Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

He had no desire to betray Loras's secret, even to his grandmother Drima, and he had to think long and hard about what to say. After much cogitation, he dipped his pen in the ink and began to write in his best cursive hand, only mastered after long and impatient tutelage by the acerbic Faffel.

Dear Granfer and Gramma,

Thank you very, very much for your welcome letter. I am glad that you are both well, and have managed to get a bigger piece of paper this time from Doorkeeper, who is a mage here.

My main teachers are Magemaster Kargan who teaches Runes, Singing and Presence and Magemaster Crohn, who teaches Power, Control and Magical Theory. I am doing well with these subjects, but some others like woodworking and Courtly Graces, I am not nearly so good at.

It was funny when I came here because Doorkeeper said there was once another boy here who looked just like me and almost had the same name. Isn't that strange? Other mages have said the same thing. He got to be a very good mage, and they called him Firelord, but he died young, so I have promised to live up to his memory by doing my very best and to study really hard.

I am very proud to be carrying on the memory of this other mage.

I have a little room of my very own called a cell. It is number 17 and it is not very much when you see what some of the rich boys have, but it is mine, and I am in it now.

The food is all right, and Madar and Argand are very rich and they get lots of good stuff and often give me some of theirs, which is very nice, though not as nice as yours.

I look forward to seeing you when you can come. I think of you always and I will read your last letter again and again to remind me of you, and our good times together in the smithy.

I have to practice some more singing tonight. Kargan says that the Firelord had a lovely voice and that I do, too, so that is all right.

Please say hello to Borrin and Mardel for me and tell them I will see them and you as soon as I become a proper mage with a staff and a ring. I will probably have a big beard by then and they will not recognise me.

Your loving grandson, Grimm Afelnor.

Grimm folded the letter over, wrote the address neatly on the other side and went to ask Doorkeeper to send it for him.

The letter from his grandparents had reawakened some pangs of homesickness in him, but, in replying, he had come to realise the good things in his life that he would never lose. The pride and love expressed in the letters gave him renewed strength.

He might still have to be alone in the Scholasticate at the end of the year, but there was always the Library to hold his interest, and his friends and family would still be with him, if only in spirit. He felt replete and blissfully happy.

Grimm found that the remainder of the year did not drag, as he had feared that it would. New subjects and extra studies filled his days and nights, and Magemaster Kargan always had a keen eye for slackers. Grimm continued to improve with his Courtly Graces, and he even won fourth prize in a woodwork competition, receiving a small plaque to hang in his cell. At least the plaque made the room seem a little more lived in, Grimm thought. Nonetheless, his mind was not as focused on his work as it might have been. He was looking forward to the winter break this year.

It was finally the end of Grimm's third year in the Scholasticate, and most of the paying boys had already said their goodbyes and left for home. For some weeks, Grimm had awaited his promised visit with aching eagerness, but by now he was beginning to grow desperate. The last vestiges of hope were beginning to fade when his attention was called by Magemaster Crohn.

"Afelnor; a visitor has come to the House from your former home. Remember that no other personal visit will be permitted for another three years, so make the most of it." This was classic Crohn-speech; blunt, unemotional and to the point.

"Enjoy this visit to the full, Afelnor, but please ensure you do not dishonour the Scholasticate with unseemly shows of passion. Some emotion is to be expected, but keep it within the bounds of decorum. Power and presence: remember that, above all."

Crohn softened his tone somewhat. "I am happy for you, Afelnor. You are a good Student, and I am sure that you will not let the House down. Enjoy your visit."

Grimm made his way to the assembly hall as quickly as House decorum allowed. What if he could not recognise his grandmother? Her face had already begun to fade from his memory. He need not have worried; in the centre of the hall she stood, looking little different from how he remembered her, except that she seemed to have shrunk a little. Forgetting Crohn's words for a moment, caught in the grip of emotion, he ran into her arms and hugged her. Tears flooded his eyes, and he felt quite unable to speak.

When his voice did recover, he managed to sob, "Oh, Gramma Drima, it is so good to see you. Thank you, thank you so much for coming here. I have been so looking forward to it."

Moisture twinkled in Drima's blue eyes, too, and her normally immaculate brown hair was a little tousled.

"Grimm," she said, her voice husky, "I wouldn't have missed coming here for the world. You have never been out of our hearts; never. I am only sorry that your Granfer took ill a few days ago and was unable to come.

"Our young apprentice, Jirrl-you remember him, I'm sure-brought me here. He's gone into town to try the local ale and will come back in an hour or so. Let me look at you-why, you're taller than I am now!"

Grimm, embarrassed, allowed himself to be held at arms' length and inspected by his grandmother whilst she assessed him. After a little chit-chat about his former hometown, which Grimm absorbed with rapt attention, Drima looked long and hard at her grandson.

"You haven't once enquired about your grandfather, Grimm," she said, and Grimm started. "You know he's not really ill, don't you?"

Grimm, unsure how to respond, gave only an uncomfortable shrug.

"Men!" Drima sighed. "They think their wives are blind or stupid, and they think they can hide their feelings so well."

Grimm said nothing.

"I am perfectly aware that Loras yearned to come here," she said, "but I always knew he would have to come up with some excuse or other. He thinks I know nothing of his life before I met him, but he's a fool, for all his intelligence, like all men; a fool I love with all my heart.

"Once, I saw Loras fondling the ring he tried to keep hidden, and I knew its significance; what it means to him. He talks in his sleep, too, may the Names bless him. For most of our life together, I've kept up the patient pretence of knowing nothing. I've always known it would break his heart if he ever thought I knew of his disgrace: the mighty Guild Mage who fell from grace; the powerful Questor; the Oathbreaker.

"I know very little about the details, and I don't want to know.

"All I do know is that the Loras Afelnor I married, and whom I have loved for so many years, would never break a trust or a solemn vow unless he felt he had no choice."

Drima drew the stunned, wordless Grimm close and hugged him again.

"Whatever he may have done, I know he would only ever have acted for the best reasons," she said, holding Grimm in a firm, fierce embrace. "I want you to know that, too. If only you knew just how proud he is that you are a Student in his own Guild House! Sometimes, he almost seems to burst with pride when we tell people about you.

"We are both so proud of you, Grimm, and I know it is hard for you to be kept away from people who love you, but our hearts are with you always.

"The guilt Loras bears is not some trifling twinge that a habitual evil-doer might suffer, but the consuming, passionate pain of a good and honourable man who has been forced into something of which he is ashamed; something he cannot comprehend. Please work hard, and make the name of Afelnor shine again in the Guild. That would make both of us so happy."