Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

"Be grateful for your silken robes, your fine food and your warm cells. Enjoy them; they are your prerogatives of rank, and I for one would never begrudge them. However, Afelnor has something rare and precious that cannot be purchased, cozened or stolen. Allow him the comfort of his talent, and do not think ill of him for it."

He leant forward, clasping his hands in the small of his back, as if to give his words more force. "Should I hear of any spiteful words that might come Afelnor's way because of my praise of his voice, the perpetrator will FEEL THE BACK OF MY BLOODY HAND! I, too, have a good ear; most sensitive, it is. You would be astonished at what I can hear at times!"

His glare swept the room like the beam of a lighthouse, and nobody seemed willing to meet it.

"I am glad that is well understood," Kargan purred. "A little warning: in future, I may expect any of you to sing without notice. So; practice, practice, practice!"

He punctuated the last three words by flexing his knees, so that he looked like a frog about to leap. Kargan was plainly at least a little deranged, and Grimm fought to maintain a stony face at this ludicrous spectacle.

"He's quite mad," Argand muttered.

Grimm nodded. "I know," he whispered, "but I think I like him."

"Then you must be mad, too." Argand tapped his right temple with an extended forefinger.

"Now, the next boy," Kargan roared, returning to his mission. "Your name, boy?"

"Akad Horth, Lord Mage," another Student squeaked, his face beetroot-red, and Grimm could not tell if that was through panic or an overwhelming desire to laugh.

"Well, Horth, let us hear your rendition of this little tune…"

Kargan relentlessly assayed the singing talents of the rest of the class. Some had a poor command of tone, some lacked a sense of cadence and others had weak voices. Some sang very well, and they were given lukewarm compliments, but Kargan seemed careful not to insult or belittle any of the Students.

When all the recitals were finished, Kargan moved to the huge slate at the front of the class and unrolled a scroll with twenty or so strange characters on it, which he attached to the board. Grimm noticed that the scroll duplicated part of the mural around the classroom.

The Magemaster interlaced his fingers and flexed, making his knuckles crackle like gunfire.

"The FIRST RUNE FAMILY!" he boomed. "They are no more or less important than any other rune group, but they are the first that we will study. To begin, you will just learn the names of the runes until they are well-seated in your thick skulls!"

Kargan dabbed his face with a blue handkerchief. He was slightly red in the face and perspiring freely, but he showed no sign of slowing the pace.

"Where was I?" he muttered before continuing. "Ah, yes, the First Rune Family! These twenty-nine basic runes are used for the first spells you will ever master: the Minor Magics. They are also used in most other spells that you will ever encounter. Recite after me: Adzh, Karkh, Tekh, Rukh, Urth…"

By the end of the afternoon, the boys were tired and hoarse with recitation, but Kargan had lost none of his energy and volume. The man seemed indefatigable. When the bell rang, he looked quite disappointed.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Copy these down and learn them well. Tomorrow, I shall expect all of you to recite them by heart and to be able to write them in a fair hand. If you cannot master these runes, I shall be VERY DISPLEASED, and we will carry on until they are known by all!"

Again, Kargan produced his broad, infectious smile, implying that some great fun was in store for the shell-shocked Students.

"It may interest you to know that I have a small pet bird who can recite them all. He is no captive Mage Shapeshifter, I assure you, but a true representative of the avian persuasion! When you have thoroughly absorbed these runes at least as well as my feathered companion, we shall move on to the manner in which these are coupled together to make spell syllables; the basic vocabulary of the craft. Later, we shall consider the written forms of the runes and the methods of joining them into fluid script. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all."

The boys trooped out of the class, with little conversation, as each looked at his slate. There was much to be done before the morrow. Grimm breathed a deep sigh of relief as he left the room. Kargan was a strange, complex, emotional man, and the boy thought it would take a little while before he became used to the Magemaster's mercurial moods.

In the refectory that evening, Grimm was sitting alone at a plate of cold salt fish and boiled cabbage when he was joined by Madar and the tone-deaf Argand Forutia, who were brought sumptuous meals which had been prepared for them. Others in the hall had similar fare but had snubbed him, and Grimm had caught the chilly words "rotten pauper" and "guttersnipe" from some.

"Grimm, may we join you?" Madar asked in a friendly manner. Grimm nodded, wary of a prank, despite the boy's frank, open face. The fact that these rich boys wanted to join him at the poorer end of the Refectory put him on his guard.

"You talked of your grandfather. Wasn't he a mage here?" Argand asked.

"Doorkeeper said he was, but Granfer never talks… talked of it."

Argand swallowed a mouthful of roast meat with some difficulty. "Some other boys were saying that he was quite a senior mage, is that right? Don't worry, we're not going to blab or set you up."

Madar gave his head a vigorous shake in apparent disavowal of any intended treachery.

"I was told that he was a Questor, whatever that is," Grimm said.

Madar whistled, impressed. "Crohn said that they were one of the best kinds of mage."

Grimm continued with difficulty. "He… they don't like him here. He… he did something bad. I don't really want to say any more." His heart full, he looked down at his meagre meal, but his hunger had vanished.

Argand put a meaty hand on Grimm's shoulder. "Don't worry, Grimm, we'll look after you, won't we, Madar? Your secret's safe with us. Here, have some roast lamb. I'm stuffed." Madar and Argand piled Grimm's plate high with delicacies, and Grimm stammered thanks, with tears in his eyes at their generosity. After a moment's hesitation, he began to attack the pile of food before him, discovering that he was hungry, after all.

"Don't mention it Grimm," said Madar. "Argand and me know what it's like to be nobody. Both our Das had to earn their money instead of being given it, and the boys who were born rich don't like that. You'll soon see that there're class differences, even among rich boys."

"And I like you 'cause you didn't laugh at me like the others did," Argand said, raising a dismissive hand as Grimm opened his mouth to reply.

"Oh, I know you wanted to, but you were nice enough not to join in. Not like that stuck-up lot over there." Argand stuck a contemptuous thumb towards a cackling knot of well-dressed boys.

"That slimy toad Shumal Tolarin over there's the worst of them," Argand said. "His father's a magi… magistrate or something, and he doesn't like my Da because he had to borrow money off Da when things were tight. He treated me like a leper at our first school until I got bigger than him and gave him a good thrashing. He knows he'll get it again if he tries anything funny. He always goes around with that soppy limpet, Ruvin Terruren, but Ruvin runs away like a scared rabbit if anyone threatens him when Shumal isn't around to look after him."

"And Shumal doesn't like me 'cause my Da grew up in the slums but earns more now than his Da," chimed in Madar. "'Cause he grew up poor, he-my Da, that is-knows how to fight. He taught me, too, 'cause I wasn't very big or strong. Shumal knows whatever he gets from Argand, he'll get from me, too." Madar's voice held no trace of boasting. He spoke with a confidence that spoke of experience.