"I am not interested in some commonplace Scholar, Urel, I want a Questor!” Thorn snapped.
"They are not known to fall from trees, Lord Thorn.” Urel was a strong-willed man of considerable presence, and he was not one to back down if he believed he was in the right. “We are talking about a difficult and dangerous procedure applied to a real, live, adolescent boy. I would not proceed unless I felt very confident of success. I am not at all confident on this occasion."
"Do not presume to tell me what makes a Questor, Urel. I have seen Garan, and I am confident. You are a good Magemaster, but you are an Illusionist, not a Questor. You also do not understand politics as I do.
"I am the person who deals with High Lodge, not you, and I tell you that I need another Questor. As a Mage Questor, I believe Erek Garan is ready, and I instruct you at least to prepare for his Ordeal. He enjoys music, I believe. That will give you something to work on."
"I will do this only under protest, Lord Prelate.” Urel stood his ground well.
"Your protest is noted, Senior Magemaster,” Thorn replied. “However, this is not a democracy. I order you to come up with a suitable plan of attack and report back within the month. Make this a stiff Ordeal, brutal if necessary, for we cannot wait much longer."
"Very well, Lord Prelate, I will do as you command, but, as I have said, I will go further only under protest."
"Protest as you will, Urel,” the Prelate snapped, “but kindly do as you are bidden. The rewards justify the risk."
"I suspect that Erek's parents would not agree, were they still alive."
"However, they are not still alive, Magemaster,” Thorn shot back, trying hard to control his rising temper. “I am Erek Garan's father now and, like a father, I will be duly proud of him when his Staff rebounds for the third time from the Breaking Stone. On that day, I suspect that even you will consider these privations worthwhile."
"May I remind the Lord Prelate that this House does not revolve around Questors?” responded Urel, obdurate as ever. “We have a duty to all mages, Adepts, Neophytes and Students here. I have a duty towards the well-being of young Garan, too."
"Whether you find satisfaction in the fact or not, Magemaster, the operations of this House do revolve around me. I have needs you do not, and cannot, understand. I have an urgent need for a Questor, and that is all that you need to know. That is all, Urel."
Thorn bent to his desk, effectively dismissing the Senior Magemaster from his presence.
Chapter 15: Song and Dance
Grimm was taking comfort in the books of the Library, as was often his wont, reading a fascinating tome concerning the fabulous achievements of the pre-Fall savants known as Scientists. They had learned to fly, to plumb the depths of the oceans and even to recreate long-dead creatures, all without the aid of magic. He was so engrossed in his reading that he did not notice a tall, young man entering the room.
As the newcomer gave a polite cough, the Student looked up to see an earnest, young man with blond hair tied back in a severe queue. A neat beard framed his jaw, and he wore simple, black robes, marking him as a poor boy like Grimm.
"They told me I'd find you here,” the stranger said, in a pleasant, friendly baritone. “My name is Erek Garan, and I am attempting, for my sins, to mould a motley assortment of cracked warblers and flat-footed hoofers into something that approximates a musical entertainment. I understand that you are quite a good singer. Would you be interested in trying for a part in the show?"
"I am Grimm Afelnor, Sir Erek,” Grimm said carefully, “and I would really like to help you any way I can.” The Students had been told to speak respectfully to their elders, and this was also firmly ensconced in the Rules.
"'Erek’ will be fine, Grimm. I'm no Mage or Adept. Until recently, in fact, I was a Student just like you. I'm a Neophyte, halfway between a cur and a Sir. Like a stray dog, I am more used to being addressed as ‘Hey, you'."
Grimm smiled broadly at Erek's cheery demeanour. Even without access to his Mage Sight, which he now knew would be considered impolite, he could tell this was an intelligent, good-humoured person who was slow to anger.
"Erek, I'd really like to sing with you, if I can,” Grimm said, pleased that this lofty Neophyte had chosen to approach a lowly Student. “I have a friend called Madar who's a very good singer, and another friend called Argand who can't sing at all, but I know he likes to dance. They're rich boys, but not at all snobby. Can they come, too?"
At that moment, as if they had been summoned, Madar and Argand burst into the room, dishevelled and muddy. “Grimm,” Madar cried, “You'll never guess what that idiot ... oh, sorry, Sir.” He broke off, noticing the presence of Erek.
"Breaches of Rules 1.7.1, 1.7.3 and 2.2.6, unless I am sorely mistaken,” intoned Erek, in a fair imitation of the glacial Crohn, as Madar, Grimm and Argand looked aghast, “but, maybe, if you don't say anything, I won't, either. I would, however, point out that some of the older Adepts take their afternoon naps in here, and they're not as forgiving as I am. Best to keep it quiet next time."
Grimm, remembering his manners, introduced Erek to his friends.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Madar, Argand,” Erek said, smiling. “I hear great things about you from young Grimm, here. Young talent should be encouraged. Will you accompany me to the assembly hall? I'm sure I can find you all something to do in the entertainment that I'm planning. Are you interested?"
With fervid nods of assent, the three friends followed Erek down the stairs and through the corridors to the assembly hall. On Grimm's first true day as a Student, his impression had been that the hall was small and cramped, due to the mass of people crammed into the room. Now, it seemed cavernous.
Numerous Students of varying ages milled about. Some of them sawed wood; others laid flat on the floor, painting huge canvases, and others practiced singing, dancing or speaking parts with companions in small groups around the hall. Grimm had never seen anything like it. It looked to be an exciting and fulfilling activity, and the sheer glamour of the enterprise held him spellbound.
Erek walked over to another boy of about the same age. Grimm could not hear what the two lads said, but he saw Erek gesticulate toward him and his friends.
The two youths moved towards the young Students.
"Gentlemen,” Erek intoned, as if addressing a gathering of grandees, “This is Akral Sharetz, the stage manager and talent scout for the extravaganza we hope to stage here. If you can impress him, he has agreed to find you parts for the entertainment. We don't have as many youngsters as we had hoped for, so you have a good chance if you are talented."
A loud crash sounded from the back of the hall. “Hey, Farral!” Erek shouted, “Be careful there, those props cost money!” He dashed off, leaving Grimm and his friends with Akral, an old hand of fifteen or so, with sandy-coloured hair and a restless, adventurous air.
Akral folded his arms across his chest. “Well, boys, let's see what you can do, shall we? Let's have your party pieces."
Confidently, Madar assumed the pose of a Shalian Bard, his left leg crooked at the knee, his right arm resting at a jaunty angle on his hip and his left arm curved above his head.
"This is a charming old melody called ‘I Met a Young Maiden at Buxom Fair',” he declared, for all the world like a worldly troubadour, winking at his small audience and starting to sing in a sweet treble that was at odds with the bawdy lyrics of the song. Grimm did not understand many of the words that flew so fluently from Madar's mouth, but he understood enough to know that the song was no genteel ballad.
Akral roared with laughter, and then clapped with enthusiasm as Madar finished the last stanza with a perfectly executed bow, sweeping an imaginary feathered cap from his head in a graceful arc.
"Well sung, Madar,” said the fair youth, his face pink from his laughter. “I would wager you never learned that ditty at your mother's knee!"
Madar shrugged. “My Uncle Tomas was a merchant sailor,” he said. “He picked up a
lot of different songs from his travels."
Akral stood for a few moments, his eyes closed and his right index finger pressed over his lips.
"I am sure I have just the part for you,” he said, his face clearing. “I would, however, advise you to restrain yourself from such ... pungent lyrics in the presence of the Magemasters! I do trust you have some more decorous songs in your repertoire?"
"A few,” Madar conceded.
"That's excellent,” Akral replied. “Now ... Gramm, is it? Ah, yes, Grimm. What do you have for our regalement; perhaps something a little more acceptable to delicate ears?"
Grimm racked his brain for songs. Clearing his throat, he said nervously, “I would like to sing ‘I Had a Little Dog'."
Madar gave an indulgent laugh. “That's a little child's song!"
Akral admonished him with a raised finger. “More suitable than your steamy offering at least, you young lecher.” Turning back to Grimm, he said, “Please, do continue."
Grimm had not sung the song for some time and, for a few panicked moments; he could not remember the lyric for the life of him. Then the first words, “I stopped outside a little shop", popped unbidden into his head, and the rest tumbled out of him like a waterfall. He had no idea of how well he had sung, but Akral applauded him at the end.
"The delivery was excellent, although you didn't really project.” Grimm blinked; he had no idea what Akral meant.
"Project?"
"I mean, you sounded a little nervous and insincere,” Akral explained. “Still, I am sure we can fix that. You're in."
Grimm felt a warm flush of pleasure and relief; he was looking forward to being a part of this noble enterprise.
"Your offering, please ... Argand?"
Argand performed a series of pratfalls and tumbles that soon had Grimm, Madar and Akral laughing at his apparent haplessness, veering from one near-disaster to another, but never quite losing control.
"That's excellent, Argand,” the older boy declared, when he had recovered from his own fit of laughter. “I'm sure we can find a place for you, too."
Akral inserted two fingers in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. All the boys in the hall looked up, and Akral waved his hand in Erek's direction.
Erek wandered back over and conversed quietly with his friend for a few moments.
Grimm could not hear what passed between Erek and Akral, but he saw them both nod.
Erek turned to the young Students and said, “I think we have some parts for you: Madar; you will take the part of a cheeky chimney-sweep called Banger. Grimm; you are a sad, tuneful urchin called Bowrite. Argand; are you happy to become a clumsy but faithful dog called Gagger. I trust you are happy with those roles?"
All three boys nodded eagerly, and Akral produced three thick sheaves of paper from a table at his side, giving one to each of them.
"Learn them as soon as you can, boys,” Erek said. “First rehearsal is in two weeks.” With that, he and his friend were gone.
Looking at his part, Grimm whispered to Madar, “I can't read music! How can I do this?"
"Easy,” said Madar. “I can teach you to read music as easy as you taught me that Sight thing. I've been reading music since I could walk. I'll get you through it."
The unmelodious Argand riffled through his part with some panic, as if expecting to find music littering the pages like so many flies on a summer window, but he sighed with relief at finding none. “I have to howl from time to time,” he explained. “I think I can do that!"
"All you have to do is sing like you normally do,” Madar observed, yelping as his friend punched him in the upper arm.
* * * *
The boys ran to the hall at every break to practice their parts in the entertainment. The show was scheduled for three months’ time and Erek had at last managed to assemble a cast with which he declared himself satisfied.
After a few more weeks, serious rehearsals began. Grimm revelled in the musical magic of the event, having a small but important part in the pageant. Madar had seemed to enjoy rubbing soot onto his Scholasticate-clean face, while Argand had relished rolling on the stage, uttering convincing, piteous dog-howls for his imagined, lost master.
Erek drove his charges with ruthless zeal, but Grimm did not begrudge the effort as he honed his performance to perfection. After many intense practice sessions, the cast was ready. Now, only two weeks remained until the production was revealed to the Scholasticate for the first time. Grimm could hardly wait until Kargan had finished another litany of runes to run to the hall. Madar and Argand were just behind him. Erek stood at the door, his face ashen.
"Erek, what's the matter?” cried Madar, his sweep's costume in his hand.
"There is no more practice, no more show. The entertainment will not take place,” Erek said in a monotone, as if reciting a tedious speech. Grimm could tell the Neophyte was hiding considerable distress.
"I have ... squandered too much time on this frivolity, to the detriment of my studies. I apologise for this, but your services will no longer be required."
Embryo tears glittered at the corners of Erek's eyes; Grimm knew this show had meant so much to him. Nonetheless, he admired the way Erek steeled himself to speak in a measured tone as was expected of a Neophyte, his previous banter and ebullience a distant memory.
"This is my fault,” Erek droned. “I am to tear up all the backdrops and destroy all the properties myself. Please give me your costumes."
The boys complied, although Madar's reluctance to give up his beloved sweep's rags was evident.
Erek squeezed his eyes shut, and his voice became harsh. “No more, do you hear? A Neophyte should not waste his time in idle frivolity. Thank you for your interest but, please, go!” This last was punctuated with a small sob, and Grimm found embarrassment competing for his attention alongside confusion and disappointment.
The Neophyte turned his back on the boys and picked up a hatchet lying on the floor of the Hall. He walked to the centre of the room with a determined stride and began to destroy the beautiful props and backdrops, all of which had been constructed with love and dedication, with a fervour approaching fury.
Grimm, fighting his own tears, turned and ran from the hall, not waiting to see if his friends were behind him.
Chapter 16: “A Regrettable Incident"
Kargan strode into Grimm's classroom with his usual boisterous manner, flinging his staff into the corner of the room with a loud clatter. “Staff, stand in the corner,” he muttered, and the brass-shod stick stood at obedient attention, heedless of gravity's insistent demands. The boys were impressed, since they had seen little real magic during their time in the Scholasticate.
The Magemaster turned to face them with an expression of smug satisfaction, either real or feigned; Grimm could not guess which. He slumped into a casual, almost bored, pose; one hand flat on the battered desk at the front of the class, the other resting on his hip, one leg crossed jauntily over the other.
"Gentlemen,” he breathed. “Now, you belong to me.” The words hung in the air, ominous and threatening, before Kargan's mouth twisted into its familiar, manic grin.
"I have the pleasure to be able to tell you,” he said, “that I am now the Magemaster of your form. For my sins, I will be responsible in person for your success or failure as Students, lowly slugs though you be.
"Lord Thorn has told me that there is altogether too much laxity within the Scholasticate, and I have been given the solemn task to eradicate it within this class. I wish it understood right now that I intend to work you to within an INCH OF YOUR BLOODY LIVES and then, perhaps, a further one-twelfth of a foot if you do not apply yourselves! I will not tolerate chattering, smattering, idling, sidling, gossip, banter or sloth!"
Erek could have done with you in his show, Grimm thought, dazzled by Kargan's vocal dexterity.
"I will have my eye on the jesters and the pranksters—yes, I am looking at YOU, Gaheela!—and I will come down HARD on anybody who does not gi
ve his utmost. NOW: IS THAT AS CLEAR AS THE MOST IMMACULATE CRYSTAL?"
The boys were, as ever, stunned by Kargan's sudden shifts from soft speech to shattering shouts, but a weak, dutiful chorus of “Yes, Lord Mage” arose from the class.
"Goooood,” Kargan crooned, his voice sounding as if it came from the far end of a long tube. “Perhaps then, Turel, you would care to amuse us all with your addle-pated recollection of the First Family of Runes, laughable though it may be."
* * * *
Kargan was as good as his word; the workload on the Students underwent a dramatic increase in quantity and depth. Grimm knew he was not alone in feeling as if his head would burst with all the studies on rune inflection, precedence, attributes from primary to tertiary, exclusions and modifiers, but, after a few months’ study, the Students all had a reasonable command of the First Family of Runes. They could recognise, pronounce and write them and, in his classes, Crohn had even given them some basic instruction as to how they were used in spells.
The Students soon learned that the forms of the runes alone were only a starting point. Different accents and joining-strokes could completely alter the sense of a spell, or render it impotent.
Kargan's classes now encompassed the singing of sequences of runes, and Crohn explained the vital importance of accuracy and clarity of voice in spell-cast-ing. A few months more, and the boys were capable of chanting simple spells, although mistakes were frequent, due to the hard pace at which the Students were being driven.
Crohn explained that no magical transformations took place, even when the chants were correct, because the marshalling and directing of psychic energy into magical form would not be taught until much later.
In a firm tone that brooked no argument, he told the Students that undisciplined children could not be trusted to use such power responsibly, and the consequences of miscast or ill-understood spells could be quite serious. However, the Magemaster demonstrated each of the spells with their full effect, levitating small objects, mending broken pottery and producing balls of coloured light from his fingertips.
The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster [Book 1: A Mage In The Making] Page 12