, paragraph C,” he boomed. “Charity Students will smile and enjoy themselves whenever the mood takes them, even if they think it looks better if they wallow in misery instead."
A genuine smile began to emerge on Grimm's face. “It doesn't say that in the book, Dalquist. You're teasing me!"
"That's one of my rules, Grimm, not the Scholasticate's. You can be miserable if you really want to; there will be plenty of time for that later on. Even the Prelate and the Presidium have no power to stop you from going around looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm if you're determined to suffer. Feel free to mope and grizzle if you wish, and then you will find that nobody wants to be your friend.
"I can't pretend you'll be happy all the time here, but you must make the effort not to take depression as your only companion. Believe me, I know that fellow of old. After a while, depression becomes almost a comfort; when that day comes, you'll find he soon becomes a stricter and more domineering master than anyone in the Scholasticate.
"When you wake in the morning, don't expect the day to be dull and miserable; just take it as it comes. You may believe it or not, as you choose, but the simple fact is that even some of the paying Students will be as unhappy as you are at being sent away. It's true they can go home twice a year, while you will have to stay here, but they have left their friends and families behind, just as you have.
"You may find you have more in common with those boys than you think, and some of them will become your friends, as unlikely as it appears right now.
"In a few days, the other Students will begin to arrive, and the Magemasters and the other mages will return from their retreats. I know then you'll begin to find this a busy and interesting place."
Grimm proffered only a faint smile, although he could feel a real, wide grin trying to emerge. He knew what self-pity was, and that, unwittingly, he had been wallowing in its depths.
"I'm sorry, Dalquist. I will try to be happy."
The mage shook his head slightly. “No, Grimm, you don't understand. Trying to be happy never works. Sometimes you will be happy; sometimes you won't. Just don't ever, ever, try to be sad. Sometimes you won't be able to avoid misery, but that will happen much more often if you go looking for it.
"There, now, could that really be a genuine smile on that boy's face? Surely not; our new Student, Grimm Afelnor, isn't allowed to smile, is he?” Dalquist punctuated this last with a mock-stern stare.
Grimm giggled and his mouth, overruling his self-imposed misery, crumpled into a genuine smile at last. “That's silly. Nobody wants to be sad."
"Well then; in that case, we don't need to talk about it any more, do we?"
The small boy vigorously shook his head, the point taken. Then, with an abrupt change of subject, typical of a child his age, he asked, “Why aren't you old, Dalquist? I mean really, really old?"
The mage knit his brows for just a moment, and then his face cleared.
"If you mean I'm very young to be a mage, that's true, Grimm,” he said. “That's because I'm a Mage Questor. Questors don't take as long to learn as other magic-users because they make their own magic. We aren't so much taught as ... encouraged to develop.
"Other types of mage take much longer to win the Staff, because they have to learn a separate incantation or thought pattern for each enchantment."
"I didn't know there were different sorts of wizard ... mage, that is,” Grimm said. “I think I'd like to be a Questor, too, if it's that quick. My Granfer was a Questor,” he added with a tinge of newfound pride.
Dalquist laughed. “Most Students feel the same way once they find out about Questors, for that reason above all,” he said. “But I'm afraid it's not up to you, Grimm. Only the Magemasters can determine what sort of mage you'll become, if any. A lot of Students never become full mages at all, mostly because they give up."
The mage's expression darkened a little. “In your case, Grimm, failure to become a mage isn't a very appealing option, believe me. As a charity boy, you have to work off the expense of your tuition before you can leave, either as a mage or as a House servant. I really don't think you'd enjoy life as a House servant at all.
"On the other hand, I wouldn't worry too much about that prospect if you work hard and apply yourself to your studies. The Prelate doesn't give charity scholarships very often, and you can be sure that he only does so when he can see the glimmerings of some sort of talent."
The Questor smiled again. “I'm sure one day you'll be a mage, Grimm, but neither I nor anybody else could possibly say which kind. Still, I mustn't tell you too much about the training. The Magemasters will explain all to you in good time. Is there anything you'd like to ask me that doesn't involve becoming a mage?"
Grimm thought for a minute. “You said that you were a charity boy like me. Did you have lots of friends here? Are they mages, too?"
"I never had a lot of friends, but the ones I made are good friends still. They're still here as what we call Neophytes or as Adepts, except for two wealthy boys who left. I've promised the others I'll make a point of being present at their Acclamation ceremonies if I can, and I make the same promise to you, Grimm; if I can, I'll make a point of coming to your ceremony; whenever it happens."
"I'd like that, Dalquist. I'll work hard, I promise. Thank you for talking to me; I really feel a lot better now. Are there any other boys like me around?"
Dalquist shrugged. “I'm afraid I don't know, Grimm. The next term starts in two weeks; there'll be plenty of other boys around then."
Grimm's face fell. “Will I be all on my own for two whole weeks?” Cold fingers of loneliness began to play again along his spine.
Dalquist looked a little lost. “There's a yard where you can play,” he suggested.
Grimm felt close to tears again. “But I can't play by myself, Dalquist!"
Dalquist cleared his throat, his face blank. “What sort of things do you like to do, Grimm?"
"I like to read books when I can,” replied the child, with an earnest expression on his face. “Granfer had quite a lot, and he let me read them when my chores were finished. They
were big, grown-up books. There were some about birds and animals and plants, and a lot of them had nice pictures. I can read books that don't have any pictures, though,” he hurriedly assured the mage.
Dalquist's face cleared, and he held out his hand to the boy. “Follow me then, Grimm. I have something to show you.” He led Grimm out of his cell and into the long corridor.
There were ten cell doors like Grimm's on each side of the passageway, all of which were open and none of which showed any signs of occupancy. “Are you sure there aren't any other charity boys like me here, Dalquist?” asked Grimm, with a slight tremor at the thought that he might be alone in this dismal corridor for a whole fortnight.
"There is a total of eleven charity Students. Although, there's only to be one other to join us this year, and I don't believe he's arrived yet. There may be other boys of about your age around, but I'm afraid, offhand, I don't know of any. If there are any, they're probably either in the recreation yard or in study rooms. Very few people bother with what I am about to show you. You'll like it, Grimm, I promise."
Tense with expectation, Grimm followed Dalquist to the end of the dark passage. Nearly hidden in shadow was a plain wooden door. The mage opened it and led Grimm up a winding stone staircase, holding tight to the boy's hand, lest Grimm stumble and fall in the near darkness. At the top was another simple door with a gnarled, pitted black ring for a handle. Opening it, Dalquist led the young Student into what, to the child, seemed like a wonderland.
Racks and racks of books stretched to the ceiling and off into the depths of a huge room, a labyrinth of beguiling complexity, full of mystery and promise. Each rack was filled to capacity with books, and Grimm stared in awe at the wealth of literature before him, eyes nearly popping from his head.
A musty but pleasant smell filled the room, and motes of dust danced like fugitive fireflies in the soft rays of light emitted from radiant globes high above.