"It's all part of the game—it's not lying to them, Grimm. Those old fools'd rather stay in their cells with a bottle of wine at night and let us sort out everything among ourselves. The Magemasters here might wear wizards’ cowls and big beards and carry their big mage staffs—staves, is it?—but they aren't any different to the teachers at our old school.
"They want you to keep trouble away from them, not come running every time you get a bloody nose. And they still tell you to say who did it to you, even though they don't want to know. They'll despise you if you do squeal, even if they ask you to your face. Lying about fighting is about the only lie you can get away with to a teacher ... or a Magemaster. We know, we really do.
"They all make a big thing about how important telling the truth is in this place, but it's just like Lower School, really. We'll make sure you don't get any nasty black eyes to explain."
"I can fight, too,” Grimm said, with a touch of defiance, “I can fight my own battles."
The two other boys were no taller than Grimm, but much broader and more muscular, and they proffered him identical, indulgent smiles, as if listening to the babble of a feeble-minded relative. “Well, let's just forget about that for the moment, shall we? Call it a trade: I'll fight for you, and you can try to teach me this singing thing."
"And I'll fight for you and you can teach me how to see this aura thing Crohn talks about,” Madar added.
"That's fair enough.” Grimm smiled and shook hands with Argand and Madar. Despite his confident boast, he had no experience of more than minor scuffles.
"If you don't mind too much, we really ought to practice these rune things first,” he said, “I can't remember half of them, and Crohn will be testing us tomorrow."
"That's the second thing, not first,” Madar corrected. “You eat up first, and then we'll have a go at the prunes."
"Runes,” Grimm said.
"Whatever. You're really quite skinny, Grimm, and I think you need to put some meat on your bones. ‘Specially if you're serious about all these battles you're going to fight. You wouldn't last ten seconds, the state you're in now."
Madar tried to wink, although he ended up just screwing up one side of his face.
Grimm giggled, nodded and addressed the serious business of tackling the heaped plate in front of him.
Chapter 14: Politics
Thorn Virias, the mighty Mage Questor and Prelate of Arnor House, was deep in mortal combat with nothing more fearsome than a stack of papers. Anybody who imagined the life of Prelate of a Guild House was a glamorous sinecure, he thought, was either a fool or misinformed.
The tale told by the papers was depressing. The intake of paying Students was down over the last year by a fifth; that would make the House budget tight. Almost as bad was the fact that there was only one new charity case this year: the Afelnor boy. Thorn couldn't very well attempt to make Questors of fee-paying pupils, not when their parents were the kind of civic dignitaries who could make life very difficult for him indeed, if word ever reached them that their darling child had not been treated in accordance with his high social standing.
Some of the boys’ fathers were Guild Mages themselves; some of them were even High Lodge incumbents. Some of the application letters made it plain that Arnor House had not been their first choice, which worried Thorn. He yearned for more Questors, but he knew he could not forge such mages from the sons of wealthy parents who might well know the risks involved in the Questor Ordeal.
Thorn remembered only too well the long months of his own Ordeal, and he hated his mother for having allowed him to undergo it, even if it had made a Mage Questor of him. The wealth and status he had earned from a lifetime's Quests had not assuaged that feeling in the least.
Nonetheless, a good Questor was worth a hundred pampered, well-paying Students, no matter how long they remained in the Scholasticate. Thorn had little compunction about putting yet another Student through the same Ordeal that he had so unwillingly undergone.
It was a fine line to walk. He might have few scruples about putting a hundred boys through the Ordeal in order to gain one new Questor, but High Lodge would have their eyes upon him. As Prelate of Arnor House, he could argue that the risk was worth the reward, but only so far. He was meant to have the welfare of all of his flock at heart, and a reputation for callousness might hurt irrevocably his prospects of election to the post of Dominie. No matter that he felt forced onto that road by Lizaveta's insatiable, vicarious drives; if he were ever to become the Dominie, it would be on his own terms.
Thorn never missed a chance to fulfil High Lodge's requests, regardless of the risk to the mages that he so willingly dispatched to aid in some High Lodge Quest or Great Spell. It was easy to justify this aid as being for the good of the whole Guild.
Nevertheless, although Weatherworkers were occasionally called upon to relieve drought or famine in some Guild demesne, and good Readers were in some demand for the successful completion of Great Spells, High Lodge often demanded Questors for such activities, and Thorn had precious few of these to spare.
Arnor House had but three Questors: Olaf, Xylox and Dalquist.
Olaf was approaching his century, and too old to withstand the rigours of the trail. Dalquist, his youngest Questor, was still only a First Rank Mage, and it might take some time before he became accepted.
Xylox, who carried the Guild cognomen ‘the Mighty', was still in his thirties, and he was well-respected by Lord Dominie Horin. Thorn had proposed the powerful Questor for the most difficult and dangerous Quests High Lodge had to offer, so as to raise Arnor House's profile in the eyes of the Dominie. So far, the mage had been successful, and the Prelate trusted he would continue to be so.
It was good that Xylox had proved so competent in this role, but the House had Quests of its own to fulfil. It was never known when a Questor might be needed to foment covert insurrection in some hostile region, to abstract some item from its current owner or to carry out some political assassination. However, High Lodge tended to risk its own mages only in hours of great need, and Thorn was only too happy to volunteer the services of his own.
The Prelate hated politics, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to juggle the demands of High Lodge, so that his status with the ruling body could be improved, along with that of his own Presidium. This should increase Arnor House's wealth and prominence, so that his standing with regard to the rest of the Guild remained good.
High Lodge might have the casting vote on electing the next Dominie, but it would be a bold High Lodge Conclave that chose to ignore the opinions of the individual Houses who, after all, were the ultimate source of that august institution's vast wealth and power.
The new Questor, Dalquist Rufior, had performed well on his first Quest. The former Lord Grall of Shelt had been abstracted from his well-guarded fortress, with only a few casualties among his more zealous guards and delivered, trembling, to his brother Burres. Within a day, Grall's head had been placed on a spike and Burres had been declared the Duke of Shelt. Arnor now had free passage through the town, and a Duke who was far more receptive to Thorn's requests.
As if by providence, the green scrying crystal on his oak desk lit, and a familiar mind wound its way into his own.
Thorn drew the crystal towards himself.
Yes, Lord Dominie Horin? he thought.
Lord Prelate Thorn, I offer you greetings! I would like to thank you personally for the recent aid of your Questor, Xylox. Your continuing services to our Guild are appreciated greatly, not least because of the noble efforts of the estimable Questor on our behalf. Xylox has been well rewarded for his valour and your own House's share of the proceeds will be, of course, handsome.
Thorn found this welcome news, and he said so.
We may have another Quest for you in the near future, replied the Dominie. A Questor and a Shapeshifter would be of great benefit to its successful completion. Do you have anybody in mind?
I have a new Questor now: Dalquist Rufior
, who has performed well on his first Quest, thought Thorn, with not a little pride, and our latest Neophyte Questor, Erek Garan, is surely very close to the completion of his education. I will be happy to offer their services to our common cause.
I congratulate you on raising another Questor, Thorn. Perhaps we could ... Thorn felt a sudden upsurge in the Dominie's emotions.
Your new Questor—I trust he was not responsible for that little incident in Shelt?
The Dominie's mental tone was far from congratulatory, and Thorn wondered if he had overstepped the mark.
Indeed, Lord Dominie. Questor Dalquist may well have transgressed the letter of his orders, but we now have a regime in Shelt, one far more attuned to the needs of the Guild...
Well, thank you very much for that, Thorn, hissed the Dominie's reply. For your information, we at High Lodge already had our collective eye on that particular town. We were in the process of gathering mages together for a Great Spell to persuade Duke Grall to mollify his attitude towards us. Burres is a callow, ambitious upstart who could well destabilise the entire region!
Thorn gulped. He had hoped that the downfall of Grall might gain him compliments rather than angry rebukes.
I am prepared to stand behind any Prelate who seeks to extend his influence, continued the Dominie, but this little escapade has cost me no little loss of sleep. Other towns in the region, towns allied to the Guild, are wary of what Burres’ next move will be. He is not at all popular with them, and they believe he may already be beginning to eye their own lands with some avarice. I regret that I will not be engaging your services on this occasion, Lord Thorn.
Thorn all but exploded in his seat. For a few moments, he pounded his fists on the table, unseen by his lord and master. At last, having composed himself, he asked, Have you any reason for this, Lord Dominie?
You have done well for us in the past, conceded Horin, but I think it best if your mage, Dalquist, lies low for a time, while I resolve this situation as best I can. I will contact Prelate Zhar at Brelor House. The services of his mages Garan Soul-stealer and Targu the Flier should suffice.
In the depths of his being, well hidden from the mind of Horin, Thorn fumed. His mother would be furious at the thought of that bloated charlatan, Zhar, stealing his thunder once more.
Olaf Demonscourge is well rested after his last Quest, Lord Dominie. I am sure he would be happy to aid High Lodge once more, suggested Thorn, wheedling as best he could. He knew that to propose Xylox the Mighty once more would be taken as a sign of weakness.
Olaf was once a potent Questor, Horin shot back, but he is older than either of us. This is a young man's game, Thorn, as you well know. I could hardly expect a Shapeshifter to be much younger than sixty years of age, but a Questor? Even Xylox the Mighty is entering middle age. Where are your experienced thirty-year-old Questors; young lions, hungry for battle?
Once prominent in the Guild, Arnor House had been diminishing in reputation for two decades. Each year, fewer and fewer families sent their offspring to Arnor, and, despite the availability of many charity places, even these were poorly subscribed. Thorn was not prepared to admit that to anybody, not even his Dominie.
We have had some near misses recently, Dominie, he protested. You know how it is. One cannot predict when a new Questor will arise. I have recently enrolled the grandson of Loras Afelnor, and I have high hopes for him.
Afelnor? spat Horin's thoughts. Were you so desperate as to take in the seed of that traitor? Still, far be it for me to lay the sins of the father onto the head of his son. Thorn could not see Lord Horin, but he could envision a dismissive shrug as if the Dominie were standing before him.
I congratulate you on your adherence to the true spirit of the Guild, continued Horin. Few Prelates would be able to countenance accepting the progeny of the would-be murderer of a House Prelate into their ranks. I know the guidelines on the acceptance of charity Students give priority to the descendants of thaumaturges, but this seems to stretch those guidelines to the limits!
Thorn knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he persisted.
Think of the prospects, Lord Dominie. If the boy is a tenth as powerful as his grandfather, we could have a potent, useful Questor on our hands, so long as the blood runs true.
It is not as simple as that, Thorn, as well you know, shot back Horin. If the boy is of regulation age, it will surely be another decade before you can be sure of any Questor talent, or indeed any mage talent, within the lad.
Let us assume that, by the alignment of the factors of fortune, the boy does hold the promise of becoming a Questor. You will then need to tread that narrow path we both know so well and, should Afelnor have enough power to shame his grandfather, it might all be for nothing in the end; the ways of blood are fickle and unreliable, and the boy might not even be suitable for assessment as a Reader, let alone strong enough in mind to become a Questor. If he is tried as a Questor and he proves unsuitable, more years will pass before you find his true vocation, if any. By that time, he will have reached the age where he can leave of his own free will.
Thorn licked his lips, determined not to back down.
The boy has great inner strength and will, Lord Horin, just as Loras did; I have seen him myself. His will is strong, and I am sure that Loras Afelnor wants him to persist until mastery, if he is able. He may become no Questor, but I am certain that he has the potential to carry the Staff in some guise, should he persist.
That is good, replied Horin, at once, but my needs are somewhat more immediate. In any case, you should think yourself lucky that I have decided to recommend to the High Lodge Presidium that your actions in Shelt were a mere miscalculation on your part. If you had another young Questor to offer us, I am sure he might be considered but, on this occasion, I think your new Questor, Dalquist, is just a little—shall we say?—'too hot to handle’ at the moment.
Thorn steamed, but he could not think of anything to say. All he knew was that Questor Dalquist would pay for this debacle.
Fear not, Horin continued. I am sure that Prelate Zhar will be able to assist me in the successful completion of this Quest. Thank you for your time, Lord Prelate. With that, Horin cut the mental connection between the two mages.
Thorn raged, pounding his fists again on the oak desk, and bouncing in his seat like a stotting antelope.
Damn Horin. Damn Zhar! Damn Mother! He had thought on his first accession to the position of Prelate that his post was a mere sinecure, but it had proved to be more arduous and frustrating than the most difficult Quest in which he had ever taken part.
Every High Lodge Quest that Thorn was unable to assist was another opportunity for that pathetic excuse for a mage, Zhan, to press home his own claim to pre-eminence. Brelor was a relatively new House, scarcely a century old, but it was in a far more prosperous district than Arnor, and parents were keen to send their brats there.
Arnor House, one of the most ancient in the Guild, high on its imposing mountaintop, and which predated the formation of the ruling body, was just too remote from civilisation. Thorn had spent several fortunes—although never his own, of course—in the expansion and beautification of the austere fortress, whose governance he might have inherited at the expense of Loras, but, to his regret, for little personal gain.
High Lodge is letting too many little fish into the pool, fumed Thorn. Once I have reached the ranks of Dominie, there will be a real shake-up in High bloody Lodge. I'll see and know who my real friends are, and I'll act accordingly.
Focus, he thought. Get Rufior on another Quest as soon as possible; the more hazardous the better, in order to be able to justify his advancement. Push him up the ranks with all speed. Even Horin will not deny Dalquist his status, if the boy successfully completes a sufficient number of dangerous House Quests for our common good. That should rehabilitate him in High Lodge's eyes, and then even our beloved Dominie should take notice of young Rufior. I feel sure the lad will not complain if he is sent on another Quest as soon as p
ossible.
It's all very well for Horin to chide Thorn for Arnor House's lack of young talent, he thought, but High Lodge is sometimes just a little too eager to grab my best new mages.
In the past decade, Thorn had lost eight promising mages to High Lodge, consisting of four Manipulants, two Necromancers, one Shapeshifter and one Weatherworker.
It had never occurred to Thorn to refuse High Lodge's requests, and, Thorn suspected, Horin was only to happy to boost his own ranks as long as Thorn played along. Thorn never considered the fact that this current tricky situation was of his own making, in his eagerness to put the Lodge in his debt.
The Prelate resisted the urge to throw the scrying crystal through the closed window.
Action, Virias, not anger!
Patterning his mind for Telepathy, Thorn sent out a call for Urel, the Senior Magemaster, and got back to his paperwork.
* * * *
"Ah, Urel, how are you?"
"Well, thank you, Lord Prelate. I am looking forward to getting to work on the new Students. I think I will make Kargan their Magemaster. He will work them hard, I am sure."
"How fare your Neophytes and Adepts these days, Urel? Are there any good prospects?"
"Pollo Virida should make Necromancer within the space of two months. He is only forty-seven years old, too. It also looks as if Ujal Ribal will be ready soon to try for the Breaking Stone. Yura Shuva expects to go to the Stone within the week. The Acclamation of two new Shapeshifters is something to be proud of, Lord Prelate."
Despite himself, Thorn was impressed. Shapeshifters were highly regarded by the Lodge. “Indeed, Urel, you have done well. What of Erek Garan, though? Will you make a Questor of him?"
"I am confident that Garan has the power and, at fourteen years, he is the perfect age. He is intelligent and hard-working, and nothing is too much trouble for him. However, I am no longer convinced that he is mentally strong enough. I would like to take a little longer to be sure, but I think he might be more useful as a Scholar. His insights and his application are remarkable in one so young."
The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster [Book 1: A Mage In The Making] Page 11