Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

As he read on, he saw many plants and herbs that he recognised and others he did not, but even the humblest weed seemed to have significance far above his imaginings and his comprehension. Grimm was still engrossed in the book when the urgent peal of a bell sounded in his head, if not in his ears. With a start, he turned to see Doorkeeper towering above him.

"It is twelve o'clock. We must go to the Refectory now, young Grimm, or you will miss your luncheon. We can't have a growing lad missing his meals." Grimm had not been aware of the passage of time, and he realised that he had spent nearly two hours absorbed in the strange book.

"I'm sorry, Doorkeeper. The book was very interesting."

Doorkeeper glanced at the title of the volume that Grimm held, and he raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Isn't that book a little old for you? Surely you don't understand it all."

Grimm shook his head. "I just like the words. I know a lot of these plants, but I never knew that there was so much to know about them.

"Groundsel's good for bad dreams," he said, eager to relate what he had learned, "and blackweed can be used for colic. Bottle-spurge can be used in the… in the second phase of… of thaumaturgic group spells of the third order, whatever that means."

Doorkeeper could not understand why anybody might read for pleasure. The last time he had read an entire book was on the day before he was finally Acclaimed as a Mage, and that was just so he could be sure of what he had to do at the ceremony. Ever since that time, he had vowed with fierce determination to avoid literature whenever he could.

Muttering to himself, "Can't be good for the eyes," he led Grimm down the worn spiral staircase and into the corridor.

Dalquist was on his way through the great hall back to his own cell to engage in some study when an insistent tickle in his forebrain told him that Lord Prelate Thorn required his presence immediately.

His heart began to beat faster. This could be what he had been waiting for! Checking his reflection in the black sheen of the magically sharp Breaking Stone, he smoothed his brown beard and ordered his hair as best he could without the aid of comb or brush. When the Prelate called, one did not dally!

With a tug at his robes, he strode resolutely towards Thorn's turret, letting his staff, Shakhmat, bob merrily at his side in a jaunty manner of its own accord. After a few moments, he remembered proper mage protocol, took tight hold of the baton and assumed a more sedate manner. He would be on his guard, too, with his language. Formal Mage Speech would be the order of the day.

The tightly winding staircase was very difficult to negotiate whilst carrying a six-foot staff, which hampered him to a considerable extent, with Shakhmat clattering on the turret's stone walls every few steps, announcing his approach. It occurred to Dalquist that this might not be coincidental. Thorn must have chosen this tower as his sanctuary for this very reason: its defensible qualities.

Drawing a deep breath in an attempt to still his pounding heart, the young Questor knocked three times on the door and waited. A laconic "Come" issued from the inner sanctum and Dalquist entered the chamber. Closing the door behind him, he took two steps forward and stood ramrod-straight before the battered oak desk, Shakhmat at half an arm's length from his right side as he had been taught.

He stared straight ahead, trying not to be distracted by the occasional pink flash from Lord Thorn's bald patch as the Prelate scanned a number of papers in what seemed almost a studied show of indifference. After several minutes, the ruddy face lifted, and the Prelate locked his powerful gaze onto Dalquist's eyes.

"Thank you for coming, Rufior. Your name is Danquest, is it not?" The Prelate's tone suggested that he did not care one way or the other.

"Dalquist, Lord Prelate." The young mage did not dare to say more.

"Ah, yes, I thought so," Thorn drawled. "I never forget a name or a face." The Prelate's gaze dared Dalquist to comment, but the Questor remained mute.

Thorn adopted an almost avuncular manner, motioning Dalquist to sit in the comfortable leather chair opposite the Prelate. The Questor sank warily into the squeaking leather, trying to make as little commotion as possible.

Thorn put his hands together as if praying, his index fingers touching the tip of his nose, deep in momentary thought. After a few moments, he pulled a half-full bottle from a desk drawer.

"Would you care for a drink, Questor Dalquist? I have a fine brandy here."

Dalquist ached for Thorn to get to the point, but he dared not say so.

"No, thank you, Lord Prelate."

Thorn regarded with an unmistakeable look of longing at the bottle, but he replaced it in the drawer, unopened.

"A matter has been brought to my attention, Questor Dalquist; a serious matter, which greatly affects the House. I need the services of a good, loyal Questor to resolve it. Are you that mage?"

Dalquist could hardly bring the words out. "Certainly, Lord Prelate. I am honoured that you should have selected me for this role." He maintained an outward icy calm, but inside he was rejoicing. A Questor with no Quests to his name was nobody. After this, he would be able to walk with pride and look other Questors in the eye. He would also be entitled to bear the first gold ring on his staff, showing that he had undertaken a Quest for his House. He would also be on his way up the ladder to the coveted Seventh Rank.

Thorn considered further. "Could you kill a man if you had to, Questor Dalquist?"

Dalquist felt taken aback by the blunt question, but he managed a careful answer. "I find the idea distasteful, Lord Prelate, but I have been told many times that a Questor often needs to act without thinking, even if this includes killing. I am certain that I am capable of killing, if necessary, to defend myself."

Thorn managed a ghost of a smile. "What would you do if I told you that an unresisting man might need to be killed without posing a direct threat to you?"

Dalquist was a kind and considerate young man who loathed wanton cruelty, but he was not a normal man. Forged in the emotional heat and pain of a Questor's Ordeal, he had been coached, cajoled and coerced into obeying the orders of his superiors under all circumstances. The Guild and the House came first, and Thorn was the direct representative of both.

The young man was no mindless automaton, for a Mage Questor needed a quick mind and the ability to assess a situation at a moment's notice and act accordingly. Nonetheless, loyalty to the House was almost paramount among his drives. Lord Thorn would not be asking Dalquist to do this if he had not a good and pressing reason for it.

"I would not enjoy it, Lord Prelate, but I know that I could perform such an act if you required it of me in your capacities as Prelate and representative of the Guild." Only a small moue of distaste betrayed Dalquist's feelings. Thorn proffered a warm and almost amicable smile.

"It may not be necessary to do so, Dalquist. Indeed, I hope it is not; I have never developed a taste for homicide myself, but I have often had to commit it when duty demanded it. I leave the ultimate decision to you."

Dalquist looked a little discomfited, as well he might, but he had the good sense not to demur.

"However, a man needs to be removed from office and replaced by his younger brother; a man somewhat more… amenable to the House's philosophy. If the older brother will not see reason, it may be necessary to impose the ultimate sanction. However, if you can approach him closely and compel him to resign his post by the use of magic, then so much the better. One of the problems that you may have is part of the reason why I want him removed from office: he distrusts Guild Mages and does not allow us free passage through the town of Shelt, a town directly between here and High Lodge. It is irksome to have to ride around the town, and even more so to pay heavy tolls in order to ride through it. Our Lord Grall of Shelt has refused my entreaties to erect a Guild House in the town, and I feel that he will become an ever-sharper thorn in our sides as he grows in confidence. He has been almost openly flippant towards me on occasions."