"I intend to rectify matters, but only after Questor Grimm succeeds in his Quest, as I am sure he will."
Loras scanned Thorn's aura once more, with minute scrutiny; his old friend seemed to be telling the undiluted truth. He shivered in the evening breeze and nodded.
"Very well, Thorn,” he said. “We will discuss the matter further inside the House. However, I should warn you that I have regained my powers in full measure, and I am well capable of defending myself if you resort to magic."
"You were always suspicious, Loras!” Thorn crowed, reaching forward to clap the smith on his right shoulder. “However, as your Sight will have told you, I intend no treachery."
****
Kargan stood at the end of the long, dark, subterranean tunnel, taking a series of deep breaths. For many decades, he had held sway only over groups of unruly, high-spirited boys. He had played a role for most of that time as a slightly insane demagogue who lived only for his work, and he had played it well.
However, now he would have to play another part to the limit of his abilities.
Kargan hoped the guardian at the end of the corridor was the vain, shallow Faffel, but he saw Questor Xylox standing outside the cells. Gathering his resolve, he stepped forward and almost lost his footing on the slippery, damp flagstones. Seeker's brass-shod foot clanged on the floor as Kargan struggled to regain his balance.
"Hold!” the Questor shouted, spinning around. “Who is that?"
For a moment, Kargan feared that Thorn might have declared him a renegade, but he was relieved that Xylox seemed to accept his presence, as the Magemaster stepped into the pool of light around the cell doors.
"Oh; greetings, Magemaster Kargan,” he said. “What brings you here?"
"Greetings, Questor Xylox!” Kargan crowed, playing the ebullient eccentric to the hilt. “I have returned from my furlough, and Lord Thorn has requested that I relieve you. He wishes you to inspect the schoolrooms, after I told him that I heard a strange noise in one of the classrooms. I fear there may be unauthorised intruders. A Questor will be better able to deal with interlopers than a mere Mentalist."
"I was not told of this,” Xylox grumbled. “I am not due to finish this watch for another three hours. Magemaster Faffel is to relieve me. I need to speak to Lord Thorn before I quit my post."
Kargan fought rising panic, and he gripped Seeker in a white-knuckled hand. “Lord Thorn is attending to urgent House business, Questor Xylox, and he cannot be disturbed. Please inspect my aura, and you will see I tell the truth."
Kargan bargained on the fact that Mage Sight was second nature to a Guild Mage, and that a clean aura was regarded as the sign of an honest man. He fought to keep his breathing even as Xylox inspected his soul's masked signature. He felt sure his spell was good, but it had never needed to stand up to a Questor's scrutiny before.
"Magemaster Kargan, this is most irregular, not to mention improbable!” the younger mage growled, “but I have no cause to doubt your word, and you are the Senior Magemaster in residence. From which classroom did the noise come?"
"I really cannot say, Questor Xylox,” Kargan said, with an airy gesture. “When the Students make their nocturnal racket, it is hard to tell the location of any unusual noise. It might be best to check all of the classrooms, just to be sure."
Xylox grunted. “Well, it cannot be a worse assignment than waiting here for hours on end,” he said. “You are to hammer on the cell doors from time to time and demand a response. If none is given, you are to stride into the cell and rouse its inmate. It is an unpleasant duty, but Lord Thorn has decreed it."
"Fear not, Questor Xylox,” Kargan said, with a manic grin. “There will be no unauthorised sleeping on my watch, I assure you!"
Xylox grunted, handed the Magemaster a thick bunch of keys, and strode off, muttering, “Most irregular."
Kargan wiped a slick sheen of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. As soon as he heard the end door open and close, he opened the nearest cell door after fumbling with the keys Xylox had given him.
A hot, cloying, overwhelming stink greeted him, redolent with the stomach-churning, foetid stench of ordure, and he feared for the life or sanity of the cell's occupant. His mouth filling with saliva and his entrails protesting and twisting, he forced himself to enter the noisome chamber.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a hunched figure crouched on the damp flagstones. It seemed almost impossible to believe that this huddled mass of misery was a human being, but he realised that this soggy bag of mortality was the once-proud Magemaster Crohn.
The old tutor, known as “The Mindstealer", looked as if his own mind had been stolen.
Gagging in the ghastly stench, Kargan grasped Crohn under the armpits and began to haul him out of the dingy cell.
"Come on, old friend,” he gasped, trying to breathe only through his mouth. “You're free.
"Come on; help me, damn you!"
"I've done noth'n wrong,” Crohn slurred, making no effort to aid Kargan. “Sleep…"
Kargan gave the Senior Magemaster a burst of energy from Seeker. “Soon, you can rest, Crohn!” he shouted into the man's ear. “Now, you must fight! I have to get you and Questor Dalquist out of here, and you have to help me!"
"Questor Dalquist,” Crohn said, his voice a little stronger and clearer. “Yes, help him."
Kargan pulled the mage from the stinking room into the corridor and gave him another burst of much-needed strength.
"Rest here,” he gasped, lowering Crohn to the floor. “I'll get Questor Dalquist out, but you'll both have to help me!"
"I will do what I can,” Crohn said, looking more helpless than Kargan had ever seen him. “I am so tired…"
Even in this miserable state, he still uses Mage Speech, Kargan thought, with a frisson of admiration. Such a resolute man deserves to be saved!
He tried the same key on the next door, without success. Sweating with the fear that Xylox or Faffel might return at any minute, he tried another key; after two further abortive trials, the third key turned smoothly in the lock.
As the door swung open, Kargan gagged at the noisome smell, marvelling at Xylox's powers of intestinal fortitude.
Dalquist sat slumped against a corner of the cell, and Kargan could see the Questor's eyes were wide open, if glassy. His beard and hair were matted and unkempt, and the young mage muttered a repetitive mantra:
"Damn you all; I am innocent. I am a Guild Questor above all. Damn you all…"
"Yes, damn them all!” Kargan cried, conscious that, at any minute, someone might intrude on his treason. “Wake up, Questor Dalquist! You are innocent, and we need to get away from here!"
"Damn you all,” Dalquist muttered, his eyelids flickering as he toppled forward.
Kargan delved deep into Seeker's remaining reserves and took Dalquist's right hand, wrapping the limp fingers around the staff.
Dalquist's blood-shot eyes jerked open, and his hand clenched tight around the staff. He gasped as a ruddy flush ran into his pale, grimy face.
"Enough!” Kargan groaned, a grey mist beginning to cloud his vision. With a sudden surge of panic, he realised that Dalquist had already drained Seeker's resources and was now accessing his own vital force with rapacious speed. His heart pounding, he drew a measure of the energy back into his own body.
The Questor tore his hand away from the staff as if it had turned red-hot.
"I'm sorry, Magemaster Kargan,” he said, his voice vibrant with its normal confidence. “I must be getting greedy. Thank you so much for helping me."
"Can you spare a little of that strength for Magemaster Crohn?” Kargan said as the mists cleared from his vision. “I gave him a little before I got you out of that hell-hole, but I don't think it was enough."
"Of course,” Dalquist said. He called out “Shakhmat!” and his staff appeared in his hand.