"Nearly everybody liked Loras Afelnor. He did get a lot of trouble and teasing from the richer boys at first, because he was a country boy, and they weren't very kind to him. Still, he was a good Student, by far the best of his age group, and nobody was too surprised when he became a Questor."
With this last sentence, Doorkeeper had glossed over several important details. He knew little of what the Magemasters did to turn a Student into a Mage Questor, but he knew it was very different to what was done to most of the House Scholasticate's inmates. Loras had become reclusive and neurotic, starting at shadows, his eyes hooded and haunted. For many months, Doorkeeper had seen little of the youth, but he had seen with his own eyes the result of Afelnor's training: a wrecked schoolroom; four Students and a Magemaster in the Infirmary with grievous injuries; and, many months later, Loras' Acclamation as a Mage Questor.
"Loras Afelnor was declared a wizard, or as we would say 'Acclaimed as a mage', and he soon became a very important one," Doorkeeper continued. "He was asked to visit High Lodge, the most important place in the whole Guild, several times, and he got to be very rich.
"Lord Thorn was his best friend, another strong Questor, and we all assumed that, one day, either Loras or Thorn would become Prelate here or be asked to join High Lodge. Then Lord Thorn caught Loras-doing something bad."
Grimm balled his small fists and frowned. "Granfer isn't a bad man! He wouldn't do anything wrong!"
Doorkeeper gulped, a little out of his depth. "I'm sure Loras didn't mean it to be bad, Grimm," he stammered. "It wasn't like stealing or anything, but it was bad anyway. All I will say is that I think he was trying to ease an old man's pain, but other people didn't see it like that.
"Nearly all of the House council, what we call the Presidium, wanted Loras to be executed for what he had done, but his good friend Thorn persuaded them to let him live. Instead, Loras had most of his money taken, and the Presidium made a great spell to take away his magic."
Grimm looked close to tears. "But what did he do, Doorkeeper? He's a good man, a nice man!"
The major-domo felt hot-cold spears of panic lancing through his nerves. He knew he could never bring himself to tell Grimm the full truth. He knew his diplomatic skills and his way with words were poor; nonetheless, he tried to sweeten the bitter pill as best he could.
"Grimm; Loras Afelnor was a very, very kind man," he said, putting what he hoped was a grandfatherly hand on the boy's shoulder. "I mustn't tell you too much, but I will ask you: would your grandfather help a sick, old man who was in great pain?"
The child still looked confused, but he nodded.
Doorkeeper locked Grimm's eyes with a serious gaze. "Well, that's just what he did. He helped an old man, but he shouldn't have done."
Grimm's expression showed little more comprehension than before, and Doorkeeper stared at the ceiling for a few moments, wondering how he could escape from the tangle in which he found himself. Then, welcome inspiration flooded into his mind, and he stifled a sigh of relief.
"Grimm, do you eat with your elbows on the table?"
"Of course not!" the boy cried. "You mustn't do that."
"Why not?" Doorkeeper asked.
"Because… I don't know, but you mustn't!"
Doorkeeper wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Well, it was like that. There are rules you have to obey, although you don't know why they're important. There are rules like that in the House, too."
Doorkeeper continued, "Loras thought he was doing a good thing, but he broke an important rule. He didn't mean to hurt anyone, but the rules said he had to be punished."
Grimm nodded slowly. "Granfer and Gramma don't like me giving food to our dog, Brush, but he looks so hungry sometimes. One time, I gave Brush some chicken bones, even though I knew I shouldn't." His face fell. "Brush was very sick, and Granfer was very angry with me."
"Then you understand, Grimm. We have rules, but sometimes we think we're doing the right thing by breaking them."
Grimm nodded, looking relieved. "It was like me giving Brush those bones?"
"Almost, Grimm," Doorkeeper said. "But rules are rules. I'm sure Lord Thorn would be glad to take in the grandson of his old friend, but he might not be able to do so. Lord Thorn has the good of the House to think of."
Grimm opened his mouth, but any words were smothered by a cavernous yawn. It was plain the lad had further questions to ask, but his fluttering eyelids spoke of incipient exhaustion.
Doorkeeper decided to spare Grimm any further details; whatever Thorn's eventual decision concerning the boy might be, there were more pressing matters to which to attend.
"Now, Grimm, I think it must be well past your bedtime. There's a pallet in the corner, and I think it would be best if you had some sleep after your long journey. It's been a very busy day for you."
The effort of Grimm's long climb up the mountain path now seemed to take its toll, and Grimm allowed himself to be bedded down. As soon as his head touched the pillow, the exhausted child was asleep. Doorkeeper covered him with a blanket and spoke a small, simple charm, painstakingly memorised some decades before, to ensure that the boy slept well. He wiped some sweat from his brow, for even the simple spell of Calm Repose, one of the first Minor Magics taught to lowly Neophytes, had cost him no little effort.
Grimm slept fitfully. In place of the familiar sounds and smells of the smithy, the distant clangs and jangles of pots and pans drifted into his sensorium. From time to time, his legs twitched, as if he were still trudging up the long mountain path, and he began to dream.
He saw Granfer Loras standing before him in his smithy clothes, teaching him the names of plants and animals. Now, Granfer had made a kite for him, and he laughed with glee as it flew into the air.
The wind howled and the clouds turned dark; in sudden fear, he turned to see Granfer Loras in silk robes, the normal, close-cropped, blue smoothness of his pate replaced by a long shock of white hair. Lightning played around his brows, and his expression was stern and frightening. Grimm turned to run, but he found himself confronted by a large group of chanting, jeering mages, each one bearing his grandfather's face and expression. They grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to a makeshift gallows, laughing as they did so…
The terrifying, confusing dream gave way to dark, formless sleep, and he found peace at last.
Chapter 3: Thorn and Lizaveta
The previous night's storm was spent, and cheerful, orange rays of sun played on the flagstones outside the House. The building was quiet apart from the rustling, creaking form of Doorkeeper shuffling through the hall from the scullery.
Doorkeeper, keeping his promise to the boy, Afelnor, carried Grimm's package up the winding staircase to Lord Thorn's chamber at first light. The child was still asleep, and Doorkeeper had seen no reason to disturb him. He ascended the steps with some trepidation, as he always found the prospect of an early morning meeting with the Prelate a daunting affair. As Doorkeeper approached the chamber door, a deep, apparently bored voice sounded: "Enter, Doorkeeper."
The old mage was humbled as ever by this evidence of the Prelate's magical power, not realising that the carillon of creaking joints and incomprehensible muttering that always accompanied his progress was signal enough to announce his approach. The aged major-domo opened the door and bowed courteously. The chamber was small but well-appointed, with sumptuous tapestries hanging from every wall. In the centre of the room was a tall, beautifully carved mahogany throne with a marble table before it, bearing scrolls, books and potions in untidy abandon and a green scrying-crystal mounted on a chased silver base.