Crohn stepped forward, his presence commanding despite his filthy appearance. “Where lies your loyalty, Questor Xylox?” he demanded, his voice like ice. “Have you forgotten your solemn oath; an oath that should be sacred to you?
"Answer me!"
"You are a damned, bloody traitor, Crohn,” Xylox said through clenched teeth. “I have no need to justify myself to you or your co-conspirators."
"Your primary responsibility is to the Guild!” Crohn snapped. “You have forgotten an accused mage's right to a fair trial without coercion, torture or other compulsion. Lord Thorn himself chose to flout this rule because he preferred a pair of subdued, mindless puppets to healthy men able to defend themselves and expose his own treasonous activities!"
"Lord Thorn regards you as dangerous renegades,” Xylox said. “Such traitorous dogs cannot be left in full possession of their powers. Perhaps a few rules have been bent; what is that compared to the security of the House?"
Guild Law 19.8.1,” the Magemaster snapped. His blue-grey eyes shone like chips of ice. “'Any accusation of treason or other serious transgression is considered as invalid until the accused mage is arraigned before a duly assembled Conclave of his peers, such an assembly to be called by the accused mage's House Prelate at the earliest opportunity'.
"Law 19.8.2 tells us that any mage accused of a serious breach of Guild Law shall submit to confinement in ‘humane conditions until such a Conclave may be assembled. No physical, psychological or thaumaturgic influence shall be used to force any confession or admission from the accused man before this time'.
"Do you think you, Magemaster Faffel, or Prelate Thorn have complied with these inflexible, explicit rules, Questor Xylox? Or do you doubt my recollection of these laws?” Crohn's voice was low but intense.
Xylox snorted. “I owe you no allegiance, Crohn! In this House, Lord Thorn is the law. He-"
"Law 21.5!” Crohn screamed, cutting off the Questor. “'Any and all regulations apply in equal measure and in every particular to all members of every House! No deviation, waiver, amendment or change to these laws and regulations may be made without the majority decision of the Guild Presidium, as recorded in the official records of High Lodge! The body of Guild Law is a single, cohesive framework, supporting and sustaining our Brotherhood! Guilt arising from any knowing breach of these Laws is considered shared between all participants. No defence based upon assumed authority shall be deemed valid!' "You are a damned, bloody traitor, Questor Xylox. You, Magemaster Faffel and, above all, Lord Thorn, are forsworn Oathbreakers!"
Kargan felt a cold shock run through him as Crohn projected a copious bolt of sputum at the wide-eyed, immobile Questor.
"I revile you, scum,” he said, his voice rich with contempt.
Xylox bared his teeth in a snarl and raised his staff over his head. Crohn stepped forward until his nose was mere inches away from the Questor's more impressive, beak-like appendage, and flung his staff clattering to the slick flagstones.
"Strike if you dare, Questor!” he cried. “It will not change my opinion of you. Lord Thorn may have enslaved you, but neither you nor he will do that to me."
The Questor growled and his staff-tip twitched a little, but he did not bring it down.
"You're a blind fool, Xylox,” Kargan said, finding his voice at last. “You confuse might with right. Why would a House Questor and two Magemasters dare to rebel against their Prelate?
"Have you even once stopped to consider that they might be in the right? We swore the same Oath as you and we regard it as sacrosanct. We still stand by that Oath, whereas you seem to have forgotten or ignored it.
"Where lies a mage's first allegiance?"
Xylox rolled his eyes. “I have no intention of discussing-"
"ANSWER ME!” Kargan screamed, feeling irate blood pounding in his temples. “Where lies a mage's primary allegiance?"
"A mage's primary allegiance is to the Lord High Dominie,” the Questor droned. “However, the Dominie's representative within the House-"
"Law 21.5 still applies in full measure!” Crohn snapped.
He bowed his head. “There; it is said. Do what you will with me. You may as well kill me, for if Guild Law can be flouted with impunity, then I am already dead. I will meet my end with pride, for I shall have defended my beliefs with my life, as I swore to do before you were born."
The old Magemaster sank to his knees before the burly Questor, and Kargan followed suit.
I really hope Questor Xylox isn't as pig-headed as he looks, the Mentalist thought, or this could be over very soon.
Long moments passed, as Kargan fixed his gaze on the lichen-encrusted floor, expecting death at any moment.
"Very well, gentlemen.” Xylox's voice was a low growl. “You say Lord Thorn is a traitor, and I have to acknowledge the transgression of a few Guild Laws. What evidence do you have for your allegations?"
"Please, Questor Loras, be seated,” Thorn said, his voice amicable as he slid himself into the leather-upholstered chair behind his desk. “Let us discuss your terms."
Loras hid his gratitude as he sank into the chair, facing the Prelate; the damper weather of recent days had taken a toll on his arthritic knees and hips.
"My terms are simple,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest, Blade cradled in the crook of his right elbow. “I demand a solemn affidavit from you to the Lord Dominie, confirming my innocence, and your recommendation of my reinstatement to the Guild rolls."
Thorn nodded. “Now that I am free of my mother's influence, I am happy to do that,” he said.
"Secondly,” Loras continued, “I demand that my grandson, Grimm Afelnor, be accorded the respect due to a relative of an honoured Guildbrother. His obligation to the House for his tuition shall be set at nought, and he shall be free to choose his own path in this world."
"He already has the means to defray his financial obligation,” Thorn said, with an airy gesture. “He is independently wealthy as a result of his Quests, and yet he chooses not to do so."
Loras blinked twice. On the only occasion he had met Grimm since the boy had come to Arnor House, his grandson had been dressed in the simple robes of a poor mage.
"Is this true?” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
"Feel free to use your Sight on me at any time,” the Prelate said. “You know it is true. Questor Grimm is a very valuable asset to me and to the Guild. Questors of the Seventh Rank are rare birds, as you know."
"Grimm has reached the Seventh Rank?” Loras gasped, his eyes wide. “Why, he is not yet eighteen years of age!"
"He was elevated to the Seventh Rank on the basis of my personal recommendation to Lord Horin, after two very successful and important Quests."
Loras shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Two Quests?” Loras’ voice was little more than a hoarse squeak. It had taken him four arduous expeditions to achieve the same accolade, and he had been reckoned a remarkable prodigy. Thorn had only gained the seventh gold ring on his staff after seven Quests.
His heart swelled with pride and admiration for his grandson, and he found himself unable to speak further. Thorn had been good to the boy, despite his grandfather's manufactured disgrace and the Prelate's complicity in it.
"I value Questor Grimm,” Thorn said, with a warm smile. “Times have been lean here at Arnor House, and we have only three Questors young enough to carry out the Guild's work. I regard his success as a credit to the Guild and to the House; paying Scholasticate intake has increased by one-half since High Lodge announced his Acclamation. Thanks to the accession of Questor Grimm and his friend, Questor Dalquist, this House has become a fashionable place to send one's offspring for education, for the first time since our heyday.
"We Questors have a certain glamour and cachet."
Loras felt moisture prickling at the margins of his eyes, and he found himself warming to his old friend.
You always were a charmer, Thorn, he thought, before bringing himself up short. Thorn was susceptible to his mother's influence and must be considered unreliable.
"I thank you for your faith in my kin, Prelate Thorn,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “Nonetheless, I still demand that you stand down from your post in favour of a less… vulnerable mage."
Thorn sighed. “I have erred, Loras,” he admitted, smiling. “However, I declare my vulnerability at an end. I have left Questor Grimm in no doubt that my mother's detestable influence is to be eliminated, and I have the most implicit trust in him. From now on, I wish only to do my sworn duty."
Loras scanned the Prelate's aura once more, finding only the signatures of innocent sincerity.
Something is wrong, he thought. What is it?
The thought rattled around in the smith-Questor's mind, like an angry wasp trapped in a bottle. Then it hit him: Thorn's smile was just a little too friendly, and a minute bead of sweat twinkled on the Prelate's cheek.
He could never fool me when we were Students, he thought. He is lying.
No! This was impossible: a man's aura did not lie!
My aura lies, he thought, shock running through him like an icy torrent.
It was a tentative diagnosis; the tell-tale signs of a young man's guilt might not be the same in his older self. How to be sure? Could Loras force Thorn to lie?
Loras smiled, recalling an incident in his old Scholasticate days. “I am pleased to hear that you are free from domination,” he said, his voice as smooth as the finest silk. “I am sorry that I might have thought ill of you, old friend. Old age can make a man suspicious and grudging.
"When old Magemaster Brinn-may he rest in peace-thought you cheated in that Signatures examination,” he said, laughing. “I never doubted you, but I felt very grateful when that bully, Usur Melditch, owned up to copying your paper."
Thorn's answering laugh was deep and rich. “Of course, Brinn knew at once that I was telling the truth,” he said. “How can a Student lie to a Magemaster?"
Loras nodded, his smile unwavering.
"Geomancy, Thorn."
The Prelate's smile disappeared as quickly as summer mist in the heat of the morning sun.
"I saw Usur's notes after he was dismissed, Thorn,” Loras continued. “I said nothing, because I was glad to see him dismissed. You had the trick of hiding your true aura even then, did you not? As you do now. I imagine you learned that trick at your mother's knee: a Geomantic spell that no Guild Mage could ever detect."
Thorn's ruddy face turned pale, and he blustered as he had in his youth, covering his embarrassment with a jolly laugh. “You always made more of a simple matter than it was worth, Loras,” he said.
"So I helped to get rid of a bully. All I wanted to do was-"
"You got rid of a rival as well, old friend,” Loras said, taking a firm grip on Blade, welcoming its long-lost, warm intimacy. “I saw no guilt or deception in your aura then, either."
At last, the Prelate nodded slowly.
"You are right, Loras.” he said. “I am at your mercy. May I at least explain myself?"
"Please do, Thorn."
The Prelate closed his eyes for a moment and then jerked them open after his lips had mumbled only a few syllables.
"If that was intended as a spell, I am not impressed,” Loras said, secure in his strength. “You will have to do better than that.
"You are forsworn, and I call upon you to resign."
"You were always stronger than me, Loras,” Thorn said. “Can you even comprehend how that felt to me? My bitch mother always pushed me one way; the Scholasticate, the other, I hardly knew who I was from one day to the other."
Loras snorted. “I will approach the Dominie myself,” he said. “You are-"
The door to the chamber swung open with a bang, and Loras jerked his head around to see a young, pale, feverish-looking boy, his eyes wide and wild. The rough, black robes of a newly-crowned mage or Adept seemed almost to swamp his rake-thin figure, and he bore no Mage Staff or ring. The boy's eyes seemed depthless, as if they were a window into the depths of his soul, but Loras saw no trace of emotion, reason or humanity.
A thick string of drool hung from the left side of the young man's mouth, running down to his chest.
"This is Questor Chag,” Thorn said. “He is a Questor in all but name. He is my Questor, and he-"
Loras leapt to his feet with all the speed and athleticism he could manage, but he heard a mad, keening cackle behind him. His nerves seemed to stretch and snap and, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he dropped to the floor.
"Questor Chag is now my personal bodyguard, Loras,” Thorn crooned. “Do you really think you can take him?"
Loras shook his head. The vacuous-looking boy's sudden, vicious burst had surprised him, but his automatic Questor defences had not been breached. Ignoring Thorn, he turned to the drooling, wild-eyed boy. He rose to his feet, ignoring his protesting joints, and faced the blank-faced youth.
"Do you like to dance, Chag?” he said. “Do you like to read? Do you like anything at all?"
"I live to serve Lord Thorn,” the boy said, and the dead coldness of his tone sent shivers through Loras’ spine. “You are an obstacle."
"I'm sorry, Loras,” the Prelate said. “Experience versus youth, fanaticism and vigour: which will win, I wonder?"
"This boy is as much a victim as I was,” Loras said, shuddering as a hate-filled bolt of power hit him.
"You are strong, Chag,” he said and gasped, trying to steady his twitching eyes. He had visions of scorched, raw, weeping spots on his lungs as he drew a series of hacking breaths, but he was a powerful, experienced mage, with over twenty Quests to his credit. “But you are just a boy, perverted by a sick and insecure man."
Without turning his head, he screamed, “Ajaman'dama-nas! Guramen'dimni-nura!"
Another, wordless, soulless, hateful bolt from Chag hit him; nonetheless, Loras felt a fierce pang of pleasure as he heard Thorn tumble from his seat with an agonised yell.
"Thorn is poison, boy,” Loras said. “The dance has just begun. You will soon see that mindless loyalty leads nowhere."
This time, Loras anticipated Chag's assault, and he fended it off with practiced ease, adding a little finesse of his own. The youth stumbled to the floor, and Loras shook his voluminous sleeves back from his wrists to his elbows.
"It's time to go back to school, gentlemen,” he said. “Thorn, you have made the worst mistake of your life."
"You have no idea what Questor Chag can do! He will leave you like a wet, discarded piece of meat!"
"I will bring Questor Chag something he has never known:” Loras said, “compassion."
"I need no compassion!” Chag shrieked.
Loras tried to absorb the power into Blade without success. He shuddered as the remainder of the nameless, formless energy trickled into him, but he felt more alive than he had in decades.
"The fight is on, Thorn!” Loras cried. “When I have pacified your poor slave, I will turn on you! Your tyranny is at an end!"
"Good luck, Loras,” Thorn replied, as Loras staggered under another assault. “Just let me know when you wish to surrender."
Loras sought to find the nonsense words for another spell, but Chag's mindless hatred hit him once more, and he slumped to his knees.
What did you do to this poor boy, Thorn? he wondered, as hot, electric flames burnt through his nerves.
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