Dear Granfer and Gramma,
Thank you very much for the lovely cake you sent me on my tenth birthday. It was very nice and I shared it with my friends Madar and Argand. They also enjoyed it. It is so good to be able to write you after all this time and I look forward to a letter from you.
I am doing well at runes and pretend spells and our mage master Kargan says I am good at singing. Magemaster Crohn is often fierce, but I do not think he really means it. I see him smile sometimes when he thinks nobody is looking.
Would you believe it, I am quite a good dancer now; even Magemaster Faffel has stopped hitting me with his stick. He is quite hard sometimes, so I am pleased. Madar is a good dancer; he helped me a lot.
I can play the lute a little bit now and I sang on stage as a minstrel a few weeks ago. Next year you can come to see me at the end of the term. I have lots and lots to tell you, but no space here.
Lots of love, Grimm
As Grimm was on his way back to his cell one night, he was intercepted by Doorkeeper and given the letter he had been waiting for. A communication from home, at last! He hustled to his cell and tore open the letter with clumsy, eager haste.
To his surprise, there were two different letters within the envelope, one signed by both his grandparents and one signed only by Granfer Loras. He read the latter epistle first.
My beloved grandson,
I hope this letter finds you as it leaves me. By now, you will know the truth about my former life, and I am deeply sorry that I did not tell you of this before, but you will appreciate that this is not a matter on which I can easily dwell.
Not even your grandmother knows of my past, and neither could I find it in me to tell your late father, my own son. I believe it is deep shame that drives me to hide the truth in this matter from those who know nothing of it.
However, now that I know that you know all too well what and who I was, I find it easy to write you these few lines. It is so good to be able once more to speak of my past and to write frankly to my beloved grandson.
I am ashamed of what I once did, Grimm, and I hope that you can find it within yourself to face and to master the legacy of shame that I have left you. However, please believe that I did not send you to the Guild because I wanted you to absolve me by being a better mage than I was.
I believe with all my heart that a bright lad like you, with such power, would be wasted as an apprentice smith in a dull backwater like Lower Frunstock, and I know that only within the Guild will you find any kind of fulfilment.
I regret I will be unable to visit you at the end of the year, for obvious reasons, but your grandmother is counting the days, and my heart will travel with her.
I love you, and I am deeply proud of you.
Loras Afelnor, once Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called the Firelord.
A lump filled Grimm's throat as he read the letter. Seeing his grandfather's full Guild style and cognomen, written in his own hand, brought home to him what the histories and remembrances relayed to him by the likes of Doorkeeper had not; Loras really had been among the most puissant of wizards, a wielder of the most destructive powers.
He had not always been the imperturbable, good-natured smith that was all Grimm could call to mind. Once, he had been a manipulator of arcane powers and a mage of the highest order. For too long now, Grimm had felt the weight of the shame transferred to him by that one, inexplicable, misguided act of Loras'. From this moment, he swore, he would persevere, taking inspiration from the man his grandfather had been before his downfall; a man widely liked and respected within the House and, until that day, one of its most potent magic-users.
Grimm knew the first letter had been for his eyes alone, and he tucked it inside his tunic. The second, much longer, letter was from both his grandparents and written in his grandmother's hand.
Dearest Grimm,
I would guess that, at this stage, you are finding it hard to imagine the apparent eternity of years that lie before you as in the Scholasticate, and I wish that your grandfather and I could come to see you, to express our love and pride for you in person.
Rest assured that we will both move heaven and earth to be with you at the end of the year, as soon as we are able.
Please keep a warm place in your heart for us, as we always shall for you, and never think for one moment that we ever wished to be parted from you.
Borrin and Mardel are asking after you and they begged you to visit when you are a mage dressed in fine robes. Poor boys; they miss you, too, and they have no idea of how long it takes to train a mage.
You will be pleased to know that Orel has finally married Aria. As a wedding present, your granfer made Orel a full partner in the smithy. Loras is not as young as he was and needs a hand with the heavy work, which Orel is happy to lend. Orel and Aria also send their love and hope that you are well…
The letter went on for several neatly-written pages more, and Grimm devoured the news of the home he had not seen for so long. He knew Loras could not have told Drima that he could never visit the House; at the end of the year, Grimm presumed, Granfer would have to make some excuse not to come. Grimm understood the reasons for the deception; Loras was banished forever from Guild premises, and to confess this would be to reveal his shameful past. Although he yearned to see Loras again, he understood why this was impossible.
He begged a piece of paper from Doorkeeper and began to pen a reply, in the full knowledge that all outgoing messages were subject to scrutiny before they were sent.
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."
Grimm's eyes filled with tears. He thought of his bear of a grandfather, a man who worked as hard as others half his age, but who was never to busy to listen to a child's questions or to soothe a hurt.
Often, Loras would refuse payment from poor people, or he would charge a price well below the going rate. It was Loras who would send anonymous parcels of food to people who had fallen on hard times; it was always he who was at the forefront of a search for a missing child. Such a man could not have an evil bone in his whole body, no matter the opprobrium placed on his name.
"Gramma," Grimm said, fighting strong emotions, "I love you both. I know that Granfer is a good man, and I will work hard to become a good mage. It is hard for me here sometimes, but it will be worth it to make you proud of me."
"We're always proud of you, Grimm," Drima said, her voice hesitant and her eyes misty. "Just do your best; that will always be more than enough for us. You're a good boy, and we love you so much. All I ask is that you work hard, and please don't tell your Granfer that I know some of his secret. It would hurt him so much, and I know you would never want him to be hurt."
"Don't worry, Gramma," Grimm assured her, "I promise I won't say anything. I love Granfer as much as I love you. I wouldn't say anything to hurt him for all the world."
"In that case, Grimm, I don't think we need to say any more on the subject, do we? Please; do tell me about your friends and your teachers."
"Oh, Gramma," giggled Grimm, "you should know by now that they aren't called teachers, they're called Magemasters.
"I have two good friends that I wrote about in my letters. One day last month, we started a new game here. It's called Scaffle-ball, and everyone's playing it now…"
A whole hour passed whilst Grimm and his doting grandmother exchanged news. When Magemaster Crohn came to tell them that the audience was at an end, Grimm was surprised; it seemed as if only a few scant minutes had passed. The boy hugged his grandmother in a tight embrace and whispered, "I'll remember, Gramma. You can rely on me. I love you all."
Drima whispered back, with tears in her eyes, "We love you, too, Grimm. It may take a long time, but we know you will do your best. If you ever become sad, think of us. You can be sure we'll be thinking of you."
A heartfelt kiss, and the visit was over. Grimm went to his cell and read his grandparents' letters for a while, drawing sustenance from the pages through his tearful eyes until the Refectory bell tolled its insistent chime. Eating seemed a chore, and he went to bed with a barely-satisfied stomach, but with a full heart.
For the remainder of the winter break, he confined most of his reading to serious subjects. He studied the four main classifications of spells: Perceptive, Manipulative, Transformative and Translocative. The standard work recommended by Crohn was Thrumal and Thring's Principles of Thaumaturgy, and he devoured the dull tome with an intensity and interest he had never known before; he would make the Afelnor name shine again. When the new year began, he would work as he never had before.