Alastair Archibald: A mage in the making

Doorkeeper cried, "Now, Grimm, not another word! Not another word, I say! You're nearly dead on your feet, my boy. I absolutely insist that you let me take you to the scullery for some food and warmth. Lord Thorn would be very angry with me if I disturbed him at this time of night-you wouldn't want that, would you? The Prelate usually goes to bed early and is up with the sun."

Doorkeeper sneezed suddenly, scratched his nose and muttered unintelligibly for a few moments.

"I understand, Sir… Doorkeeper," said the boy, his eyes wide. "I wouldn't want the Chief… the Prelate to be angry with you."

Grimm had to admit, even to himself, that the enticing prospects of a warm fire and food had begun to drive all other thoughts from his mind. He had tried, after all, and Doorkeeper seemed such a nice old man.

He took Doorkeeper's proffered hand as the old mage led him out of the sumptuous entrance hall. A rabbit-warren of passages led off from the vestibule, and Grimm felt quite disorientated by the time the pair reached the warm sanctuary of what the old man had called 'the scullery'. A large fire crackled cheerfully at its centre, the gentle, welcome heat suffusing through Grimm's chilled body. A profusion of pots, pans and utensils hung on the walls, and a delicious aroma of cooked meat filled the room. Doorkeeper motioned Grimm towards a threadbare but comfortable chair, and the boy gratefully sank into its creaking, leathern embrace.

Doorkeeper excused himself and returned a few minutes later with a plate piled high with food, which the child attacked with gusto. "So how did you travel here, young Grimm, especially on such a foul, horrible night? This place is far from the beaten tracks. Oh yes, very far, a long way indeed, yes."

Grimm swallowed meat pie forcefully; he had been brought up not to talk with a full mouth. "I was sent by my Granfer Loras to be a wizard. Harvel, who works for Granfer, brought me to the bottom of the mountain, but he couldn't get the cart any further up the road. He really wanted to come with me, but the weather then was nice, and the castle was a lot nearer than it really was-I mean, it looked nearer, because it's so big."

"Ah, yes, it is a very large building, and the path is full of lots of tortuous twists," said Doorkeeper, and the serious expression came back across his face.

"Your family name is Afelnor?" Grimm nodded. "And your grandfather's name is Loras? Loras the mage?"

Grimm giggled. "You're teasing me, Doorkeeper! He's not a wizard-he's only a blacksmith. Harvel does most of the work now, because Granfer is getting really old and he creaks when he moves, just like you." Remembering his manners, Grimm swiftly added, "I didn't mean to be rude, Sir Doorkeeper."

Doorkeeper waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure you meant no insult, Grimm. I am old, as old as the hills, yes, indeed. Are you sure your grandfather has never been anything other than a smith? Can you be sure he was never, ever a mage… even a long time ago?"

Grimm laughed at the thought of his bear-like grandfather in the fine, silken robes of a wizard instead of his habitual dungarees and stained leather forge apron. "He's a very good smith; everybody in the village likes him… except for old Mister Drule, the shepherd, but Granfer says he doesn't even like his own shadow. He's quite a nasty man really; Mister Drule, I mean."

So, the august and mighty Loras Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, once called the Firelord but more recently known to the House as the Oath-breaker, is now plain Loras, the smith, Doorkeeper mused.

He had heard nothing of Loras Firelord since the Questor's expulsion from the Guild, four decades before, and had assumed he was dead. However, it was quite believable that Loras had gone to ground in this way. Doorkeeper knew the Questor had been the son of a smith, and he had always been reserved, as was expected of a Guild Mage. Also, instead of conforming to the common stereotype of a tall, willow-thin sorcerer, Loras had been of middling height, but stocky, and as strong as a bear. Yes, it all made sense.

Still, Doorkeeper had a moment's amusement at the mental image of the stern, confident Mage Questor as a begrimed, sweaty figure with a straw hat, calmly discussing the shoeing of a farmer's horse in the round, wordy tones of a Guild Mage. There was no malice in Doorkeeper's daydream, for he had liked Afelnor well, but the concept still amused him.

The ancient mage wondered if he should tell the boy the full and unpleasant truth about Loras' downfall, but he had always doted on solemn children although, or perhaps because, he had none himself. Deciding to sugar the pill as much as possible, he turned to Grimm.

"I don't mean to be unkind, Grimm," he said, "but you shouldn't let your hopes rise too high. About being taken in as a Student, I mean. The name of Loras Afelnor is known here, but I am afraid that many people here don't remember him too kindly. Lord Thorn receives a lot of applications for charity places here at the Guild, a very great number indeed, but most of them are rejected outright. Lord Thorn might just reject your application because of your name. He was a good friend to your grandfather Loras, a very good friend, but I think he was very upset by Loras' actions."

Grimm's eyes were wide and wondering, with nascent tears glittering around them. "What could my Granfer have done to make the Chief Wizard angry? He's a kind man; everyone back home in Aylmer likes him. He is ever so nice, really."

The boy's brow furrowed, as if he were searching Doorkeeper's words for some inner meaning; then, his expression cleared. "You mean they might send me back to the smithy? I'd like that. I only came here because Granfer wanted it so much. I can't see how I could be a wizard, even if Granfer wants me to. But I'd try hard, just for him, like I did in the smithy." His face fell a little. "I wasn't very good in the smithy, so Granfer didn't think I'd make a very good smith. I do so want to be really good at something for Granfer if I can.

"Doorkeeper, what did he do? I really want to know, even if it's not very nice. If I'm going to be here a really long time, perhaps I ought to know."

Doorkeeper hesitated. It seemed unlikely to him that Lord Thorn would accept any application from Loras the Traitor but, if he did, the boy would indeed be within the House for a long time. His future classmates might have an unfair disadvantage over him, and Doorkeeper might not be able to rectify the situation before Grimm was badly hurt; the major-domo knew how cruel lads could be to each other. Better to tell the boy now, as kindly as he could. Grimm could be no more than seven years of age, and the major-domo knew that the full, unvarnished truth might upset him deeply. He knew that he must tell the child something, so he picked his words with care.

"Grimm, what I have to tell you is what I know and nothing else. A long time ago, a very long time ago, before I became a mage, I knew your grandfather. He was twenty-seven years old, and he was very kind to me. Twenty-seven may seem very old to you, but it's very young for a Guild Mage. It seemed like nearly all the others were nasty to me because my parents didn't have a lot of money. Nearly all of them seemed to be rich, or nasty, or both. I was very unhappy, but your grandfather, Loras, wasn't like the others. He was much younger than me, but he really was a proper mage, one of the kind we call a Questor. He was one of the best mages in the whole house, except maybe for Lord Thorn.

"He was rich, too; not because he'd been given the money, but because he'd earned it in his Quests… they're like errands that Questors do for the Lord Prelate. He was asked to go on a lot of Quests because he was such a good mage.

"I was very depressed because I'd tried a lot of different types of magic and still hadn't found the right one. Loras gave me a long talk about how awful it had been for him when he was learning to be a mage, and how he often wished he was back in his father's smithy.