Shaking his head, the mage seemed to gather his composure once more, and he spoke in a more reasonable tone. "Well, then, Forutia, now is your time to start! Please sing this."
He played another phrase on his flute. The boy took a deep breath and began to sing. Or rather, he began to recite in a rhythmic monotone. His timing was fair, but the single note Argand seemed able to produce hovered achingly distant from any note or interval in any standard musical pitch. Kargan stood aghast. Apparently misinterpreting the Magemaster's expression, Argand began again on a different droning delivery with no greater musical merit than the first.
"Thank you, Forutia. Thank you; that will be quite enough, Forutia! ENOUGH! STOP! DESIST! CEASE!" cried Kargan in ever-growing anguish, as Argand continued to struggle with the phrase.
Poor Argand looked distraught. Granfer Loras had told Grimm of people who never understood singing; that, to them, it had always seemed a rather contrived poetry. Grimm had not quite believed him at the time, but he did now.
Closing his eyes and shuddering for a moment, it seemed that Kargan had decided to take pity on the boy; Argand had obviously tried his best, even if the result had been less than melodious. "Thank you, Forutia," he croaked. "Perhaps your talents lie in other directions. You may sit."
Argand descended to his seat, wiping sweat from his brow as one or two sniggers arose from the anonymous depths of the class. Kargan stamped his foot and glared, his face pale except for a pair of bright red spots on his cheeks. This was no mock-fearsome pretence but a face suffused with true anger. "I will have no laughter in my class at another's misfortune!" he boomed, and Grimm could now tell the difference between Kargan's play-acting and his real emotions.
"I imagine that many of the rest of you have ears little better than our friend Forutia's," the Magemaster hissed. "Let it be known that I detest smugness and self-satisfaction, and I WILL NOT TOLERATE IT IN MY CLASS! I will have RESPECTFUL SILENCE in this class unless I ask for comment! Is that clear?"
Kargan stood with his arms akimbo, a picture of fury. "I asked if that was quite clear," he said in a low, threatening rumble.
"Yes, Lord Mage!" The Students' reflexive response rang out as if uttered by a single voice.
The mage grunted and turned to Grimm, who stood, now feeling a little sheepish at having wanted to cover his ears at Argand's unmusical eruption.
"Name?" snapped Kargan, not yet over his fit of temper.
"I am Grimm Afelnor, Lord Mage." Grimm's voice was almost a whisper.
Kargan raised an eyebrow, but not in disapprobation, and his face brightened at once. "So you are the grandson of Loras Afelnor?" he asked.
"That is my Granfer's name, Lord Mage."
Kargan nodded. "Ah, that man had a splendid voice. I shall be glad if you have but one-tenth of his talent. Do you sing?"
"Yes, Lord Mage. Granfer says I have what he calls a perfect ear."
"Ha!" Kargan snorted. "If I had one copper bit for each time I heard that, I'd be a rich man. Still, if Afelnor approves of your voice, it must at least be of an acceptable quality. Kindly sing this." He played another, different phrase on his flute. Grimm echoed it at once, in a sweet treble. Kargan played a longer, more complicated phrase and again Grimm reproduced it without effort. Then, Kargan asked Grimm to repeat the first phrase without the aid of the flute. Half way through the phrase, Argand joined in with the flute, and seemed well pleased to find the two sounds in perfect agreement.
He spent the next few minutes setting vocal tests and traps for Grimm, but the boy negotiated these with ease. He loved music almost as much as he loved literature, and this seemed more like pleasure than work.
Kargan gave a satisfied smile and spoke in a more gentle voice than usual, as if he feared that Grimm's ears might be damaged by his usual stentorian delivery. "A perfect ear, indeed," he said, "with a voice to match. Precious tools, Afelnor, precious tools they are, and all too rare; take care of both. They will be of great aid in your appreciation and application of magic. You may sit."
He turned to the class and adopted another one of his forbidding facial expressions. "Now, if I know boys," he said in a voice that, although only mock-serious, bore an unmistakable undertone of steel. "Some of you will be thinking evil thoughts about young Afelnor, not least because of his charitable status.
"Be grateful for your silken robes, your fine food and your warm cells. Enjoy them; they are your prerogatives of rank, and I for one would never begrudge them. However, Afelnor has something rare and precious that cannot be purchased, cozened or stolen. Allow him the comfort of his talent, and do not think ill of him for it."
He leant forward, clasping his hands in the small of his back, as if to give his words more force. "Should I hear of any spiteful words that might come Afelnor's way because of my praise of his voice, the perpetrator will FEEL THE BACK OF MY BLOODY HAND! I, too, have a good ear; most sensitive, it is. You would be astonished at what I can hear at times!"
His glare swept the room like the beam of a lighthouse, and nobody seemed willing to meet it.
"I am glad that is well understood," Kargan purred. "A little warning: in future, I may expect any of you to sing without notice. So; practice, practice, practice!"
He punctuated the last three words by flexing his knees, so that he looked like a frog about to leap. Kargan was plainly at least a little deranged, and Grimm fought to maintain a stony face at this ludicrous spectacle.
"He's quite mad," Argand muttered.
Grimm nodded. "I know," he whispered, "but I think I like him."
"Then you must be mad, too." Argand tapped his right temple with an extended forefinger.
"Now, the next boy," Kargan roared, returning to his mission. "Your name, boy?"
"Akad Horth, Lord Mage," another Student squeaked, his face beetroot-red, and Grimm could not tell if that was through panic or an overwhelming desire to laugh.
"Well, Horth, let us hear your rendition of this little tune…"
Kargan relentlessly assayed the singing talents of the rest of the class. Some had a poor command of tone, some lacked a sense of cadence and others had weak voices. Some sang very well, and they were given lukewarm compliments, but Kargan seemed careful not to insult or belittle any of the Students.
When all the recitals were finished, Kargan moved to the huge slate at the front of the class and unrolled a scroll with twenty or so strange characters on it, which he attached to the board. Grimm noticed that the scroll duplicated part of the mural around the classroom.
The Magemaster interlaced his fingers and flexed, making his knuckles crackle like gunfire.
"The FIRST RUNE FAMILY!" he boomed. "They are no more or less important than any other rune group, but they are the first that we will study. To begin, you will just learn the names of the runes until they are well-seated in your thick skulls!"
Kargan dabbed his face with a blue handkerchief. He was slightly red in the face and perspiring freely, but he showed no sign of slowing the pace.
"Where was I?" he muttered before continuing. "Ah, yes, the First Rune Family! These twenty-nine basic runes are used for the first spells you will ever master: the Minor Magics. They are also used in most other spells that you will ever encounter. Recite after me: Adzh, Karkh, Tekh, Rukh, Urth…"
By the end of the afternoon, the boys were tired and hoarse with recitation, but Kargan had lost none of his energy and volume. The man seemed indefatigable. When the bell rang, he looked quite disappointed.
Clearing his throat, he said, "Copy these down and learn them well. Tomorrow, I shall expect all of you to recite them by heart and to be able to write them in a fair hand. If you cannot master these runes, I shall be VERY DISPLEASED, and we will carry on until they are known by all!"