Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

"Sounds complicated, doesn't it?" Kargan beamed like a madman. "It is. Yet this is one subject you will have to learn and understand before you take the ring. I did not lie: from the understanding of runes comes the whole panoply of performed magic and sorcery."

Kargan paused to let his words sink in, his head swivelling back and forth like an owl's as he scanned his stunned flock.

"Like music," he said, "if you do not have the ear for it, you may be able to scratch out a few simple spells by rote, but you will never become a spellcaster, any more than a tone-deaf urchin can play for the Gallorley Philharmonia."

A wide, seraphic grin appeared on the mage's face. "So let's see if any of you has a half-way decent ear. You're all going to sing for me!" Kargan's expression suggested that he had just offered the Students some marvellous treat, but some of the boys looked aghast.

What has singing to do with magic? Grimm wondered, and he could tell he was not alone in this thought.

Kargan turned to Madar, sitting at the right hand side of the front bench. "Stand up, boy! What is your name?"

In a tiny voice, the boy stammered, "M-Madar Gaheela, Lord M-Mage."

Kargan nodded, and his own voice reduced in intensity to a bearable level as he said, "Ah, yes; Gaheela. Your father would be Ahad Gaheela, the master trader? In that case, I trust you have inherited his love of music, and even a little of his talent. I heard him playing the violin when I was an honoured guest at last year's New Year Recital in Ayre. It was most moving!"

He regarded the boy with apparent respect, but he did not speak. As the silence became uncomfortable, Madar blurted, "I can play the violin, the vihuela, the trumpet and the dulcimer, Lord Mage. Last year I won a credential as First Cantor in the Preslor Abbey choir."

"EX-cellent!" crowed the strange mage. "Then I am sure you won't have any problem singing this little phrase. Sing it exactly as you hear it, and don't try to interpret it. We're looking for perfection here, Gaheela, not artistic impression."

Kargan produced a silver flute from his robes and played a fluent, liquid ten-second phrase with trills and strange intervals. After clearing his throat, Madar repeated it in a clear, strong voice.

Kargan nodded. "You may sit down, Gaheela, that was quite adequate." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Almost acceptable, in fact."

Grimm saw Madar stiffen, and he could tell his friend felt affronted. Nonetheless, the red-headed boy sat and said nothing.

Kargan played a different phrase to each boy, each of whom repeated the flute's notes with varying degrees of success. For some of the boys, Kargan had to repeat the phrase several times, each time with growing impatience. To those who performed well, Kargan offered a humorous mock-insult or faint praise, but Grimm could see that they were actually tokens of affection. Boys who had no ear for music were merely thanked and asked to return to their seats, and Kargan made no comment on their lack of musical talent. After half an hour, he reached the boy on Grimm's left. Grimm noticed that Madar turned and offered Argand a friendly but mournful grimace.

"And your name is?"

"Argand Forutia, Lord Mage"

"How's your singing, Forutia?"

"Lord Mage, I don't know. I have never sung."

"WHAT?" Kargan's eyes were wide and his jaw slack. "A boy who has never sung?" The Magemaster's expression suggested that he considered this the worst misfortune that could possibly befall a child.

Shaking his head, the mage seemed to gather his composure once more, and he spoke in a more reasonable tone. "Well, then, Forutia, now is your time to start! Please sing this."

He played another phrase on his flute. The boy took a deep breath and began to sing. Or rather, he began to recite in a rhythmic monotone. His timing was fair, but the single note Argand seemed able to produce hovered achingly distant from any note or interval in any standard musical pitch. Kargan stood aghast. Apparently misinterpreting the Magemaster's expression, Argand began again on a different droning delivery with no greater musical merit than the first.

"Thank you, Forutia. Thank you; that will be quite enough, Forutia! ENOUGH! STOP! DESIST! CEASE!" cried Kargan in ever-growing anguish, as Argand continued to struggle with the phrase.

Poor Argand looked distraught. Granfer Loras had told Grimm of people who never understood singing; that, to them, it had always seemed a rather contrived poetry. Grimm had not quite believed him at the time, but he did now.

Closing his eyes and shuddering for a moment, it seemed that Kargan had decided to take pity on the boy; Argand had obviously tried his best, even if the result had been less than melodious. "Thank you, Forutia," he croaked. "Perhaps your talents lie in other directions. You may sit."

Argand descended to his seat, wiping sweat from his brow as one or two sniggers arose from the anonymous depths of the class. Kargan stamped his foot and glared, his face pale except for a pair of bright red spots on his cheeks. This was no mock-fearsome pretence but a face suffused with true anger. "I will have no laughter in my class at another's misfortune!" he boomed, and Grimm could now tell the difference between Kargan's play-acting and his real emotions.

"I imagine that many of the rest of you have ears little better than our friend Forutia's," the Magemaster hissed. "Let it be known that I detest smugness and self-satisfaction, and I WILL NOT TOLERATE IT IN MY CLASS! I will have RESPECTFUL SILENCE in this class unless I ask for comment! Is that clear?"

Kargan stood with his arms akimbo, a picture of fury. "I asked if that was quite clear," he said in a low, threatening rumble.

"Yes, Lord Mage!" The Students' reflexive response rang out as if uttered by a single voice.

The mage grunted and turned to Grimm, who stood, now feeling a little sheepish at having wanted to cover his ears at Argand's unmusical eruption.

"Name?" snapped Kargan, not yet over his fit of temper.

"I am Grimm Afelnor, Lord Mage." Grimm's voice was almost a whisper.

Kargan raised an eyebrow, but not in disapprobation, and his face brightened at once. "So you are the grandson of Loras Afelnor?" he asked.

"That is my Granfer's name, Lord Mage."

Kargan nodded. "Ah, that man had a splendid voice. I shall be glad if you have but one-tenth of his talent. Do you sing?"

"Yes, Lord Mage. Granfer says I have what he calls a perfect ear."

"Ha!" Kargan snorted. "If I had one copper bit for each time I heard that, I'd be a rich man. Still, if Afelnor approves of your voice, it must at least be of an acceptable quality. Kindly sing this." He played another, different phrase on his flute. Grimm echoed it at once, in a sweet treble. Kargan played a longer, more complicated phrase and again Grimm reproduced it without effort. Then, Kargan asked Grimm to repeat the first phrase without the aid of the flute. Half way through the phrase, Argand joined in with the flute, and seemed well pleased to find the two sounds in perfect agreement.

He spent the next few minutes setting vocal tests and traps for Grimm, but the boy negotiated these with ease. He loved music almost as much as he loved literature, and this seemed more like pleasure than work.

Kargan gave a satisfied smile and spoke in a more gentle voice than usual, as if he feared that Grimm's ears might be damaged by his usual stentorian delivery. "A perfect ear, indeed," he said, "with a voice to match. Precious tools, Afelnor, precious tools they are, and all too rare; take care of both. They will be of great aid in your appreciation and application of magic. You may sit."

He turned to the class and adopted another one of his forbidding facial expressions. "Now, if I know boys," he said in a voice that, although only mock-serious, bore an unmistakable undertone of steel. "Some of you will be thinking evil thoughts about young Afelnor, not least because of his charitable status.