Moisture twinkled in Drima's blue eyes, too, and her normally immaculate brown hair was a little tousled.
"Grimm,” she said, her voice husky, “I wouldn't have missed coming here for the world. You have never been out of our hearts; never. I am only sorry that your Granfer took ill a few days ago and was unable to come.
"Our young apprentice, Jirrl—you remember him, I'm sure—brought me here. He's gone into town to try the local ale and will come back in an hour or so. Let me look at you—why, you're taller than I am now!"
Grimm, embarrassed, allowed himself to be held at arms’ length and inspected by his grandmother whilst she assessed him. After a little chit-chat about his former hometown, which Grimm absorbed with rapt attention, Drima looked long and hard at her grandson.
"You haven't once enquired about your grandfather, Grimm,” she said, and Grimm started. “You know he's not really ill, don't you?"
Grimm, unsure how to respond, gave only an uncomfortable shrug.
"Men!” Drima sighed. “They think their wives are blind or stupid, and they think they can hide their feelings so well."
Grimm said nothing.
"I am perfectly aware that Loras yearned to come here,” she said, “but I always knew he would have to come up with some excuse or other. He thinks I know nothing of his life before I met him, but he's a fool, for all his intelligence, like all men; a fool I love with all my heart.
"Once, I saw Loras fondling the ring he tried to keep hidden, and I knew its significance; what it means to him. He talks in his sleep, too, may the Names bless him. For most of our life together, I've kept up the patient pretence of knowing nothing. I've always known it would break his heart if he ever thought I knew of his disgrace: the mighty Guild Mage who fell from grace; the powerful Questor; the Oathbreaker.
"I know very little about the details, and I don't want to know.
"All I do know is that the Loras Afelnor I married, and whom I have loved for so many years, would never break a trust or a solemn vow unless he felt he had no choice."
Drima drew the stunned, wordless Grimm close and hugged him again.
"Whatever he may have done, I know he would only ever have acted for the best reasons,” she said, holding Grimm in a firm, fierce embrace. “I want you to know that, too. If only you knew just how proud he is that you are a Student in his own Guild House! Sometimes, he almost seems to burst with pride when we tell people about you.
"We are both so proud of you, Grimm, and I know it is hard for you to be kept away from people who love you, but our hearts are with you always.
"The guilt Loras bears is not some trifling twinge that a habitual evil-doer might suffer, but the consuming, passionate pain of a good and honourable man who has been forced into something of which he is ashamed; something he cannot comprehend. Please work hard, and make the name of Afelnor shine again in the Guild. That would make both of us so happy."
Grimm's eyes filled with tears. He thought of his bear of a grandfather, a man who worked as hard as others half his age, but who was never to busy to listen to a child's questions or to soothe a hurt.
Often, Loras would refuse payment from poor people, or he would charge a price well below the going rate. It was Loras who would send anonymous parcels of food to people who had fallen on hard times; it was always he who was at the forefront of a search for a missing child. Such a man could not have an evil bone in his whole body, no matter the opprobrium placed on his name.
"Gramma,” Grimm said, fighting strong emotions, “I love you both. I know that Granfer is a good man, and I will work hard to become a good mage. It is hard for me here sometimes, but it will be worth it to make you proud of me."
"We're always proud of you, Grimm,” Drima said, her voice hesitant and her eyes misty. “Just do your best; that will always be more than enough for us. You're a good boy, and we love you so much. All I ask is that you work hard, and please don't tell your Granfer that I know some of his secret. It would hurt him so much, and I know you would never want him to be hurt."
"Don't worry, Gramma,” Grimm assured her, “I promise I won't say anything. I love Granfer as much as I love you. I wouldn't say anything to hurt him for all the world."
"In that case, Grimm, I don't think we need to say any more on the subject, do we? Please; do tell me about your friends and your teachers."
"Oh, Gramma,” giggled Grimm, “you should know by now that they aren't called teachers, they're called Magemasters.
"I have two good friends that I wrote about in my letters. One day last month, we started a new game here. It's called Scaffle-ball, and everyone's playing it now...."
* * * *
A whole hour passed whilst Grimm and his doting grandmother exchanged news. When Magemaster Crohn came to tell them that the audience was at an end, Grimm was surprised; it seemed as if only a few scant minutes had passed. The boy hugged his grandmother in a tight embrace and whispered, “I'll remember, Gramma. You can rely on me. I love you all."
Drima whispered back, with tears in her eyes, “We love you, too, Grimm. It may take a long time, but we know you will do your best. If you ever become sad, think of us. You can be sure we'll be thinking of you."
A heartfelt kiss, and the visit was over. Grimm went to his cell and read his grandparents’ letters for a while, drawing sustenance from the pages through his tearful eyes until the Refectory bell tolled its insistent chime. Eating seemed a chore, and he went to bed with a barely-satisfied stomach, but with a full heart.
* * * *
For the remainder of the winter break, he confined most of his reading to serious subjects. He studied the four main classifications of spells: Perceptive, Manipulative, Transformative and Translocative. The standard work recommended by Crohn was Thrumal and Thring's Principles of Thaumaturgy, and he devoured the dull tome with an intensity and interest he had never known before; he would make the Afelnor name shine again. When the new year began, he would work as he never had before.
Chapter 19: Defiance
Another year passed in almost frenzied activity, and another. Three more boys left and more study subjects were added, such as Basic Herbalism and Patterning. Grimm found himself with little time to think or meditate, and he only managed to keep pace with considerable effort.
The Students’ days were now so full of different studies that there was little time for petty animosities, and, since most of the boys were now skilled at one discipline or another, dissatisfaction and envy were dimmed. However, the reverse of this coin was that there was now little time even for friendships. Grimm's study and play sessions with Madar and Argand suffered accordingly, as they argued about which subject to pursue.
These arguments were normally nipped in the bud by the even-handed but ever more muscular Argand before they became too heated.
Grimm began to wonder, however, why the magical studies taught by Crohn and Kargan, which once had been foremost amongst the class's subjects, were now swamped by the more mundane disciplines of Courtly Decorum, Poetry and Languages.
The Students still practiced ever more complex ‘spells’ under Kargan, and Crohn still gave his monologues on the classifications and variations of magic, but they seemed to spend far longer with Faffel than with the other two Magemasters. Frustration grew as time went on, until one day when Madar nudged Grimm in class before Crohn's arrival.
"Grimm, we're all fed up with this courtly stuff,” the redhead declared. “Crohn seems to like you a bit better than some of us, so why don't you ask him when we'll start learning some real magic? You're good with words; I bet you could put it better than we could."
Several other boys concurred, and Grimm felt flattered that they would accept him as their spokesman. Once, he would never have dreamed of speaking up to the Senior Magemaster, but he had grown in confidence since his fight with Shumal Tolarin.
"All right, I'll do it,” he replied, with rather more self-assurance than he felt. “You lot had better back me up if he explo
des, though.” A vigorous series of nods decided the matter.
Three taps on the floor announced Crohn's arrival, as usual.
"Gentlemen,” Crohn boomed, “this afternoon, we will explore the thaumic resonances of runic groups of the Second and Third Families when combined...
"Yes, Afelnor, what is it?"
Grimm rose to his feet and stood before Crohn, his head lowered in a respectful attitude. The black-robed Magemaster towered over the boy like some huge crow.
"Lord Mage, I am sure that we all appreciate the wisdom and learning you give us,” he began, trying to be as diplomatic and deferential as possible.
From the corner of his eye, Grimm saw Madar give a slight but definite nod of approval, as if to say, "That's right, Grimm; butter the old fool up first!"
"I am sure that is not all you wish to say to me, Afelnor.” Crohn's voice was as cool as ice. “Out with it, Student."
Grimm licked his lips with a tongue that felt as dry as cured leather. “Lord Mage; we, that is, I,” he stammered, “feel we might all learn a little better if we were actually shown how to do some ... some real, practical magic, instead of just learning theory all the time."
Crohn moved to glower over the boy, who paled a little, trying to stand tall and unbowed before the Magemaster's baleful gaze.
Crohn's tone was low, often a sign of impending fury. “One answer, Afelnor,” he said in clipped, curt tones, “is that the Scholasticate curriculum has been developed over many decades, indeed centuries, by heads far wiser than yours. A shorter reason is that I am the Senior Magemaster, and you are not!
"How dare you presume yourself more knowledgeable than those who are your elders and betters? Perhaps you would prefer to complete your education as a cook's drudge or a scullery-boy? Believe you me, Afelnor, this can be arranged with ease!"
Inwardly, Grimm quailed, but he stood his ground. “If you will it, Lord Mage, then so be it,” he said, willing his voice not to tremble. “May I please be allowed to speak my mind?"
Crohn's eyes opened wide, and Grimm realised that he had delivered his words in a soprano version of the Magemaster's own voice, with not a trace of tremulousness. However, Crohn maintained his irate appearance and gave a grave, curt nod.
"Pray continue, Student."
"Lord Mage,” Grimm said, determined to maintain the correct, formal speech expected of a potential mage; he was certain this was the only way to persuade Crohn of the depths of the malaise and exhaustion that had subsumed his companions and him.
"I intended no disrespect or impertinence, Lord Mage. I do, however, feel that we would better appreciate and understand what we are taught if we were given a practical demonstration from time to time. As to whether I should be punished for my beliefs ... well, I am in your hands."
A gnat scratching its nose could have been heard within the classroom, but the silence seemed to thunder with implied applause from the other Students.
Crohn felt nonplussed by Afelnor's little speech, delivered with such self-assurance. The unyielding intensity in the boy's dark eyes was somewhat unnerving in one so young. It reminded Crohn of Loras Afelnor's steely Questor's gaze...
"And is this the opinion of all of you?” he asked, as much to fill the silence as for any other reason. The red-headed boy, Gaheela, raised his hand in affirmation, and most of the other boys followed suit. Crohn felt as if his eyes might fly from his head at any moment, striking some boy in the manner of a pair of his infamously accurate chalk projectiles. He knew he should not let such apparent mutiny go unpunished. Yet could he punish the whole class for an honest and forthright request?
What did the Afelnor boy demand that was so unreasonable? he wondered. I cannot respond just by saying that this is the way things are because this is how they have always been.
"Very well,” he said, after a long pause, “but you are not, I repeat not, to take this as a sign of some new, benign order. I will not be cozened or bullied, is that quite clear?"
"Quite clear, Lord Mage!” the Students chorused. Crohn did not fail to notice the broad smiles on the faces of several of the Students, but he chose to ignore the fact.
"I want it clearly understood,” Crohn said, “that you will learn spell-casting only when your appointed Magemasters decide and not before, and that is an absolute.
"As for a demonstration, attend."
Crohn stood before the class and steepled his hands. A chant similar to many the class had been taught rose from his lips, and a faint blue light began to coruscate around him.
Crohn could feel the normal mage's tracery of fine, yellow threads being drawn into his head, coalescing into a solid, golden mass as it did so. All of the mage's will and power had been directed to one end.
Slowly, the Magemaster rose into the air, still chanting, concentration etched in his face. He turned twice end over end, like a taper twirled in the fingers, and then descended again, landing on his feet. With a sigh, the Magemaster allowed the threads of power to disperse once more throughout his aura. He felt a distinct ripple of pleasure run through his body at the success of the complex spell he had just cast to perfection.
A ripple of applause rose from the class, with several muted cheers, and Crohn had to resist the urge to bow.
He cleared his throat to cover his confusion, regaining his accustomed pose as a cold, emotionless master of his own will. He turned his habitual, stern gaze on the Students, in control again.
"A relatively simple, even frivolous, use of the craft,” he barked. “Some of you, if taught too much in too short a time, would be tempted to try the spell yourselves; in truth, most of you lack sufficient power and all of you lack sufficient control.
"Know you that, had I transposed the runes Het and Terva in the fourth stanza, I would have slammed into the ground with great force instead of spinning gracefully in the air. I might have sustained considerable injury, not to mention embarrassment, had I made the least error in my casting.
"As another example, had I given the third instance of the rune Sha in the second stanza a straight downward inflection instead of an initial rising cadence, I should have hurtled upwards and through the ceiling and doubtless injured myself even more."
"I would also be guilty of the offence of wilful destruction of House property, since I would have been held accountable for attempting a spell without sufficient preparation.” Crohn punctuated this dry statement with a stern gaze that swept the room like the beam of a lighthouse.
"Even I, a Mage of the Seventh Rank, am not immune from such strictures. The least hesitation in the execution of the tertiary cadence would have given an unpredictable response, ranging from simple failure to my transportation to an unknown location, such as a desert or even the bottom of an ocean."
Crohn turned to Grimm. “Should any other of this class seek to question Scholasticate rules, he may well find himself at the bottom of an ocean, Afelnor; remember that. You may sit down."
Grimm returned to his seat, a little red-faced, but with the trace of a relieved smile on his face. He received appreciative nods from several of the boys. Crohn carried on as if nothing had happened, choosing to overlook this brief insurrection.
"The craft is not for the dilettante, or for the casual experimenter,” he said. “A more powerful spell, if misremembered or miscast, could well endanger the very soul of the caster. A miscast Healing may kill the patient or the caster. Failed Weatherworking may inundate the land or bring vicious tempests.
"For this reason, we test your ability to remember faithfully each chant, and to be able to reproduce it again and again, without the least error in cadence and pitch, no matter what diversions or frustrations are placed in your path. We teach you to see your own powers and to control them with ruthless efficiency in all circumstances.
"Each of these facets will go towards making spell-casters of those of you who have the gift, but you will not be taught how to link the two aspects of magic together until you have proven your talent.
"Should any here not be prepared to study what is allotted by the Magemasters, he may declare himself and leave now; for he has evidently neither the patience nor the diligence required of an Acclaimed mage. You will not be given further demonstrations of magic, gentlemen, and I will tolerate no further questioning of Scholasticate policy. You have had your fun, but it is over. I will not hesitate to discipline any Student who seeks a repeat performance. This is not a democracy, gentlemen. Either you accept the rules and strictures placed upon you, or you may consider a vocation outside this establishment."
Crohn folded his arms and glared at the Students. “Is there any boy here who will not give of his all, without question and without complaint? If so, you may speak now and save both of us much wasted effort and frustration."
The boys looked at the floor and made no reply. Crohn allowed uncomfortable silence to hang over the room like a funeral pall.
"That is well,” the Magemaster intoned at last. “Now, if we have all had our fun, perhaps we may explore the thaumic resonances of runic groups of the Second and Third Families when combined with root tones..."
Chapter 20: The Broken Instrument
Self-control and discipline; these had become the new mantras, the new watchwords for Grimm's class. Again and yet again, the boys practiced writing and chanting of the most obscure and complex spells under all kinds of conditions.
Sometimes Kargan would burst a paper bag behind a boy engaged in a chant. On one occasion, the boys took it in turns to intone chants in which they were proficient, whilst being spun around in a rotating chair and suddenly stopped at irregular intervals. Many boys became nauseous, and several vomited. Only a few, including Grimm, managed to hold on to their senses and the contents of their stomachs long enough to complete the chant with sufficient control and attention to detail. Grimm studied meditation techniques in the Library, so as to allow the divorce of his mind from his body at these times; these exercises proved very useful.
The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster [Book 1: A Mage In The Making] Page 15