Bang-bang!
"The Conclave shall come to order!” Horin shouted. “Can you substantiate this extraordinary charge, Questor Loras?"
"Lord Thorn colluded with one not of this Guild, to overthrow you, Lord Horin,” Loras said. “In addition to this, he cavilled with this person to use Geomancy against a fellow mage, to bring about his unjust dismissal from the Guild."
After a moment of stunned silence, Rithel demanded, “Do you have the least scrap of evidence to support such ludicrous charges?"
"Not by myself, Prosecutor Rithel,” Loras admitted. “However, I formally request that my fellow defendants be brought here to testify in our joint defence. Without this indulgence, justice may not be served.
"Lord Dominie, you stated during my prior session here that you had some knowledge of the witch in question. Did you know-"
Bang-bang-bang!
"Silence, prisoner!” Horin shouted. “Gentlemen of the Conclave, on a Point of Personal Privilege, I request your indulgence to hear this defendant's testimony in camera. The evidence may be prejudicial to Guild security, and I feel that only I am competent to judge it. May I prevail upon you all to adjourn to the antechamber?"
The Conclave erupted in furor. Some members argued that Loras should be required to testify in iron chains, at least, but Horin was obdurate.
"I am not defenceless,” he said. “This room is surrounded by a ward against the use of any but the most passive of Minor Magics. That is why the defendants are allowed to stand here unfettered, and it should suffice even against the most powerful Questor magic. I am armed with my Mage Staff, and the prisoner cannot summon his own. Kindly leave the room at once."
Despite a few final, grumbling words of dissent, Loras heard the fading rustle of robes and the decisive slam of a heavy door.
"We are alone, Questor Loras. Tell me what you know about Prioress Lizaveta."
Loras squinted into the darkness. “Lord Chairman, I would feel more at ease talking to you if I could see you. Unless my memory is playing tricks on me, I believe Guild Law permits an accused mage to face his accusers."
Horin chuckled. “You are facing me, Questor Loras, even though you cannot see me. However, if you wish…"
Loras heard a few muttered syllables, and the green mage globes disappeared in the blink of an eye. After another brief spell-chant, the blackness fell like a heavy curtain released from its rail, to reveal a splendid, wood-panelled chamber, with no windows, and only two sets of doors. The centrepiece of the room was a large table in the shape of a horseshoe, with the ends closest to him. Behind the centre of the arc sat a calm-faced, ancient-looking man amidst a wild profusion of scrolls and papers, many of which had spilled onto the floor around him.
The former Questor felt surprised at Lord Horin's apparent age; of course, most mages were old men by the time they reached the Seventh Rank, but Horin looked ancient. His forehead was deeply grooved, and the skin of his lower face hung in heavy jowls. Where most magic-users resorted to magic to hide the signs of advancing age, it seemed that the Dominie did not bother with spells of vanity.
Remembering protocol, Loras executed a deep bow, and he was pleased to find that his long-ago lessons in Courtly Graces had not deserted him.
"I do you honour, Lord Dominie,” he said, as he straightened up.
"Yes, yes, yes,” Horin said, waving his hands and donning a fussy pair of gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles. “I think we can do away with the formalities for now, Questor Loras. Come, approach me; I want to see the fabled Oathbreaker, and my eyesight is not what it once was."
Loras stepped towards the older man with a measured pace, his eyes fixed on the black marble floor. He stopped a few steps away from the Dominie.
"No, Questor Loras; please come around to this side of the table."
The smith complied, feeling a hot flush of self-consciousness at the Dominie's frank, appraising stare, but he locked his eyes on Horin's in any case. It would be the height of disgrace for a Questor to be stared down by a mere Specialist, regardless of his status.
"You do not look like a monster to me, Brother Mage,” the Dominie drawled, at last. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss."
Loras obeyed Horin, sinking into a comfortable, leather chair with some gratitude.
"Do you like wine, Questor Loras?” Horin asked, lifting a half-full bottle of a pale liquid from the table. “It is Amber Pellurian; a very good year, too, I might add."
Loras shook his head. “In case you had forgotten, Lord Dominie, I am on trial for my life. My mind is on things other than alcohol."
Horin filled the goblet in front of him, raised it up and took an appreciative sip before replacing it.
"Of course, Brother Mage; a pity."
The Dominie cleared his throat.
"I have suspected for some time that your earlier conviction might be unreliable. Your prior record speaks against it, and I have recently experienced Prioress Lizaveta's powers at first hand-I was scarcely able to resist them.
"Your grandson, Questor Grimm, was of great aid in ejecting the Prioress and her cohorts from High Lodge. I rewarded him with his seventh ring in recognition of this."
Loras’ heart surged. “Lord Dominie, how is Grimm? I have not seen him for two years."
"Questor Grimm is undertaking a special Quest for me, Questor Loras. I gave him the mandate to eliminate this woman's pernicious Order's influence in its entirety, by whatever means he deems fit.
"The only information I have received from my Secular agent in Rendale is that the Priory lies in ruins; I therefore expect Questor Grimm's triumphant return very soon."
Loras yearned to see Grimm again, dressed in his Questor finery, his staff adorned with the seven prestigious gold rings. He daydreamed of greeting his grandson at the entrance of High Lodge in his own silken robes, a full mage once more.
"Now, to business,” Horin said, calling Loras’ attention back to the real world. “I wish to see you exonerated, Questor Loras. However, Guild Law constrains even me, even if I have the leeway to bend it a little to my own advantage.
"The essential thread of your argument seems to revolve around Prioress Lizaveta's former influence on you. However, you and your comrades can only prevail if we can link her influence to Prelate Thorn; otherwise, the charge of mutiny will be difficult to overturn."
Loras took a deep breath. “She is Thorn's mother,” he said. “She ordered him to orchestrate my disgrace and subsequent dismissal from the Guild. He protested, but he seemed unable to resist her influence. Ever since that day, he has been dancing to her tune, so that one day he may become Dominie at her behest."
Horin's rheumy, blue eyes widened. “You speak as if you know this as a fact, Questor Loras. Can you prove any of it?"
Loras shrugged. “That may be up to you to discover, Lord Dominie. Until very recently, I believed in my guilt and culpability with all my heart, and I considered Thorn my staunchest friend. However, Mentalist Kargan invoked a spell he called ‘Bledel Soulmaster's Temporal Divinatory Conjunct'. He actually showed me-"
"I have heard of this spell,” Horin declared, interrupting him. “It is a Schedule Nine spell, forbidden to mages without prior written permission from the Presidium. Several High Lodge Mentalists have attempted the spell; all failed. I rather doubt a mere House Mentalist could manage it. I consider it more likely that you were shown a simple Illusion. Is that not possible?"
The smith cocked his head on one side, considering the Dominie's question in detail before shaking his head. “No, Lord Dominie; it is not. Mentalist Kargan's spell dislocated my soul from my body; I am still mage enough to recognise such a dislocation, and a naked soul cannot be gulled by Illusions or Glamours. What I saw was real.
"If you summon Mentalist Kargan to this chamber and persuade him to repeat the spell, a competent Scholar armed with a suitable grimoire could surely attest to the spell's accuracy and authenticity. I saw the truth of my betrayal, without doubt."
Horin rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair. “It is not as simple as that, Questor Loras. If Mentalist Kargan has indeed cast a Schedule Nine spell, he has broken Guild Law. I could not ignore that, and the Presidium would be unlikely to agree to a demonstration.
"The word of an accused man alone bears little weight here; it would not be accepted as proof. As for Lizaveta being Thorn's mother, that means little enough on its own."
Horin took another sip of wine from his goblet, his expression distant and troubled.
"We need something better,” he mumbled.
Loras almost gasped as blazing awareness came to him: Lizaveta almost trapped him! I would wager any odds that only Grimm's skills saved him, and he dare not admit that! He would lose face in the eyes of the Presidium, leaving him open to any ambitious mage's challenge. He does not want the truth; he wants a political excuse for condemning Thorn.
The former Questor had not engaged in the darker side of Guild politics for several decades, but he had not forgotten the most important rules: deniability, distance and misdirection.
Literal truth did not matter.
"Lord Horin,” Loras said, causing the Dominie to snap out of his reverie and meet his intense gaze. “Is it a necessary condition of this trial that Lord Thorn be exonerated?"
Horin shook his head. “I believe Thorn is as guilty as you said, Questor Loras. Were it up to me, you and your fellow defendants would be freed in a heartbeat. However, I must not appear capricious, and I dare not declare many more Points of Personal Privilege.
"I need something concrete, not mere hearsay."
Loras almost smiled. The truth was unimportant; what mattered was the semblance of truth; something that would ring true.
This was a game he knew well.
"Have you seen Lord Thorn's… personal Questor, Lord Horin?"
Horin shuddered. “I have. The poor lad is confined in an iron-walled cell. He is too dangerous to allow him to run about at will. He is powerful and maniacal."
"Is he charged with anything?"
"Yes,” Horin replied. “Thaumaturgic assault against seven High Lodge officials. Three are in a critical condition, and one is not expected to survive."
Loras nodded and bowed his head for a moment. “I pray for them all, Lord Dominie. I have faced the boy in Questor combat, and I know well his power. I tried to reason with him, but his only response was ‘I serve only Lord Thorn'."
"The boy is plainly insane,” Horin agreed, rubbing his chin. “However, that is a poor argument to condemn a member of the Presidium."
"It is part of a pattern, Lord Dominie,” Loras insisted. “As I understand it from Magemaster Kargan, a Neophyte Questor in Arnor Lodge became insane after three months of training, and he killed the Senior Magemaster."
"Ah, yes; poor Urel.” Horin sighed. “Alas, in his zeal, he pushed a neurotic Neophyte too far. The Ordeal is severe, but necessarily so, of course, you, as a Questor, must acknowledge that. It seems that Senior Magemaster Urel misjudged his Neophyte's stability."
Loras shook his head. “After three months of my Ordeal, Lord Dominie, my tutor, Magemaster Karas, criticised my handwriting, the condition of my robes, my tardiness; irksome, yes, but not yet enough to enrage me. Every charity Student often faces worse treatment.
"If angry words were enough to unhinge this boy, surely Magemaster Urel would have noticed long before. I knew Urel as a gentle and understanding soul when he was a Neophyte."
Horin cleared his throat and shrugged. “Questor Loras, High Lodge has no Scholasticate and no Questors. Although a few Presidium members are Questors, every member of this Conclave comes from a wealthy family.
"Your argument will not sway them one iota. You and they are separated by an immeasurable gulf."
Loras frowned. “I believe Magemasters Crohn and Kargan, and Questor Dalquist, will swear that Lord Thorn has perverted the Questor Ordeal, so as to produce Questors at a greater rate, regardless of the risk,” he said. “This is so that Arnor House and he, as its representative, can gain greater status within High Lodge.
"Thorn is planning to supplant you, man!"
Horin scowled and picked up his gavel and, for a moment, Loras thought the Dominie would throw it at him. However, the older man drew a deep, shuddering breath and replaced it on the table.
"I am surrounded by people looking for the least sign of weakness in my decisions or actions,” he said. “Few men ascend to the Presidium without such ambitions. Some are hand-picked by me for their devotion to the Guild, but these are few and far between. Much of my time is spent in discovering the intrigues against me, Questor Loras.
"Of course I know Thorn is plotting to overthrow me. The main reason I prefer to act against him now is that he has only now shown his hand.
"I believe what you say, Brother Mage. However, you need to convince the Conclave members, too. Proving that a few pauper Neophytes were maltreated will not do, I promise you."
Loras groaned, closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, massaging the back of his neck.
I felt so sure I understood Guild politics, he thought, but I forgot the low regard in which charity mages are held; even those of the Seventh Rank. I was foolish to consider Horin as an ally; he seeks to enhance his popularity by destroying a House Prelate-who, after all, is only a damned pauper-and freeing a pair of valuable, wealthy Specialists. How better to show his power and boost his reputation within the Presidium?
I am just a pawn in his game; if it comes to a crisis, I will just be surrendered to ‘justice', as will Questor Dalquist.
Nonetheless, Horin seems to need me to help him. He wants to dethrone Thorn; I must play on that need. It is time to increase the stakes.
He clasped his hands together, opened his eyes and sat up straight in his chair, looking the Dominie straight in the eyes.
"I understand, Lord Dominie; I am just a worthless beggar to the Presidium, and I cannot change that. Why do you not just convict me now, and save time? The Conclave members will surely applaud your decision."
Horin's eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened into a thin slit, his lips whitening. For a few moments, Loras felt as if his very life were being weighed in an invisible balance.
Horin sighed. “You try my patience, Questor Loras. I thought, perhaps foolishly, that you had a more potent argument than maltreatment of Neophyte Questors. If this is your sole testimony, it is worthless."
Loras nodded. “I am in your hands, Lord Dominie."
Now is the time, he thought, crossing his arms over his chest as the senior mage raised his gavel. If Lord Dominie Horin wants ‘politics', perhaps it is best to give him some.
"Did you enjoy your amorous interlude with the sweet Prioress, Horin?” he asked, smiling.
The gavel wavered in the air.
"What in the Names do you mean, Loras?” Horin demanded, his eyes hooded. “The witch tried to work her wiles on me, and I defeated her. That is all there is to the matter. There was no ‘amorous interlude', as you choose to put it."
Nonetheless, the gavel did not yet fall.
He is wondering what I have against him, thought Loras, and he worries what the other Conclave members may think of him.
"Let us not play games, Horin,” he said. “I, too, suffered Lizaveta's attentions, when I was much younger and she was still comely. I remember the little touches; the breathless sighs; the fluttering lashes… I needed all my Questor power to resist her. I am sure you know all about that.
"Nonetheless, I would feel forced to relate my own lurid struggles with Lizaveta, were I pressed for evidence. Of course, we Questors, peasants as we are, are renowned for our indomitable internal strength and destructiveness, if for little else. Perhaps you would like to amuse the Conclave by telling them how you defeated Lizaveta. I feel sure your persuasive words as Dominie will sway them far more than my lurid, detailed revelations as a mere Seventh Level Questor would ever do.
"After all, I am only a worthless pauper, am I not?"
Horin placed the gavel back on its little bowl, his eyes hooded Now I have the Dominie's interest at last, Loras thought, and he began to marshal his thoughts.
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