Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

He did not even understand many of the rules; whatever 'unnatural practices' were, he had no idea, and Grimm wondered if they involved play-acting. He was extremely well read for a boy of his age, but words like 'narcotics', 'impropriety' and 'insubordination' were beyond him. How could he obey the rules if he didn't know what they meant? He was in trouble before he had even begun as a Student.

An unbearable weight of despair began once more to descend onto the boy's narrow shoulders, and another sob escaped his lips. Why had Granfer sent him to this place, so heavy with pomp, ceremony and regulations, where most of the boys came from families rich beyond Grimm's wildest dreams?

At least, if he had been sent to the local school, he could have mixed with other boys like himself, boys from working families like his own. He knew how his grandfather loved him, but the idea that the kindly, grizzled old smith could willingly send his grandson to be immured in such a stark, lonely prison for many years was beyond Grimm, and tears of self-pity began to well unbidden from his eyes.

Lost in misery, with endless unanswerable questions flying endlessly around his mind like balls in a frenetic billiards game, Grimm started at the sound of a knock at the cell door. He did not expect Doorkeeper back for some time yet. He composed himself, managing to utter a faint and tremulous "Come in".

The door opened with a weary-sounding creak, to reveal a tall man of maybe twenty-five years. Long, dark hair tumbled down over the visitor's shoulders, and his calm face was framed with a neatly-trimmed, brown beard.

He wore simple, brown, homespun robes like Grimm's, but he bore an ornate, blue metal ring on his marriage finger and a six-foot, brass-shod staff, which the boy now recognised as the outward marks of a mage. Grimm expected a thundering bass voice to issue from the man's lips, but he was pleasantly surprised by the gentle tones he heard.

"Doorkeeper told me there was a new charity boy; we're few and far between in this august establishment, so I thought I would take the opportunity to introduce myself: I am Questor Dalquist Rufior."

Grimm gave a deep, stiff bow.

"Lord Mage, I am Grimm Afelnor. I am pleased to meet you, sir."

The words were stiff and grave, betokening the formality of a rote-learned phrase. Dalquist noted the telltale, grubby spoor of tears extending from the lower margins of the boy's eyes. It was plain to the Questor that Grimm was still struggling to control hot, roiling emotions.

Dalquist smiled warmly. "There's no need to call me either 'Lord Mage' or 'sir', Grimm Afelnor. In truth, I have been a Mage Questor only a month and, since I have no Quests to my name yet, I am still a Questor only in name. Please call me Dalquist, and only that.

"Doorkeeper asked me to visit you because I was once a charity boy like you, and I know just how you feel. You feel betrayed and impossibly alone, don't you, Grimm? All those rules and regulations that apply only to you seem too much to bear-am I right?"

Grimm nodded, and the ghost of a faint smile began to creep across the boy's face before being suppressed.

"It's all right, Grimm," Dalquist said. "I don't remember any rule in the book about charity Students either smiling or enjoying themselves. I know everything seems horribly unfamiliar and forbidding to you now, but I promise you that this will change."

Dalquist pulled himself to his full height, cleared his throat and opened an imaginary scroll. "Rule 17.4.3, paragraph C," he boomed. "Charity Students will smile and enjoy themselves whenever the mood takes them, even if they think it looks better if they wallow in misery instead."

A genuine smile began to emerge on Grimm's face. "It doesn't say that in the book, Dalquist. You're teasing me!"

"That's one of my rules, Grimm, not the Scholasticate's. You can be miserable if you really want to; there will be plenty of time for that later on. Even the Prelate and the Presidium have no power to stop you from going around looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm if you're determined to suffer. Feel free to mope and grizzle if you wish, and then you will find that nobody wants to be your friend.

"I can't pretend you'll be happy all the time here, but you must make the effort not to take depression as your only companion. Believe me, I know that fellow of old. After a while, depression becomes almost a comfort; when that day comes, you'll find he soon becomes a stricter and more domineering master than anyone in the Scholasticate.

"When you wake in the morning, don't expect the day to be dull and miserable; just take it as it comes. You may believe it or not, as you choose, but the simple fact is that even some of the paying Students will be as unhappy as you are at being sent away. It's true they can go home twice a year, while you will have to stay here, but they have left their friends and families behind, just as you have.

"You may find you have more in common with those boys than you think, and some of them will become your friends, as unlikely as it appears right now.

"In a few days, the other Students will begin to arrive, and the Magemasters and the other mages will return from their retreats. I know then you'll begin to find this a busy and interesting place."

Grimm proffered only a faint smile, although he could feel a real, wide grin trying to emerge. He knew what self-pity was, and that, unwittingly, he had been wallowing in its depths.

"I'm sorry, Dalquist. I will try to be happy."

The mage shook his head slightly. "No, Grimm, you don't understand. Trying to be happy never works. Sometimes you will be happy; sometimes you won't. Just don't ever, ever, try to be sad. Sometimes you won't be able to avoid misery, but that will happen much more often if you go looking for it.

"There, now, could that really be a genuine smile on that boy's face? Surely not; our new Student, Grimm Afelnor, isn't allowed to smile, is he?" Dalquist punctuated this last with a mock-stern stare.

Grimm giggled and his mouth, overruling his self-imposed misery, crumpled into a genuine smile at last. "That's silly. Nobody wants to be sad."

"Well then; in that case, we don't need to talk about it any more, do we?"

The small boy vigorously shook his head, the point taken. Then, with an abrupt change of subject, typical of a child his age, he asked, "Why aren't you old, Dalquist? I mean really, really old?"

The mage knit his brows for just a moment, and then his face cleared.

"If you mean I'm very young to be a mage, that's true, Grimm," he said. "That's because I'm a Mage Questor. Questors don't take as long to learn as other magic-users because they make their own magic. We aren't so much taught as… encouraged to develop.

"Other types of mage take much longer to win the Staff, because they have to learn a separate incantation or thought pattern for each enchantment."

"I didn't know there were different sorts of wizard… mage, that is," Grimm said. "I think I'd like to be a Questor, too, if it's that quick. My Granfer was a Questor," he added with a tinge of newfound pride.

Dalquist laughed. "Most Students feel the same way once they find out about Questors, for that reason above all," he said. "But I'm afraid it's not up to you, Grimm. Only the Magemasters can determine what sort of mage you'll become, if any. A lot of Students never become full mages at all, mostly because they give up."

The mage's expression darkened a little. "In your case, Grimm, failure to become a mage isn't a very appealing option, believe me. As a charity boy, you have to work off the expense of your tuition before you can leave, either as a mage or as a House servant. I really don't think you'd enjoy life as a House servant at all.