Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"Are you ready?” he asked, and Loras nodded.

Kargan accessed his power and began to cast…

The last few runes spilled from the Mentalist's lips, and he knew he had succeeded, his heart full to bursting with a sense of triumph and elation.

"You may open your eyes, Master Loras,” he said, with just a trace of smugness.

"Nothing happened, Mentalist Kargan. We haven't gone anywhere!"

Kargan's spirit form stood up, and Loras gaped.

"We are free of our bodies, and capable of drifting through your memories to wherever and whenever you desire,” the said Mentalist, as if outlining a summer picnic. “Where and when would you like to go?"

Loras also stood, looking down at his physical body with wide eyes. “An impressive spell,” he said. “Very well; I wish to travel to-"

"Don't tell me,” Kargan interrupted. “This is your spell. Just access the relevant memory inside the privacy of your own mind. Perhaps that will prove to you that I am not using some king of flashy subterfuge."

The small room faded and disappeared, to be replaced by an open field. Loras’ memory counterpart now wore an unrestricted shock of black hair that flowed over his back like a dark wave, and his lower face now bore a burgeoning, black beard. This younger Questor stood with a defiant, confident expression, his staff raised over his head in a two-handed grip. Beside him stood a slender, blond-headed man that Kargan did not recognise. This man, too, bore a staff with seven gold rings, and his expression seemed no less determined.

The blond man spoke, and Kargan realised this handsome young Questor was no less than Lord Thorn!

"If we succeed, this ought to get us into the Deeds of the Questors,” the younger image of the Prelate said, and dream-Loras nodded.

Kargan turned to see an advancing line of beasts. They were like dogs, but the size of horses, and their four-inch fangs dripped with foaming saliva. The Magemaster guessed there were forty to fifty of these hell-hounds, and they raced towards their human prey with astonishing velocity.

The dream-Questors stood their ground, unleashing their first spells when the beasts were about fifty yards distant, sending a pink shower of canine gore into the air.

"The vision is accurate,” Loras declared, although he seemed otherwise uninterested. “This confrontation was not recorded in any of the Guild's annals, as far as I am aware; politics intervened. I am convinced in the efficacy of your spell."

Kargan winced as the lead beast leapt onto dream-Thorn, only to be thwarted by what appeared to be an invisible ward. The dog-thing's claws skittered over the unseen dome's surface, and dream-Loras dispatched the animal with a potent spell of green fire.

"I suggest you take us to the night of the… incident,” the Magemaster said, unable to tear his eyes from the carnage unfolding before him. “Perhaps two hours before it happened?"

The bloody scene warped into the image of the Refectory at Arnor House, where dream-Loras sat opposite a middle-aged man. The older mage was somehow familiar, but Kargan could not place him.

"That is Questor Olaf,” Loras said, and the Mentalist nodded slowly, recognising the younger image of the now-grizzled senior Questor. “As I recall, we did have dinner together on that night."

Loras seemed to be taking the whole thing in his stride, almost enjoying the revelations of his youth as the two dream-mages discussed trivial House matters, including the results of a recent athletic tournament.

"I believe we should visit Lord Thorn's chamber,” the Magemaster said. “We may have to wait some time, but the results should be… interesting."

"Very well, Magemaster Kargan; Thorn's room is at the end of the West Wing corridor. Let us go."

The two mages, under Kargan's direction, walked through the intervening walls, up the stairs and into a dark empty room.

"What do we do now?” Loras asked.

"We wait,” Kargan said. “I hope this will be interesting and instructive."

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The Magemaster looked at the blacksmith, and he could have sworn that he saw traces of tears in Loras’ eyes. The former Questor must have caught the quizzical lift of Kargan's eyebrows.

"I never thought I would see the House again,” he explained. “If I am a little affected by this, it is because I was brought up here, just like you. When I was banished, it was as if most of my life had been stripped from me, along with my magic."

Kargan nodded. “I know what you mean, Questor Loras-"

"Master Loras,” the smith corrected him. “I am no mage now."

"My apologies, Master Loras; I know just what you mean. I may lose all this, too, and the prospect scares me more than I would have thought.

"I was just thinking, Master Loras,” he said. “At this very moment, I'm sitting in my cell in the Scholasticate, talking to an inanimate piece of wood in the hope it will come to life, and give meaning to my existence…"

Kargan brushed a bead of moisture from his left eye. “It didn't work."

He would have said more, had the door not opened at that moment. Both mages turned to see the dishevelled figure of Thorn entering the room. His long, blond hair and beard lay in disarray, and Kargan saw dark rings like bruises around the Questor's eyes.

The younger Thorn walked through him and sat on his bed, cradling his head in his hands; he was, of course, quite oblivious to the presence of these ghosts of the future. After a moment's pause, he extracted a bottle from under the bed, pulled the cork and took a long draught of the ruddy beverage.

Loras. gasped “What on earth is the matter with him?"

"I suspect he already knows what is to happen. He's just giving himself a dose of Gallorleyan courage before he acts."

"Thorn always did like a drink,” Loras said, “but I never saw him drink to such excess."

The prodigious amount of alcohol seemed to have had little effect on the younger Thorn. “Here's to you, old friend,” he muttered, raising the bottle to his unseen Brother Mage before downing its remaining contents at a single swallow.

He bared his teeth and drew in a sharp breath as the fiery liquid took hold, dashing the empty bottle against the stone wall and smashing it into a hundred glittering shards. His gaze was dull and fixed on the blue-gold Guild Ring on his wedding finger, twisting and turning it with his right-hand middle finger and thumb. After long moments of listless introspection, he looked up as if startled. Thorn rose to his feet and headed for the small desk near the far wall.

Both Kargan and Loras stood in rapt fascination as the scene unfolded before them.

Thorn took a small, green baize bundle from the desk drawer and brushed fragments of glass from the desk. He opened up the bundle to reveal a glowing, pulsing green orb, a twin to the one Kargan had seen in Lizaveta's chamber in High Lodge. With almost reverent care, he spread the baize out on the table and placed the globe at its centre, positioning his clawed hands on the luminescent crystal.

He stood in silence for several moments, nodding from time to time. At last, he spoke.

"Is this really necessary, Mother?” he said, his voice almost like that of a child in its plaintive, whining tone. “I mean, why Loras? He is my best friend in all the world… I am sure we can-

"Yes, Mother, I do appreciate your efforts on my behalf. Does it have to be tonight, though?"

Again, the strange, mime-like interval while his unseen interlocutor spoke. If the Questor's pained face was any guide, Lizaveta's reply had been far from conciliatory.

"Loras is my friend. If only-

"Yes; yes, Mother, I understand,” he said, his perspiration-beaded face a mask of abject misery. “Of course-I know this is all for my benefit-yes…"