Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

Now, this room would be used by some other poor, homesick, lonely Student. He vowed to look up the next room's incumbent as soon as the new Scholasticate year began. With a sigh, he shook himself down and left the cell, almost to be knocked down by what seemed to be a brown-robed meteor.

"Disturbing the peace and meditation of other Students; a breach of Rule 1.16.4, I'll be bound," Grimm chided. "The penalty is two missed meals and a public penance, I believe."

The boy, a fair-headed lad of maybe nine years, paled. "I'm sorry, Lord Mage," he whispered, chastened.

Grimm put a hand on the Student's shoulder. "If you don't say anything about it, then maybe I won't, either. Just think next time; I could have been Senor Magemaster Crohn, and he'd have handed you your head on a platter. As it is, he's waiting at the end of the corridor, so watch out."

The boy nodded, his eyes wide. "Thank you, Lord Mage," he whispered.

"My name is Grimm. I'm not a full mage yet, but I'm working on it; work hard, and you could be one, too," Grimm advised.

I just hope you never have to become a Questor, he thought. If I'd known what was involved, I might have begged for the scullery.

With a decisive air, he turned on his heel and strode to the far end of the corridor. "I'm ready, Magemaster Crohn."

"Did I just hear the sound of a transgression of Rule 1.16.4, by any chance?" Crohn, who missed nothing, asked.

Grimm shrugged. "I merely tripped in the corridor. It was nothing. Please, may we go to the Refectory? I am very hungry."

Grimm stood and raised his arms. At sixteen years of age, he was well over six feet in height, and he bore a strong, dark beard. He was slender and yet he looked powerful. Despite his simple robes, he had begun to assume an air of majesty and grandeur. His face was intent and confident as he summoned his powers.

"Skeykak!"

The rock rose three feet above the table and hovered, motionless.

"J'asshaugh!"

The rock began to glow, its colour ranging through dull red, scarlet, orange and finally straw-yellow.

"Shakh J'haggagh l'yet'yeh!"

The rock flew into a million glowing fragments, only to be collected in an invisible net.

"Ghagh'et!"

The fragments coalesced again into a cooling rock.

Grimm sighed, and the smoking rock dropped back to the table.

"Aghheye!"

From mid-air came a stream of water, which doused the rock, swathing it in steam as it cracked in half. Muttering inaudibly in his private language, Grimm picked up one fist-sized fragment in his slender hand and crushed it to powder.

"That was excellent, Afelnor!" Crohn crowed. "Superb! I am finished with you now. The rest is up to you alone. You only need to master one more skill and you will be an Acclaimed Questor, the first in this house for nearly ten years. Wait one moment."

Crohn left the room, returned after a few minutes with a rough tree branch, perhaps seven feet in length and as thick as Grimm's arm. "You must form this into a true Mage Staff," he said.

Grimm looked blank, but Crohn waved his hands. "I cannot teach you how to do this. It is your own journey of discovery."

Grimm looked at the stout, misshapen lump of lifeless wood, feeling utterly lost. The branch looked nothing like a slender, perdurable Mage Staff, such as the one Crohn carried.

"Adept Grimm, you already know more than most Acclaimed Mages who have ever left this Scholasticate. You have mastered Elemental, Destructive, Additive and Self-Acting powers; my education of you is at an end. Education, as you know, merely means a 'leading out'. I have taught you nothing, but have led out what is within you, and given you the scope to direct it and control it.

"When you have made the staff with your own hands and imbued it with your essence, you will be a mage. A Mage Staff is a deeply personal item, and you must give it a name. My staff is called Mist, after a favourite pony I rode as a child. You must choose a name for your own, but you must not tell it to anybody until it has survived three full-blooded strikes on the Breaking Stone.

"A Mage Staff is a Guild Mage's faithful and constant companion; should it ever be lost, a mage can bring it to hand by an effort of will.

"An uninvited touch by another on a Mage Staff, even with a gloved hand, brings an avid bite; a blow will cause far more injury than any plain wooden rod.

"It cannot break or splinter as long as the mage is alive. It can ward off certain kinds of malevolence, and it can be made to bear passive spells cast on it by the mage who owns it. Thus, for example, it can be left as a ward to alert the mage of approaching danger as he sleeps."

"But how can I make this staff, Magemaster Crohn?" Grimm pleaded. "I cannot see in my mind how to make these powers manifest themselves in a dumb lump of wood."

"I made my staff in seven months," declared Crohn, displaying his own, gleaming staff with apparent pride, "forming it through the use of spells that I had memorised, and keeping it by my side at all times. I talked to it and put what I could of myself into it. I finally managed to seal the staff with a spell of Keeping. I did not imbue the staff with all its attributes, but somehow I knew what to do. It is the true bonding of the mage with his staff that makes it what it is; no man can perform the bonding for you. I have borne my staff with me for many years now, and, when I die, my essence will live on in it after me. I was told no more than you by my own, long-dead Magemaster, but I succeeded with far less power at my disposal than you have."

He ran his hand lovingly over the silk-smooth, yet unworn wood of his black staff. "If there is one thing in this world I can truly call my own, it is this."

Grimm nodded, eyeing the gleaming black rod and its seven gold rings with a little envy.

"When your Mage Staff is complete," Crohn said, "you will know. On that day, you will leave the Scholasticate and strike the staff three times across the Breaking Stone in the main hall in the presence of your peers and elders. The Breaking Stone is preternaturally hard and sharp-edged; no ordinary piece of wood could remain unbroken after such treatment. You should be aware that the least weakness in the bond between you and your staff will cause it to break on the Stone; you must be more focused and diligent in this last task than in any other you have ever undertaken."

Grimm had not the least idea of what might be required of him, but he asked, "And if I am successful at the Stone?"

Crohn shrugged. "Should you and the staff prevail, you will be Acclaimed as a Guild Mage and given the Guild Ring, which only you can remove from your finger.

"Go now and start work on your own staff, and come to see me when you are ready. You may use any of the grimoires in the Library, and you may use any spells that you have memorised, or any that you can formulate with your spell-language; the results will be the same, whatever spells you choose. Only complete dedication to your task will bring the desired result.

"I will await your return with eagerness. Certainly, you may see Questor Dalquist or me at any other time, but ask nothing of creating the staff, for none of us can tell you what to do. This will be your own work, and only yours. I wish you clarity in your thoughts, Grimm Afelnor. This is your room now, and no other may enter, upon my order."

Crohn gave a hesitant half-bow and left Grimm with the piece of wood.

Grimm ran his hands along the rough wood and gauged how it would cleave, trying to ascertain the form of the staff beneath the bark. He sat in silence for perhaps an hour; probing, feeling, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the material.

"I dub you Redeemer," Grimm muttered. "Together, we will work to redeem my family name."