"No, Questor Loras; please come around to this side of the table."
The smith complied, feeling a hot flush of self-consciousness at the Dominie's frank, appraising stare, but he locked his eyes on Horin's in any case. It would be the height of disgrace for a Questor to be stared down by a mere Specialist, regardless of his status.
"You do not look like a monster to me, Brother Mage,” the Dominie drawled, at last. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss."
Loras obeyed Horin, sinking into a comfortable, leather chair with some gratitude.
"Do you like wine, Questor Loras?” Horin asked, lifting a half-full bottle of a pale liquid from the table. “It is Amber Pellurian; a very good year, too, I might add."
Loras shook his head. “In case you had forgotten, Lord Dominie, I am on trial for my life. My mind is on things other than alcohol."
Horin filled the goblet in front of him, raised it up and took an appreciative sip before replacing it.
"Of course, Brother Mage; a pity."
The Dominie cleared his throat.
"I have suspected for some time that your earlier conviction might be unreliable. Your prior record speaks against it, and I have recently experienced Prioress Lizaveta's powers at first hand-I was scarcely able to resist them.
"Your grandson, Questor Grimm, was of great aid in ejecting the Prioress and her cohorts from High Lodge. I rewarded him with his seventh ring in recognition of this."
Loras’ heart surged. “Lord Dominie, how is Grimm? I have not seen him for two years."
"Questor Grimm is undertaking a special Quest for me, Questor Loras. I gave him the mandate to eliminate this woman's pernicious Order's influence in its entirety, by whatever means he deems fit.
"The only information I have received from my Secular agent in Rendale is that the Priory lies in ruins; I therefore expect Questor Grimm's triumphant return very soon."
Loras yearned to see Grimm again, dressed in his Questor finery, his staff adorned with the seven prestigious gold rings. He daydreamed of greeting his grandson at the entrance of High Lodge in his own silken robes, a full mage once more.
"Now, to business,” Horin said, calling Loras’ attention back to the real world. “I wish to see you exonerated, Questor Loras. However, Guild Law constrains even me, even if I have the leeway to bend it a little to my own advantage.
"The essential thread of your argument seems to revolve around Prioress Lizaveta's former influence on you. However, you and your comrades can only prevail if we can link her influence to Prelate Thorn; otherwise, the charge of mutiny will be difficult to overturn."
Loras took a deep breath. “She is Thorn's mother,” he said. “She ordered him to orchestrate my disgrace and subsequent dismissal from the Guild. He protested, but he seemed unable to resist her influence. Ever since that day, he has been dancing to her tune, so that one day he may become Dominie at her behest."
Horin's rheumy, blue eyes widened. “You speak as if you know this as a fact, Questor Loras. Can you prove any of it?"
Loras shrugged. “That may be up to you to discover, Lord Dominie. Until very recently, I believed in my guilt and culpability with all my heart, and I considered Thorn my staunchest friend. However, Mentalist Kargan invoked a spell he called ‘Bledel Soulmaster's Temporal Divinatory Conjunct'. He actually showed me-"
"I have heard of this spell,” Horin declared, interrupting him. “It is a Schedule Nine spell, forbidden to mages without prior written permission from the Presidium. Several High Lodge Mentalists have attempted the spell; all failed. I rather doubt a mere House Mentalist could manage it. I consider it more likely that you were shown a simple Illusion. Is that not possible?"
The smith cocked his head on one side, considering the Dominie's question in detail before shaking his head. “No, Lord Dominie; it is not. Mentalist Kargan's spell dislocated my soul from my body; I am still mage enough to recognise such a dislocation, and a naked soul cannot be gulled by Illusions or Glamours. What I saw was real.
"If you summon Mentalist Kargan to this chamber and persuade him to repeat the spell, a competent Scholar armed with a suitable grimoire could surely attest to the spell's accuracy and authenticity. I saw the truth of my betrayal, without doubt."
Horin rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair. “It is not as simple as that, Questor Loras. If Mentalist Kargan has indeed cast a Schedule Nine spell, he has broken Guild Law. I could not ignore that, and the Presidium would be unlikely to agree to a demonstration.
"The word of an accused man alone bears little weight here; it would not be accepted as proof. As for Lizaveta being Thorn's mother, that means little enough on its own."
Horin took another sip of wine from his goblet, his expression distant and troubled.
"We need something better,” he mumbled.
Loras almost gasped as blazing awareness came to him: Lizaveta almost trapped him! I would wager any odds that only Grimm's skills saved him, and he dare not admit that! He would lose face in the eyes of the Presidium, leaving him open to any ambitious mage's challenge. He does not want the truth; he wants a political excuse for condemning Thorn.
The former Questor had not engaged in the darker side of Guild politics for several decades, but he had not forgotten the most important rules: deniability, distance and misdirection.
Literal truth did not matter.
"Lord Horin,” Loras said, causing the Dominie to snap out of his reverie and meet his intense gaze. “Is it a necessary condition of this trial that Lord Thorn be exonerated?"
Horin shook his head. “I believe Thorn is as guilty as you said, Questor Loras. Were it up to me, you and your fellow defendants would be freed in a heartbeat. However, I must not appear capricious, and I dare not declare many more Points of Personal Privilege.
"I need something concrete, not mere hearsay."
Loras almost smiled. The truth was unimportant; what mattered was the semblance of truth; something that would ring true.
This was a game he knew well.
"Have you seen Lord Thorn's… personal Questor, Lord Horin?"
Horin shuddered. “I have. The poor lad is confined in an iron-walled cell. He is too dangerous to allow him to run about at will. He is powerful and maniacal."
"Is he charged with anything?"
"Yes,” Horin replied. “Thaumaturgic assault against seven High Lodge officials. Three are in a critical condition, and one is not expected to survive."
Loras nodded and bowed his head for a moment. “I pray for them all, Lord Dominie. I have faced the boy in Questor combat, and I know well his power. I tried to reason with him, but his only response was ‘I serve only Lord Thorn'."
"The boy is plainly insane,” Horin agreed, rubbing his chin. “However, that is a poor argument to condemn a member of the Presidium."
"It is part of a pattern, Lord Dominie,” Loras insisted. “As I understand it from Magemaster Kargan, a Neophyte Questor in Arnor Lodge became insane after three months of training, and he killed the Senior Magemaster."
"Ah, yes; poor Urel.” Horin sighed. “Alas, in his zeal, he pushed a neurotic Neophyte too far. The Ordeal is severe, but necessarily so, of course, you, as a Questor, must acknowledge that. It seems that Senior Magemaster Urel misjudged his Neophyte's stability."
Loras shook his head. “After three months of my Ordeal, Lord Dominie, my tutor, Magemaster Karas, criticised my handwriting, the condition of my robes, my tardiness; irksome, yes, but not yet enough to enrage me. Every charity Student often faces worse treatment.
"If angry words were enough to unhinge this boy, surely Magemaster Urel would have noticed long before. I knew Urel as a gentle and understanding soul when he was a Neophyte."
Horin cleared his throat and shrugged. “Questor Loras, High Lodge has no Scholasticate and no Questors. Although a few Presidium members are Questors, every member of this Conclave comes from a wealthy family.