Alastair Archibald: A mage in the making

"However, I have a word of caution for you. Too much drink can do great damage as well as giving you a sore head. Curing the hangover doesn't get rid of the damage, and even a Healer might be hard pressed to repair the deeper ravages of drink. Some forget this and drink like there's no tomorrow, and they end up as demented wretches with ravaged bodies, lacking the lesson the hangover brings."

"I have no intention of ever drinking alcohol again," Grimm said fervently. "It's a horrible thing to lose control of oneself."

"You may disagree when you're a bit older, Grimm," Dalquist said. "There are times when alcohol can be a great comfort; but remember that 'moderation in all things' is part of a mage's credo."

"Try some of this compote, Questor Grimm," Kargan urged. "It will line your stomach, so you may be ready for more drink."

"What was that about moderation, Magemaster Kargan?" Grimm asked.

"Moderation in all things-only in moderation!" The elder mage, wearing his manic grin, helped himself to another flagon of wine and a brace of chicken legs. Recognising when he was beaten, Grimm surrendered again to the feast. This time, he kept Redeemer within easy reach.

The year ended with Grimm in a kind of limbo. He was a Questor, with his black, cowled robe, his unbreakable staff and his blue-gold Guild ring, but he had no Quests to his name as yet; the lack of even a single gold ring on Redeemer marked him as a tyro. His training with Crohn had worked to build up his speed of thought, his willpower and his decisiveness, but he felt quite unable to make up his mind as to what to do with his time.

He wandered through the main entrance hall with its dome of stars, soft thought-music and the pyramidal, obsidian Breaking Stone. Looking around to check that he was alone, he dropped a piece of paper onto the stone's sloping edge. The sheet barely shivered as it split into two, sundered under its own weight.

He then took a double-handed grip on Redeemer and swung it with all his might against the magically sharp and unyielding surface. A ringing sound and a shower of blue sparks were emitted, but Redeemer was as sound as ever. He smiled a little in mild satisfaction, and wandered listlessly back to his room in the West Wing.

"Questor Grimm, you are just the man I was looking for! Do you have a moment?" Grimm turned at the unmistakable voice of Doorkeeper.

"Mage Doorkeeper, what may I do for you on this fine morning?" Grimm spoke with an exuberance he did not feel.

"I am going on a visit to some relatives in Taddleton today, Questor Grimm," Doorkeeper said brightly. "I wondered if you might like to accompany me."

Taddleton lay a scant quarter-mile from the village of Lower Frunstock where Grimm had been raised… a quarter-mile from the grandparents for whom he had spared barely a thought these six years past, he realised with a guilty start.

"Of course I'd like to, Doorkeeper," he said. "When are you thinking of leaving?"

"Would an hour or so from now suit you?" asked the ancient mage.

Grimm gulped. Things seemed to happen so quickly these days; he had not left the Scholasticate for nine years, and he was barely used to being allowed free access to the West Wing and the Great Hall. Now, Doorkeeper was talking about leaving the House. Grimm thought about it, and nearly fainted from an agoraphobic pang that seized his brain in sharp, icy talons. A part of him wanted to scream in refusal, to grasp onto his familiar world and never to let go. Another region of his mind had control of his mouth, however.

"I'd love to, Doorkeeper," he heard himself say. "I shall have to ask Magemaster Crohn for permission, of course. Do you know his whereabouts?"

"I observed him making his rounds of the Student accommodation block about five minutes ago. I believe that he should still be there, Questor Grimm." The old mage's tone was formal and deferent.

Grimm smiled. "Doorkeeper, you're like family to me. I've known you for over half my life and I think I might have lost my mind a long time ago, without you to bring a little order and stability to my world. I haven't changed overnight just because I carry this stick. Please, Doorkeeper; just call me 'Grimm', and drop the Mage Speech? It makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, Qu… Grimm," the major-domo said, beaming. "I do have to struggle to see you as that frightened, wet thing I first met all those years ago. You have changed a lot, whether you know it or not. You look… confident, powerful, somehow."

"I don't feel like that, Doorkeeper," Grimm declared. "I'm quaking inside at the thought of even stepping outside the House, and I need the old Doorkeeper I know and love to help me with my fears, just like he used to when I was a frightened Student. I know you think sometimes that you're in some way inferior to some of the other mages, but you have a vital role here. You help poor, insignificant Students cope with a strange new world so they can adjust and grow; a vital responsibility that allows the House to continue. Be that mage for me again, please. You helped me to adjust to this world so well that it scares me to think of anything else. I'm terrified."

Doorkeeper ran a hand through his luxuriant, white hair and grinned. "Maybe I can still see a trace of that small, drenched little waif I met in the Great Hall all those years ago; even if you are a real Mage Questor."

"I'm still me, Doorkeeper." Grimm felt a hollow void where his stomach had once been. "There's a big world out there I haven't seen for most of my life, and I'm… I'm scared."

"Ah, you're not the first youngster to face that problem, you know," Doorkeeper replied. "It's funny how most of the Students here would do anything to escape but, once they're free to come and go as they please, they just want to hang on to it. Especially the charity boys like you; at least the rest get out for a short while every year. I can't make you feel any better right now, but I will tell you that when you come back you'll be utterly changed. I'm very happy for you, and I won't feel that you're really one of my flock until I greet you properly as a returning mage."

"I think that's what I'm looking forward to most, Doorkeeper," said Grimm. "At least it'll mean I've really done something for the House, instead of taking from it. I wonder if you could cast a spell of Inner Calm on me. One of the limitations of Questor magic is that I can't act on my own mind, because that's where the magic comes from."

"Oh, no, no, no, young Grimm!" Doorkeeper cried. "You've got a really good brain; you don't want to go messing around with it, goodness me, no! If there's one thing I've always missed, it's a first-class mind. If I had a brain like yours, I'd really want to take care of it. A daft old thing like me, I'd probably be no worse off for a little tinkering in the brain-box, but not you. Leave that head alone, I say!"

"You only had to say, 'I don't think that's a good idea,'" Grimm replied with a broad smile, holding his hands out in a placating manner; Doorkeeper's accustomed prattle had soothed his inner anxiety more than a little.

"Oh well, you know me, jabber, jabber, jabber!" Doorkeeper's smile was as broad as ever; somehow, the major-domo found a little comfort in his eccentricity, even if he tried to deny it. "But if you do get bothered by the big open spaces, just focus on the next tree or fence in front of you and see it as a wall. Then go onto the next one and look for the next marker.

"My brother, Ennis, used to do the same thing when he was running for long distances as a foot messenger for Earl Toomey. He'd say 'I won't give up running until I've reached that tree.' Then he'd focus on the tree after that and do the same again. So he didn't run fifteen miles in one go, but just lots of thirty-yard stretches. It works if you get bothered about how far away you're getting from what you know. Just remember each tree and then, when you're coming back, you'll get a real sense of getting closer by the minute. Before you know it, you'll be back home to a warm welcome."