Alastair Archibald - A mage in the making

Good days…

The sick memory of how he had duped and betrayed his blood brother swam into his daydreaming like a hungry shark, devouring the quietude he sought.

Rubbing a trembling hand over his aching brow, he summoned Doorkeeper with a brief, telepathic pulse.

When the major-domo arrived, twitching and trembling as ever, the Prelate cut through the old man's twittering prattle with a curt wave of his hand.

"Bring the Afelnor boy to me early tomorrow morning, Doorkeeper. You are dismissed."

The major-domo left with a clumsy bow, and the Prelate was alone again.

"Quickly, quickly; chop-chop! Do hurry, boy. The Prelate doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Doorkeeper wrung his hands with nervous fervour, as Grimm swam his way into a clean robe plainly intended for a larger boy.

When the child was finished, Doorkeeper took a step back to assess his charge. Grimm's face shone lobster-pink after vigorous scrubbing, and his hair was neatly tied behind the neck. Despite the over-large clothes, the overall effect was not too comical, and the boy looked much more presentable than he had when he had first arrived at the House.

"All right, boy, you'll do. Come along now." As Doorkeeper led the way out of the scullery, Grimm struggled to keep up without tripping over the hem of his voluminous robe. At almost every step of the way, the major-domo called out instructions on how the boy must comport himself in the presence of the Prelate.

He was not to speak unless directly addressed; he must address Thorn only as 'Lord Prelate'; he must bow on entering and on leaving the chamber; he was to volunteer no information not specifically requested by the Prelate. The list seemed endless to Grimm, who was breathing heavily by the time the pair had ascended the stairs to Thorn's chamber.

Before the old man's fist had touched the door, a voice boomed from within. "Enter, Doorkeeper."

The major-domo motioned Grimm to approach the Prelate's large and forbidding desk, and the boy managed a passable bow. He gazed at the stone floor, barely daring to breathe. This was a mighty wizard.

"Lord Thorn, this is the boy I told you about, here as you commanded."

"You may leave, Doorkeeper," intoned the Prelate in an off-hand tone, and Grimm heard the door close behind him. As long minutes passed, he waited nervously to be addressed as Doorkeeper had advised him, aware that the senior mage's eyes were seriously appraising him.

"Your name is Grimm Afelnor, is it not?" asked the Prelate.

Grimm nodded, his nerves stopping his tongue. With an effort, the child managed to whisper "Yes, Lord Prelate."

More moments passed. "Do you know why you are here, child?"

In a slightly stronger voice, Grimm replied, "Granfer… my grandfather wants me to become a magician, Lord Prelate."

"The term used within the Guild is 'mage', Grimm. A magician is merely a town performer, a mountebank, a bumbling purveyor of simple charms and illusions with which to bedazzle the uneducated and the credulous."

Grimm felt a little bedazzled himself at several of the strange words the Prelate used, but he held his tongue as Doorkeeper had ordered.

"A mage is a true master of the arcane arts, a man to be feared and respected, a man with true dedication and willpower. Do you think that, one day, you could become such a man, Grimm Afelnor?"

"I don't know, Lord Prelate."

"Look into my eyes, child," said Thorn softly. Grimm reluctantly raised his head, and he saw for the first time the face of the Prelate. Heavy eyebrows hung like hovering birds of prey over a pair of amber eyes that seemed to burn like coals, windows to the mighty will blazing within.

Grimm forced himself to lock his gaze upon Thorn's eyes, suppressing the strong urge to look away. After a few moments, the boy's eyes began to water, but he let the tears run down his cheeks unchecked.

After it seemed as if an age had passed, Thorn nodded.

"That is good. You have willpower, one of the most important attributes of a mage. You have self-control: that is another. However, it will take more, much more, to become a mage. If I do decide to accept you as Student, it will be on harsh terms.

"Most Students within this House are here because their families have money and influence. They may leave at any time, with no penalty save a financial consideration. If accepted, you will be taken in as a charity case. If we decide that you have not given of your best at any time, you may be required to remit the cost of your schooling in any capacity that we may decide, as a scullion or other menial for as long as we require. This will not normally be for a period of less than twenty years, due to the great expense that the House will have lavished on you.

"This is no ordinary school, young Afelnor. Some labour for decades to carry the staff and ring that denote a true mage. The majority fall by the wayside, having learnt a few trifling competencies and nothing more. A paying Student may leave at any time, whereas you will be required to stay here as long as we may deem fit, in order to reclaim the effort that we have put into your education. We are talking of many years of struggle, Grimm Afelnor.

"Before I accept you as Student, I ask you to think of the years ahead of you. Will you give your heart and your soul to us, to use as we see fit? You are young, and you can have no concept of the gulf of time ahead of you.

"Nevertheless, we require your word and your bond to give us your all. Will you serve this House and this Guild with all your heart?"

Grimm stifled a sob. From what little he could understand of the Prelate's speech, it seemed that Lord Thorn had told him he might never, ever see his home again. To a seven-year-old child, this talk of years of effort seemed an eternity of loneliness, a vast empty chasm separating him from everything he had known. However, his grandfather, the gentle, loving man who had brought him up for all the time he could remember, had pleaded with tearful eyes for Grimm to submit to the will of the Guild for as long as was necessary.

Although Grimm recognised that Granfer Loras had his best interests at heart, the prospect of an uncertain future weighed on him heavily. He had to admit, even to himself, that to succeed to his grandfather's position might have been difficult, but, in truth, Grimm had found much of the fetching and carrying in the smithy too hard for him. Although he possessed a certain wiry strength, he lacked the more solid musculature and bone structure that might make a competent smith of him in later life.

He preferred the company of books to that of other children, and only Granfer had understood when Grimm had talked of the colours that he could sometimes see around people when they were happy, sad, lying or speaking the truth. He had even helped Grimm to recognise better the colours invoked by various emotions and moods. It was shortly after Grimm had first mentioned the colours that Granfer had begun to speak of Grimm entering the Guild.

Grimm knew what his grandfather wanted for him and, even if the road might be hard, it was enough for the boy to know that it was what Granfer Loras wanted.

Swallowing hard in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat, Grimm spoke. "Yes, Lord Prelate, I promise to do my best for the Guild for as long as you want. I will try my hardest to make you and my grandfather proud of me."

Thorn ran his hand through his greasy, thinning hair and bowed his head for a moment, plainly deep in thought. For a hopeful heartbeat or two, Grimm wondered if the Prelate intended to send him back home, but Lord Thorn's next words robbed him of this hope.

"Grimm Afelnor, you are hereby accepted into the Ancient and Honourable Guild of Magic-users, Sorcerers and Thaumaturges as a Student in this House," droned Lord Thorn, as if reciting a litany. "You will receive whatever training and education the Presidium of this House may see fit to bestow upon you.