Alastair Archibald: Truth and Deception

Numal's face cleared. "Of course; I remember now. My companions were Adept Herbalist Funval and Adept Alchemist Malwarth. Malwarth's first Staff shattered on the Stone, and he is working to build a second. Funval is also working hard on his own."

The new mage's eyes flicked towards Grimm's staff with its five rings, and Grimm saw the ghost of envy flitting across his face.

Grimm did his best not to cringe with embarrassment; the early maturation of Questors was a bane to many mages, who studied for decades to achieve mastery.

Numal must have noted the young man's discomfort. "I'm sorry, Questor Grimm. I know little of what you Questors go through, but I've heard it's no picnic. I shouldn't envy you your youth."

The price of Grimm's early Acclamation was a long, lingering glimpse into the abyss of insanity, into which he had so nearly fallen. It was not something he would wish upon anybody.

"Don't worry, Brother Mage," he said, shrugging "I'm getting used to it… almost."

A long pause ensued as the two mages looked at each other, until Numal broke the impasse.

"Questor Grimm, would you care to attend my little ceremony tonight? We Necromancers are a solitary lot, and there won't be many friendly faces there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Grimm declared, smiling.

"Excellent," Numal said. "I'll ask Doorkeeper to set you a place."

"Thank you, Necromancer Numal, I'll make a point of being there."

The black-clad man fidgeted a little, as if uncomfortable. "Please, Questor Grimm, just call me 'Numal'. I won't feel like a true mage until I have that first ring on my staff."

Grimm nodded. "In that case, please just call me 'Grimm', Numal," he said.

"Well met, Grimm," the skull-faced mage replied, looking a little sheepish. "Look, I'm sure an important man like you has a lot to do, so I mustn't take up any more of your valuable time."

Grimm smiled again. He knew just how useless Numal must feel, waiting for the cheery, drunken ordeal of his Acclamation feast after years of solitude and study. "Not at all, Numal," he said. "I don't have anything planned today. As a matter of fact, I'd be very interested to hear just what you Necromancers do; it's not a Speciality I'm familiar with."

Numal shrugged. "It's not a craft many people like to hear about," he admitted, "but it isn't all bones and entrails, I assure you. For my part, I'd love to hear more about you Questors. Magemaster Crohn didn't tell my class much about you."

"Or mine," Grimm admitted. "Why don't we go to the Refectory and chat for a while?"

****

Since the Refectory was out of bounds to humble Students except at specific times, Grimm knew it would be relatively quiet. Although it was open indefinitely to Adepts and certain Neophytes at advanced stages of their training, Grimm felt no surprise to find the area deserted: such boys and men tended to devote long hours to their studies.

With a sigh, Numal lowered himself into one of the comfortable seats in the more opulently furnished area of the Refectory, an area which Grimm, as a former charity Student, had been denied for most of his time at the House. It still felt a privilege to be there, as he sat on the opposite side of the expensive, marble-topped table.

"So, Numal, would you tell me a little more of your craft? I know it involves dead bodies, but little beyond that."

Numal stretched; a sinuous, languorous movement, flexing his slender hands with a carronade of popping joints. "It's not really about dead bodies at all, Grimm, but departed souls. A soul leaving the body remains connected to it, by what we call the 'silver cord', for some time after death. The cord stretches away from the body until the soul becomes aware of its death."

The Necromancer's eyes turned blank for a moment, and then he laughed. "I don't have to tell you anything about that, of course. Anyone who's ever undergone astral projection, like you have, knows all about the cord."

Grimm blinked, confused. "Why do you say that, Numal? I've never astrally projected in my life."

"Yes, you have, Grimm," Numal insisted. "We Necromancers have a keen eye for details of the aura unknown to most mages, and your cord shows that you have visited the astral plane on at least one occasion in the recent past. You must surely remember. I'm told it's an unforgettable experience."

A Guild Mage's aura was supposed to be sacrosanct, and it was a breach of protocol to use Mage Sight in such a manner without the mage's consent, but Grimm barely noticed the unwonted intrusion.

The young Questor shook his head. "I'm not lying to you, Numal. We Questors are not taught specific techniques and spells; we have to generate them as required. I have never cast a spell of astral projection."

Numal laughed: a strangely human sound, at odds with his forbidding appearance. "Have you ever had a dream that seemed particularly intense?"

"Yes, Numal: many times, particularly during my Ordeal," Grimm said, shrugging.

The Necromancer shook his head. "I mean a dream that seemed more real than reality itself. A dream in which you found yourself floating towards some kind of destiny, as if guided by some external force."

Only one dream seemed to fit the bill: Grimm's terrifying night vision of the bloody corpse of the witch-nun, Madeleine, being eaten in a bizarre ritual in the catacombs below High Lodge. A ritual over which Lizaveta, the Prioress of the Order of the Sisters of Divine Serenity, had presided. Grimm had assumed it had been no more than a hideous nightmare. All he could do was nod; rational speech seemed beyond him as the ghastly visions returned to him in full measure.

"That was no dream," Numal declared. "Your soul was drawn towards that event by some bond between you and another soul or place."

It was true: Grimm had been ensorcelled by Madeleine, and he had discovered her in her treachery. Nonetheless, he had still harboured feelings for her, and he had hoped that her punishment would not be too severe. He shivered, unwilling to pursue the matter further.

He cleared his throat, although not his troubled mind. "Very well, Numal. I accept what you say: perhaps I have travelled on the astral plane."

"You didn't like it, eh?" Numal said. "Not everybody does, if they are called."

Grimm pushed his growing worries to the back of his mind. "You can talk to dead people, I believe, Brother Mage?"

"I can, but not very well, Grimm," Numal admitted. "Higher-rank Necromancers can find the signatures of a departed soul in a rotting corpse or even from a whitened skeleton, and they can contact it through the void between this world and the astral plane. My main talent is in augury: the prediction of the near, almost-inevitable future from the study of chicken gizzards and bulls' entrails, and I'm not even very good at that, yet."

Grimm could not tear his thoughts from the awful scene of that night of High Lodge. An evil cult existed at the heart of the Guild's ruling body, protected by the Lord Dominie from any persecution or harm. Something must be done about this heinous situation!

As the Necromancer again opened his mouth to speak, Grimm made a cutting motion with his right hand. "I'm sorry, Numal, but I do have a few tasks to complete before tonight. Would you be so kind as to excuse me?"

"Of course, Grimm. You must be a busy man. Just one thing: before you go, do you have any advice for me on how to conduct myself at tonight's revelries?"

Despite his burgeoning unease, the young Questor managed to raise a smile. "I'd advise you to cast the Minor Magic spell of Stability on yourself, followed by a charm of Clarity. Simple enough hexes, but they'll pay dividends. Better still, cast them on your Staff; use spells of the Third Class on it-they'll work just as if it were a person."