"Is this blackmail, Questor Loras?"
Loras shrugged. “If you wish to use such an emotive phrase, Lord Dominie, who am I to argue? Were my fellow defendants and I exonerated, of course…"
Horin lay back in his leather-bound chair, regarding the former Questor with a new wariness. He raised his wineglass to his lips but put it back down, untested.
"Even a little mud sticks, Lord Dominie,” Loras continued, still fixing Horin's gaze and shrugging again. “Even if I am condemned, I have the right to a brief last statement… and I will insist on it, Brother Mage."
He hesitated for just the right amount of time.
"On the other hand, my dear Lord Horin, you could always call on a few favours and Points of Personal Privilege to assure Lord Thorn's condemnation; nonetheless, I will not be a part of it. As a mere beggar-boy, my word is worthless in the sight of your good friends, is it not?
"However, people are wont to talk, are they not?"
Horin's face turned the colour of parchment, and his eyes bulged.
After a brief pause to allow his words to sink in, Loras continued. “However, perhaps we can come to an agreement more amenable to both of us, Lord Dominie."
Horin cocked his head on one side, his top lip wrinkled in an expression of distaste. “How… how much do you want, Questor?” he said, curling his top lip.
Loras laughed. “Why do people see money as the answer to all problems?” he asked rhetorically, with a wry shake of the head. “I am sorry, Lord Dominie. I have never been for sale, and I never shall be. No; I want the stain on my name expunged, and I want Lord Thorn to be seen for what he is: a traitor to his House and to the Guild.
"You have been honest enough to show your opinion of Questors. The same men who risk their lives to enforce your decrees: the soulless weapons with which you threaten and chastise those you see as enemies; regrettable, brutish necessities; tools to be used at will.
"Is not Lord Thorn such a man? Why is it so difficult for you to convince the Conclave to take the word of two Questors and two Specialists against a single man-a Questor, as despised in his calling as the rest of us?"
Horin frowned and took a sip of wine.
"The matter is not so simple, Questor Loras. I spoke truth when I told you how Questors were regarded here, in general. However, many previous Dominies were once Questors, as you doubtless know; in fact, such mages outnumber Specialists in the office. That is not only because they are often seen as powerful leaders, but also because they have ascended to the rank of Prelate.
"Election to this rank frees a mage from any association with his former calling. Lord Thorn is no longer seen as a Mage Questor, or any other kind of mage; he is a House Prelate, elected by popular demand. The other members will not regard him as a Questor at all."
Loras sighed. “Even if he is a traitor?
"Very well: you cannot accept evidence of his brutalisation of charity boys to bolster his case for accession to the Presidium. You will not allow Mentalist Kargan to enter evidence in the form of a forbidden spell that would prove Thorn's complicity in a grievous conspiracy.
"Why then did you so readily accept my defence regarding Prioress Lizaveta? Why did you not just dismiss it out of hand and be done with it? Was it because you feared others might guess the truth about you and she? You need not lie to me, Lord Dominie; I do not need Mage Sight to recognise the truth."
"Are you so keen to die, Questor Loras?” Horin demanded, scowling. “If that is what you wish, it can be arranged with ease!"
Loras shook his head, feeling his eyes moisten. “I wished that when I was arraigned; when I believed I had committed the foulest treason. When I was stripped of my powers and exiled from the Guild, I considered suicide. Only my marriage to Drima saved me from my growing, self-destructive urge. Now, I must think of my family. My life no longer belongs to me alone. I do not wish to die.
"I repeat my question: why have you taken my side in this trial, if just to condemn me to death? I cannot believe it is just in the interest of justice: We have both played the game of Guild politics too long for me to believe that.
"I want to know everything, Lord Horin; if I am to die, I want to know why you have apparently fought so hard to keep me alive."
Horin leaned towards Loras, his former, angry expression softening. “I am an old man, Questor Loras. I have held this position for many years, and I want to hold on to it. Thorn represents a serious threat to me, and I believe he has betrayed his position. I also believe you were wrongly accused by him in your youth; since you have been here, I have reviewed your prior record, as well as Thorn's, and I find your charges compelling.
"However, I must convince the other members of the Conclave. I cannot convict a House Prelate on Points of Personal Privilege; I would be seen as a weak man relying on his position. When you made your accusation, I thought you might have something I could use to depose Thorn. I have guided this trial as best I could to bring you to this stage and to silence Thorn, but what you have offered so far is useless."
Well, that is candid enough, thought Loras, scratching the unaccustomed growth of hair on his head. Perhaps I am better off with blackmail, after all.
"As I told you, Lord Dominie, I knew the late Senior Magemaster Urel when he was a Neophyte,” he said. The words, delivered in a dull monotone, came from his mouth without his conscious bidding.
"I seem to remember he was training as a Manipulant, or as some other Specialist, Lord Dominie. Urel was no pauper!"
Horin shrugged. “I met the man on a few occasions. As I recall it, he was a Mentalist,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?"
"What difference would it make if I could show that Lord Thorn's reckless ambition caused Urel's death? That Thorn then tried to cover up the Senior Magemaster's death by blaming him for the whole debacle? That it was no tragic accident, but the result of Thorn's wilful, culpable negligence?"
Horin sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, but he looked at least a little interested. That was a good sign.
"Such a charge might carry more weight,” the head of the Guild admitted. “How would you prove it?"
Loras threw his head back and drew a deep breath, slowly exhaling before he met the Dominie's eyes again.
"It all depends, Lord Horin, on whether you are prepared to… massage justice a little,” he said.
"How much?” the senior mage demanded, his eyes like dark slits.
"As I said, a little, Lord Dominie; if you are willing to admit multiple testimonies, I am sure Magemasters Crohn and Kargan, both scions of wealthy families, will testify to the character of Urel. Magemaster Kargan told me of Senior Magemaster Crohn's doubts regarding Lord Thorn's innocence in this matter. Kargan, too, knew Urel well; they were classmates."
Horin shook his head. “That is not enough, Questor Loras. It is a step in the right direction, but it is not enough to depose a House Prelate. I would like you to tell me just what your proposed ‘massage of justice’ involves."
Loras smiled without humour. “I suggest that you allow me to present my proposed defence concerning the maltreatment of Neophyte Questors, regardless of derision or contempt from the other Conclave members. It might aid you if you went along with them in this; to caution me as to the possible irrelevance of the testimony, but to admit it in the interests of pure, dispassionate justice. In that way, you show yourself to be a strong, impartial leader."
Horin leaned a little closer. This time, Loras felt sure the Dominie's expression showed more than mild interest.
"Do continue, Questor Loras."
"I would quote Law… whatever law it is that says an accused mage is allowed to summon others of the Guild to speak in his defence,” Loras said.
"That is Law 1.6.13,” Horin said, after consulting a compendious tome to his right.
"Thank you, Lord Dominie. Under Law 1.6.13, I will then call Magemasters Crohn and Kargan; you will apprise them of my testimony and allow them the same latitude you allowed me earlier. Introduce my testimony concerning the death of Urel as mere speculation and hearsay.
"If Magemaster Crohn does not react to this, I shall be very surprised."
Horin drained his glass and licked his lips. “And if he does?"
Loras smiled. “I shall keep my evidence vague. I recommend that you press Magemaster Crohn for details as to the dates of the alleged events. I suggest that you adopt a very worried expression and hunt through your papers as you do so; and then call an immediate recess."
The Dominie slowly nodded his head. “I presume this is where the ‘massaging’ takes place,” he said, his lips drawing back from his teeth in what might just have been an answering smile.
"Indeed, Lord Dominie,” Loras replied. “You will then remember a long-forgotten letter from the poor man, warning you of Thorn's activities in this regard. Since it also covers other charges not covered by this trial, you would be quite justified in not revealing it in full to the Conclave."
"How can I justify the fact that I did not remember this letter at once?” Horin asked.
The Questor shrugged. “A man in your lofty position must receive many petitions and letters over the course of a year. You remember the fact that you received a letter from Magemaster Urel, but you forgot all about it when you heard the news of his tragic death, which, of course, arrived as you were about to open the letter.
"On the other hand, of course, you could have forgotten about the letter due to a powerful Geomantic spell…"
Horin smiled. “You missed your true vocation, Questor Loras. I believe you would have been more valuable to the Guild as a member of the Presidium than as a House Questor."
Loras shook his head. “I sailed on the murky waters of Guild politics for many years, Lord Dominie. I thank you for your confidence, but I have no desire to swim in them, or to drink from them. I was a Questor, and I was content with that. I would have accepted the post of Prelate, if I had ever been offered it. However, I never sought any higher rank."
Horin's brows rose, his eyes widening, as if he could not believe that a true Guild man would aspire to any lesser goal than the ultimate accolade.
"I understand, Questor,” he said, but Loras could tell the Dominie was anything but convinced.
Horin picked up his glass and raised it to his lips before realising it was empty.
"Are you sure you will not partake of this splendid beverage, Brother Mage?” he asked, replacing the glass on the table and picking up the bottle. “It is vintage ‘57; the finest year for Pellurian Amber over the last century. I paid a pretty penny for it, I assure you. Of course, I would not expect you to appreciate the finer details of such an exclusive beverage…
"I beg your pardon, Questor Loras. I intended no insult."
Despite the Dominie's belittling words, Loras now felt far more relaxed than he had for some time, and he realised he felt rather thirsty.
"Thank you, Lord Dominie; I believe I would appreciate a glass."
Horin stood up, walked over to a small, round table and selected a tall, fluted crystal glass. Returning to his seat, he poured a generous measure of the golden liquid and handed the glass to the Questor.
Loras held it up to the light and rotated it before raising it to his nose, wafting delicate vapours towards his twitching nostrils.
He tilted the glass towards his pursed lips, allowing a small amount of the turbid liquid to enter his mouth and swirling it around his teeth before swallowing.
Smacking his lips, he smiled.
"An excellent vintage, is it not, Brother Mage?” Horin said, his expression eager, almost pleading. “It cost me fifty gold pieces per bottle."
"You were robbed, Lord Dominie,” Loras said, still smiling. “This, I regret to say, is not ‘57 Pellurian Amber. I believe I recognise it as the product of a small vineyard on the lower slopes of Mount Brindam, in Verisia. It is an indifferent wine at best, and this is not one of their better vintages… it is either an ‘83 or an ‘87."
He took another sip and winced. “Definitely ‘83. You can tell from the sharp tang of tannin, followed by a distinct aftertaste of blackwort, which only grows in that region."
Horin's expression fell; he looked aghast as he picked up the bottle and regarded the label.
"Another point, Lord Dominie,” Loras said, “The serifs on the label are level; the serifs on a true Pellurian wine label have a slight downward cast to the left. I am afraid you have been deceived."
Horin put the bottle back on the table, his expression dark and angry.
"I was told this was the finest Pellurian Amber,” he growled. “I thank you for the services of your educated palate. I am indebted to you."
Loras tried to keep his expression neutral. “Please, do not mention it, Lord Dominie. I am glad to be of service."
"Perhaps it is time to call the Conclave back into the chamber and proceed as you suggested earlier,” Horin said. “Is that amenable to you?"
Loras suppressed a yawn. “It is, Lord Dominie. I am sorry that I had to bring you such bad news about your wine purchase."
"You have done me a great service, Questor Loras. A reckoning is due, I promise you; on several counts. You have my support."
As the Dominie raised his gavel and pounded it on the small wooden bowl, Loras felt happier than he had in many years. He felt sure his innocence would at last be proved, and he knew that Grimm should be returning soon from his successful Quest. He would return to Lower Frunstock in glory, and he would deliver his beloved Drima from the hot squalor of the forge. The future seemed full of hope, after decades of misery.
He stood up and moved back to his appointed position facing the table. The lights dimmed as the Conclave members began to file into the chamber, until he could no longer see his accusers.
I may know nothing at all about fine vintages or wine labels, he thought, but I know vinegar when I taste it. Perhaps, after all this time, I will soon be able to taste something else.
Bang-bang!
"The Conclave is called to order,” Horin declared. “I have some details of the defendant's proposed accusation against Lord Prelate Thorn, and I declare it in order. However, I must advise the Conclave and the defendant that I see this approach as dubious at best, since it seems to rely heavily on hearsay and innuendo. It is recommended that the defendant's testimony be treated with the utmost caution in this regard.
"Prosecutor Rithel; the floor is yours."
"Thank you, Lord Chairman,” the Prosecutor said, in an oleaginous voice. “Questor Loras; you have made a most grievous and disturbing accusation against a valued member of the Guild Presidium. How can you possibly substantiate such a ridiculous charge against a respectable, selfless, hard-working Mage?"
Loras drew a deep breath; he would hold up his end of his bargain with the Dominie.
It only remained to see if Horin would do the same.
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