Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

That is good, replied Horin, at once, but my needs are somewhat more immediate. In any case, you should think yourself lucky that I have decided to recommend to the High Lodge Presidium that your actions in Shelt were a mere miscalculation on your part. If you had another young Questor to offer us, I am sure he might be considered but, on this occasion, I think your new Questor, Dalquist, is just a little-shall we say?-'too hot to handle' at the moment.

Thorn steamed, but he could not think of anything to say. All he knew was that Questor Dalquist would pay for this debacle.

Fear not, Horin continued. I am sure that Prelate Zhar will be able to assist me in the successful completion of this Quest. Thank you for your time, Lord Prelate. With that, Horin cut the mental connection between the two mages.

Thorn raged, pounding his fists again on the oak desk, and bouncing in his seat like a stotting antelope.

Damn Horin. Damn Zhar! Damn Mother! He had thought on his first accession to the position of Prelate that his post was a mere sinecure, but it had proved to be more arduous and frustrating than the most difficult Quest in which he had ever taken part.

Every High Lodge Quest that Thorn was unable to assist was another opportunity for that pathetic excuse for a mage, Zhan, to press home his own claim to pre-eminence. Brelor was a relatively new House, scarcely a century old, but it was in a far more prosperous district than Arnor, and parents were keen to send their brats there.

Arnor House, one of the most ancient in the Guild, high on its imposing mountaintop, and which predated the formation of the ruling body, was just too remote from civilisation. Thorn had spent several fortunes-although never his own, of course-in the expansion and beautification of the austere fortress, whose governance he might have inherited at the expense of Loras, but, to his regret, for little personal gain.

High Lodge is letting too many little fish into the pool, fumed Thorn. Once I have reached the ranks of Dominie, there will be a real shake-up in High bloody Lodge. I'll see and know who my real friends are, and I'll act accordingly.

Focus, he thought. Get Rufior on another Quest as soon as possible; the more hazardous the better, in order to be able to justify his advancement. Push him up the ranks with all speed. Even Horin will not deny Dalquist his status, if the boy successfully completes a sufficient number of dangerous House Quests for our common good. That should rehabilitate him in High Lodge's eyes, and then even our beloved Dominie should take notice of young Rufior. I feel sure the lad will not complain if he is sent on another Quest as soon as possible.

It's all very well for Horin to chide Thorn for Arnor House's lack of young talent, he thought, but High Lodge is sometimes just a little too eager to grab my best new mages.

In the past decade, Thorn had lost eight promising mages to High Lodge, consisting of four Manipulants, two Necromancers, one Shapeshifter and one Weatherworker.

It had never occurred to Thorn to refuse High Lodge's requests, and, Thorn suspected, Horin was only to happy to boost his own ranks as long as Thorn played along. Thorn never considered the fact that this current tricky situation was of his own making, in his eagerness to put the Lodge in his debt.

The Prelate resisted the urge to throw the scrying crystal through the closed window.

Action, Virias, not anger!

Patterning his mind for Telepathy, Thorn sent out a call for Urel, the Senior Magemaster, and got back to his paperwork.

"Ah, Urel, how are you?"

"Well, thank you, Lord Prelate. I am looking forward to getting to work on the new Students. I think I will make Kargan their Magemaster. He will work them hard, I am sure."

"How fare your Neophytes and Adepts these days, Urel? Are there any good prospects?"

"Pollo Virida should make Necromancer within the space of two months. He is only forty-seven years old, too. It also looks as if Ujal Ribal will be ready soon to try for the Breaking Stone. Yura Shuva expects to go to the Stone within the week. The Acclamation of two new Shapeshifters is something to be proud of, Lord Prelate."

Despite himself, Thorn was impressed. Shapeshifters were highly regarded by the Lodge. "Indeed, Urel, you have done well. What of Erek Garan, though? Will you make a Questor of him?"

"I am confident that Garan has the power and, at fourteen years, he is the perfect age. He is intelligent and hard-working, and nothing is too much trouble for him. However, I am no longer convinced that he is mentally strong enough. I would like to take a little longer to be sure, but I think he might be more useful as a Scholar. His insights and his application are remarkable in one so young."

"I am not interested in some commonplace Scholar, Urel, I want a Questor!" Thorn snapped.

"They are not known to fall from trees, Lord Thorn." Urel was a strong-willed man of considerable presence, and he was not one to back down if he believed he was in the right. "We are talking about a difficult and dangerous procedure applied to a real, live, adolescent boy. I would not proceed unless I felt very confident of success. I am not at all confident on this occasion."

"Do not presume to tell me what makes a Questor, Urel. I have seen Garan, and I am confident. You are a good Magemaster, but you are an Illusionist, not a Questor. You also do not understand politics as I do.

"I am the person who deals with High Lodge, not you, and I tell you that I need another Questor. As a Mage Questor, I believe Erek Garan is ready, and I instruct you at least to prepare for his Ordeal. He enjoys music, I believe. That will give you something to work on."

"I will do this only under protest, Lord Prelate." Urel stood his ground well.

"Your protest is noted, Senior Magemaster," Thorn replied. "However, this is not a democracy. I order you to come up with a suitable plan of attack and report back within the month. Make this a stiff Ordeal, brutal if necessary, for we cannot wait much longer."

"Very well, Lord Prelate, I will do as you command, but, as I have said, I will go further only under protest."

"Protest as you will, Urel," the Prelate snapped, "but kindly do as you are bidden. The rewards justify the risk."

"I suspect that Erek's parents would not agree, were they still alive."

"However, they are not still alive, Magemaster," Thorn shot back, trying hard to control his rising temper. "I am Erek Garan's father now and, like a father, I will be duly proud of him when his Staff rebounds for the third time from the Breaking Stone. On that day, I suspect that even you will consider these privations worthwhile."

"May I remind the Lord Prelate that this House does not revolve around Questors?" responded Urel, obdurate as ever. "We have a duty to all mages, Adepts, Neophytes and Students here. I have a duty towards the well-being of young Garan, too."

"Whether you find satisfaction in the fact or not, Magemaster, the operations of this House do revolve around me. I have needs you do not, and cannot, understand. I have an urgent need for a Questor, and that is all that you need to know. That is all, Urel."

Thorn bent to his desk, effectively dismissing the Senior Magemaster from his presence.

Grimm was taking comfort in the books of the Library, as was often his wont, reading a fascinating tome concerning the fabulous achievements of the pre-Fall savants known as Scientists. They had learned to fly, to plumb the depths of the oceans and even to recreate long-dead creatures, all without the aid of magic. He was so engrossed in his reading that he did not notice a tall, young man entering the room.

As the newcomer gave a polite cough, the Student looked up to see an earnest, young man with blond hair tied back in a severe queue. A neat beard framed his jaw, and he wore simple, black robes, marking him as a poor boy like Grimm.