Good lad, Questor Grimm. Drink should lower your resistance.
Thorn's eyes ached and his body felt as limp as warm lettuce. He fell back in his throne, exhausted, and he knew despite his proud boast to himself, he was not the potent sorcerer he had once been.
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Chapter 9: Introspection and Investigation
Dalquist sighed, shut his book with a bang and rubbed his sore eyes, realising that he had just read the same paragraph three times without registering its contents. The sun's orb was bisected by the horizon, and the Library was now empty.
Tertiary Rune Structures in Translocative Applications would have proved a tedious and challenging book to the vast majority of mages. However, to a Mage Questor, a thaumaturge who could make his own magic without recourse to the strictly-regimented, pedestrian panoply of rote-learned runes, it was little more than sheer torture. Added to this, the Questor's mind was far from focused on his reading.
He considered how honoured he felt when Senior Magemaster Crohn requested that he become an Associate Magemaster: to any teaching Guild House, the Scholasticate was the very hub, the life-essence that sustained it. One of the most valuable contributions a mage could make to his House was to engage in the effort to turn callow, ignorant Students into full Guild Mages. However, the gulf between a Mage Questor and a practitioner of any other Speciality was enormous. Most Magemasters took decades to master the complex rune interactions governing their crafts, whereas Questors were free spirits, unfettered by the restrictions of a limited set of spidery characters, their only limits were those imposed by their imaginations.
No, he told himself. It's not studying these runes that's disturbing my concentration. It's Grimm.
Dalquist squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his left palm onto his forehead, as if this might clear his thoughts. He remembered Grimm as a frightened, insecure seven-year-old Student, trying to pretend that he had not been weeping. There had been power in his eyes even at that tender age, and also signs of great intelligence. Dalquist had led the boy to the very place in which he now sat, and Grimm had reacted as if all his birthdays had arrived at once.
Later on, there was a traumatised adolescent, recovering from his violent Questor Outbreak and so pleased to see his older friend. Dalquist spent many, many days and months with the new Adept, in the company of Crohn, patiently teaching the boy how to control and ration his thaumaturgic energies, so he could use his mind to open a door without smashing down the surrounding wall at the same time. Grimm had been patience and persistence personified, despite the trauma he had suffered.
Dalquist recalled the young First Rank Questor, his confidence growing every day on the arduous Quest to free the city of Crar from the influence of the demon lord, Starmor, his friendship with the senior mage burgeoning into a relationship of staunch trust and mutual respect.
Despite the seven nightmarish months of Questor Ordeal Grimm had described, far worse than Dalquist's own period of suffering, the young man turned into a stable, level-headed person, amiable and reliable. Yes, he had turned surly and vicious during the period of his unintentional addiction to the herbs Trina and Virion, but that had passed. Were the insidious pangs of drug withdrawal perhaps reasserting themselves?
Dalquist opened his eyes, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling without seeing. Indeed, Grimm's rages, while his body had craved the fumes of the mind-altering herbs, had been sudden and severe, but they had been uncontrolled, directed at anybody in his vicinity. On their meeting the day before, Grimm had seemed as companionable and placid as ever, until the subject of Lord Thorn's possible complicity in the indiscriminate application of a new, more vicious Questor Ordeal had arisen. Grimm then turned on his fellow mage, his most loyal ally, Dalquist Rufior. The change in his demeanour had been startling, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl as he extolled the virtues of the House, the Guild, and of Lord Thorn in particular.
This was not the Grimm Afelnor Dalquist remembered, but a pale imitation with Grimm's face: a marionette dancing at the command of another.
A single, muttered word escaped his lips: "Thorn."
A shock of realisation flashed through Dalquist's brain like a lightning bolt, painful in its intensity.
It has to be Lord Thorn who turned Grimm in this way…
The only Mentalist within the House of sufficient skill to overcome the phenomenal, Ordeal-induced willpower of a Questor seemed to be Magemaster Kargan, and he seemed on good terms with his former pupil. Only another mage of the same calling or a potent Questor might even hope to achieve the feat. The only other Questors in the House, apart from Dalquist himself, were the doddering Olaf and the haughty Xylox.
Olaf was no longer the mighty thaumaturge he had been in his youth, and Dalquist could not imagine him prevailing in a contest of wills with Grimm.
On the other hand, Xylox could not be so swiftly dismissed as a candidate.
Dalquist knew Xylox and Grimm had been on far from good terms during their recent Quest, and the petty mage was just the kind to seek to instil in the high-spirited young Questor a sense of proper respect for his superiors. Nonetheless, Xylox the Mighty, despite his extravagant soubriquet, was notable for his parsimony, not least in the expenditure of his magical energies. Dalquist had once Quested with him, and he had lost count of the number of times he had been subjected to the man's censorious watchword: a true Questor conserves his strength.
Xylox, whatever his faults, was ever true to his dicta, and Dalquist could not imagine him expending a vast amount of thaumaturgic power just to teach a recalcitrant junior mage a lesson.
That left the Lord Prelate. At sixty years, Thorn was still young for a mage, who might reasonably expect to live to an age of a hundred and thirty years or more. He was a Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, with almost four decades of experience. Whilst it was not unknown for Neophytes and Adepts to be placed under spells of Compulsion to reveal nothing of their training to Seculars or Students, it went against all House protocol to place such a spell on a full Guild Mage, who might reasonably be expected to fulfil his sworn Oath under all circumstances. Loyalty to the House and the Guild was burnt into all magic-users at an early age, but by more conventional means.
Dalquist rubbed his chin.
Just what are you trying to imply, Rufior? he chided himself. Why would Lord Thorn feel the need to impose his direct will on the House's most junior Questor?
This is going nowhere. I need more information. For example: has the Questor Ordeal really been increased in severity since my day, or could Grimm have been exaggerating?
Senior Magemaster Crohn might be the key. He had been Grimm's personal nemesis during the Neophyte's Ordeal. Had he been suborned to exceed the normal bounds of discipline in order to produce a new Questor at all costs, or had it been his own idea? It would require the height of tact and diplomacy to discover the truth from such a senior and well-respected mage, but Dalquist believed himself equal to the task. He was an experienced and careful mage, and he was not about to raise major ructions in the House, based only on vague suspicions and doubts.
****
Dalquist located Crohn, at last, in one of the Scholasticate classrooms, wading through a tall pile of papers. It could not be denied that the man was a dedicated and thorough educator.
The Senior Magemaster looked up, and his face brightened as he rose to his feet. "Questor Dalquist, how may I help you? How go your studies?"
Although the Questor's mind was turbulent, he remembered his Mage Speech. One of the advantages in this formal, cumbersome mode of discourse was that the slow, wordy manner of delivery gave time to think of just what to say.
"None too well, I fear, Senior Magemaster. As you may imagine, I have already forgotten much of what I learned about runes."
Crohn wagged an admonitory finger. "That is the trouble with you Questors: in one ear, and out of the other. I would remind you that we have an urgent need for more Mage
masters; or would you prefer to pollute Arnor House with unorthodox-thinking Outsiders?"
Dalquist smiled and shook his head; it was, as Grimm had averred, impossible to imagine this irascible old man as a heartless sadist, despite his irascible, mercuric nature.
"No, Magemaster Crohn, the post should remain within the rolls of the House. I still wish to persevere in this. I know how important it is to provide a good education for our Students."
A lively discussion ensued, as the two mages deliberated over niceties of education. Dalquist bided his time, hoping to make his visit appear natural and unforced, but he was just waiting for a hiatus in the conversation to present itself.
At last, Crohn fell silent in his discussion of Scholasticate minutiae, and the Questor saw his moment.
"Senior Magemaster Crohn, I have, as you may well imagine, an abiding interest in the methods by which we turn our young proteges into Questors. Naturally, such a technique is used only on charity cases, but I note that our rolls for the coming year include many more such Students than we have had for many a season. I therefore wish to ask you if there are any new innovations in this field. I am well aware that this particular discipline is not within my current purview, but I feel strongly that I might now be well employed in this specific, important subject."
Crohn blinked. "My apologies, Questor Dalquist; exactly what is it that you wish to know?"
"Does the House now have a different policy with regard to potential Questors than it had in my year? I note that Questor Grimm, for example, under your tutelage, rose to the rank of Mage Questor in seven months, whilst my own Ordeal lasted two years under Questor Urel. Is some new method being employed?"
Crohn sneezed, as a fly flew under his impressive nose. "My apologies, Questor Dalquist," he said, regaining his habitual composure. "I must say that I am not sure such a disclosure is appropriate for an Associate Magemaster."
"What of an Associate Magemaster who is also a Questor of the Seventh Rank?" Dalquist demanded, raising the stakes. "With the greatest respect, Senior Magemaster, what do you know of the especial problems of a Neophyte Questor? Who better to bring him to the peak of performance than another Questor?"
"So?" Crohn sounded cautious, guarded in his response. The omission of Dalquist's name and honorific was more than sufficient evidence to the Questor of the senior tutor's disquietude concerning the subject.
Dalquist affected a light-hearted laugh, hoping to disarm Crohn."Senior Magemaster Crohn, I do believe that you doubt my motives in this regard!"
"Very well, Questor Dalquist," Crohn said, after a considerable pause. "I can see the rationality in your suggestion, and I would welcome your insight into the Questor psyche, should a suitable candidate become available."
The Questor chose his next words with care. "I wanted to ask you about that, Magemaster. Of course, I am well aware that only Neophytes with charitable status are considered, but how are such boys chosen from amongst their peers? As a Questor, I may well be able to aid you in selection."
"Naturally, the most powerful youths are chosen," Crohn said. "Intelligent boys, and the most diligent and determined of Students."
The Questor found Crohn's statement somewhat glib and uninformative. Although it might be considered the height of discourtesy for one mage to scan another's aura, especially that of a senior practitioner of the Art, Dalquist had no need to resort to his Mage Sight to determine that Crohn was holding something back. The Magemaster seemed to be avoiding eye contact, despite his normal, level gaze, and he tapped the brass head of his Mage Staff into his left palm in a distracted fashion.
"Are they the only criteria for selection, Magemaster Crohn? It seems to me that emotional stability would also be a prime factor. It seems to me that a flighty or emotional lad might pose a serious risk."
The older man's left palm reddened as he increased the rate and force of tapping, and Dalquist knew Crohn was wondering just how much he could safely reveal. An unfavourable word from Crohn to Lord Thorn could make life uncomfortable for even a Seventh Rank Mage, but the Questor believed the Senior Magemaster was, at heart, a just and decent man. Crohn might have put Grimm through hell, but Dalquist no longer believed the old magic-user was an unthinking sadist.
To Perdition with it! Let's see just what it takes to persuade Crohn to talk.
In fact, a pair of words sufficed: "Erek Garan."
Crohn's eyes widened, and the tapping stopped. "Just what do you know about Neophyte Erek, Questor Dalquist?" His voice was just a shadow of the stern, commanding tone he must have intended, and his face looked haunted.
"Senior Magemaster Crohn," Dalquist said. "I suspect I understand why this subject disturbs you. Would you care to sit down, and may we forget Mage Speech for a while? It tends to cramp my mind."
Crohn looked around him, as if he guessed some unseen spy were watching and listening from the shadows but, with an anguished look on his face, he nodded and slumped into his seat. Dalquist dragged a chair over to the desk and sat opposite him.
The old tutor swept a trembling hand through his mass of white hair. "It has been preying on my mind," he confessed, as if a great load had been lifted from him. "It would be good to discuss my fears with someone else."
Dalquist leaned closer to Crohn, his tone soft and conspiratorial. "I believe Erek Garan was totally unsuitable as Questor material and that, in times past, he would never even have been considered for the Ordeal. Magemaster Crohn, I think there's something sick in the heart of this House."
There: it was out now, and there was no going back. To Dalquist's immense relief, the Senior Magemaster just nodded in dumb acquiescence.
Is the old man just a good actor?
The younger man felt tempted, more than ever, to scan the tutor's aura, but he restrained himself. He would play it by the book, even if other, more senior, authorities did not feel quite so constrained.
"Of course, I acknowledge the value of Questors to the Guild, and I owe my life to this place, Magemaster Crohn. I don't want to destroy Arnor House, still less the Guild. I'm no renegade or a traitor, I assure you. I want only justice here, Senior Magemaster; justice denied to that poor, artistic boy, Erek."
Crohn said nothing, as if he expected Dalquist to commit himself further before opening up any more than he already had.
The Questor's voice hardened, strengthened, without becoming any louder. "Grimm Afelnor told me about his own Ordeal, Crohn. What I went through was bad enough, but he endured a living nightmare no human being should be allowed to visit upon another.
"The Ordeal's changed, Senior Magemaster. From what I know happened to Erek, which is sketchy enough, and from the details of Grimm's seven months of torment, I believe that Lord Thorn no longer cares how many paupers are put through the Ordeal, as long as they're powerful enough, and I don't think he cares if they live, die or go insane. He's gambling with their lives and their minds, and I have good reason to believe he's casting a Compulsion on Grimm, right now.
"I think Thorn wants Grimm as his own, personal, human weapon, and that he's trying to mould his mind to this end."
Crohn looked shocked. "Do you realise what you're saying, Questor Dalquist? I allow that a mistake was made with young Erek, and I mourn his untimely passing. However, I have no reason to suspect foul play."
"Would you have selected Erek Garan to be a Neophyte Questor if the decision had been yours, Magemaster Crohn?"
After a long pause, the Magemaster shook his head, although he said nothing.
"You knew Senior Magemaster Urel for far longer than I did. Do you think that in flagrant disregard of Lord Thorn, he chose to drive such a boy into a state of terminal insanity?" Dalquist knew he was browbeating the old man, but he no longer cared.
Another shake of the head.
"Was it your own idea to push Grimm Afelnor so hard that he would either break out with catastrophic force or lose his mind?"
"Never, Questor Dalquist: on many occasions, I raised my objecti
ons to Lord Thorn, but he just reviled me as a coward, and threatened to replace me with a sterner Magemaster. I knew I was pushing the boy too hard, but I believed my Prelate when he said it was for the good of the Guild. No… I wanted to believe it. I was weak."
The old man squeezed his eyes shut, but Dalquist could not help but notice the lines of pain on his face, or the single tear that rolled down the side of his nose.
"It's all right, Crohn," he said, taking pity on the troubled man, extending his hand across the desk. Crohn took it in a firm grasp.
"I'm sorry, Dalquist," he whispered, bowing his head.
"Magemaster Crohn, I believe our Prelate is exerting his influence on a young, loyal Mage Questor, in order to use him as his own tool. To what ends, I cannot guess, but I suspect that Grimm's well-being is not among them."
Crohn recovered his composure and sat up straight, looking Dalquist in the eye.
"I agree that, if true, this situation should not continue, Questor Dalquist. What would you suggest?"
Dalquist felt almost amused: here was the august Senior Magemaster, seeking advice from a man many years his junior.
"I'll confront Lord Thorn with my suspicions on this Compulsion spell, Crohn. If any man can face down a Questor, it's another Questor. With regard to the lax selection of Neophytes for the Ordeal, I'd appreciate your backup. Would you come with me?"
Crohn stood up, his face clear, firm and concerted. "I will, Questor Dalquist. Shall we go to Lord Thorn's chamber now?"
"There's no time like the present," Dalquist said. "Let's go."
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Chapter 10: "I Haven't Been Quite Myself"
"No thank you, Questor Grimm. I think I've had enough. If I may say so, I think you have, too."
Grimm laughed. He felt in excellent humour, here in the spiritual home of the whole Guild. "Nonsense, Necromancer Numal. I'm fit as a fiddle. Go on, have another."
Numal looked edgy. "If it's all the same to you, Questor Grimm, I think I'll take an early night."
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