"Worse than what I will now do to him in the name of justice."
Drima frowned. “That was a long, long time ago, Loras. Can't you just let it go?"
Loras shook his head. “This evil man has authority over my… our grandson, Drima. I pleaded with Thorn, begging him to accept Grimm. The gratitude and joy I felt when Thorn accepted him as a Student knew no bounds… gratitude to a forsworn traitor and liar."
"You hurt, Loras, I know,” Drima said, her large eyes pleading. “I've felt your pain many times, but thought it better to say nothing, even after I knew the cause.
"I've shared your anguish, my love; a hundred, a thousand times. Don't I deserve some respite?"
Loras’ stark, rigid expression softened and he leant to cup his wife's chin in his right hand. He gazed into her wide, hopeful eyes for many moments, after which he kissed her on the lips with evident passion. Kargan looked at a knot in the floor for a few moments; he would not dream of lessening the moment's impact by intruding.
At last, from the corner of his eye, Kargan saw the smith pull gently away from his wife and straighten up.
"I love you more than anything in the world, Drima,” Loras said, his voice soft. “I meant every word of my marriage oath to you, and I still do."
Drima started to speak. “In that case, Loras-"
Loras silenced her by raising his right index finger to his lips.
"Please let me finish,” the Questor said. “I consider any sworn vow an unbreakable covenant, Drima; it is how I was brought up. However, before ever I met you, I swore another oath on my eternal soul, and I have suffered these past thirty years, believing that I betrayed it. You have no idea how much pain that caused me; part of me died when I was dismissed from the Guild as a renegade, a forsworn traitor.
"I believe with all my heart that only meeting you stopped me from taking my life. For that, and for your indefatigable, uncomplaining support during the difficult years we have spent together, I thank you more than words can ever express."
Loras wiped his brow with a steady hand.
"Nonetheless,” he continued, in a calm voice, “there is a canker at the heart of the Guild, a sickness that must be eradicated before it infects all my former brethren and my beloved grandson. I must face Thorn and compel him to confess to the Lord Dominie… or kill him."
Drima looked close to tears, her face reddening with emotion. “But why you, Loras? Can't you just tell the Dominie the truth of the matter and let him resolve the issue?"
"The Presidium,” the smith said, “is unlikely to accept the word of a convicted turncoat."
"Suppose you do have to fight Thorn,” Drima said, her hands on her hips. “You are still a strong man, but you've cast no magic for three decades. What makes you think you can beat him? Even if you do, your precious Presidium will surely have you killed. What makes you think you'll even get through the House door alive?"
"I do not know.” Loras shrugged. “I have mulled over the possibilities ever since I saw the truth of the matter with my own eyes. I want you to believe that I would let the past die if my disgrace were the only consideration.
"But Grimm is in Thorn's power, as are scores of innocent young Students and Neophytes. I cannot sit back and do nothing. I must confront Thorn, for their sakes."
Drima wheeled to face Kargan. “You got Loras into this!” she screamed, ruddy-faced and angry, with such force that the Mentalist backed away from her. “Can't you make him see sense?"
Does she mean, ‘can I dissuade Questor Loras from this risky course of action?’ he wondered. I could-just a few little runic syllables might suffice-but I won't.
He sighed; he knew he could never face himself in a mirror again if he tried to tamper with the Questor's mind; Loras was a Brother Mage who had been grievously wronged. Arnor House itself was in the control of a traitor, and two dedicated men, Crohn and Dalquist, were even now in his hands.
He looked down at the small, angry woman and he felt her pain; all Mistress Drima wanted was a normal, peaceful life. The life of a mage was often tumultuous, and the demands of House and Guild must place a great strain on any emotional relationship. A wife and family were hostages to fate, and it was inevitable that at some point the thaumaturge would need to make a choice between the imperatives of the heart and the needs of the Guild. Marriage was not forbidden, but a married man was finished as an active mage. Although Kargan often yearned to settle down with a good woman, he understood why he could not.
"I could, Mistress Drima,” he said, “but I won't. It's not my decision to make; this is between you and your husband."
"Damn you, mage!” Drima shouted, her cheeks wet. “Damn you and your bloody House, you unfeeling bastard! What does your sexless, loveless Guild know about feelings and relationships? Does it care?"
"That is enough, Drima,” Loras rumbled, interposing himself between his wife and Kargan. “Do not blame Magemaster Kargan for my decision; all he did was to place the facts before me."
"All he did was to create turmoil where we had peace, Loras,” Drima said in a lower voice, shaking with emotion. “Our life together was often hard, but I accepted that. For years, I shared your pain and shame, trying to support you as best I could.
"When Sammel was born, I thought it would bring stability to our lives. All that seemed to interest you was whether he had mage power."
"That is unfair, Drima, and you know it!” Loras snapped. “I loved Sammel as much as any father ever could. All I wanted was for him to have the best possible start in life. Yes, I wanted to know if the power existed within him, and I was overjoyed when the blood proved true.
"However, if you remember, we discussed sending Sammel to the House when he was seven, but you convinced me to keep him with us. I felt disappointed, but I did not demur; he was a strong lad, happy with life in the smithy. After our discussion, I thought of nothing but training him to take my place here, and I never raised the subject again. I felt so proud when Sammel gained his trade credentials, and even more so when he married Shura, and they bore us a grandson."
"And then he died,” Drima replied, her voice cold and brittle. “He and Shura died in a cart you built-"
Loras seemed to slump, as if life had left him, and his face turned putty-grey. He slapped a hand to his mouth, and he turned away from his wife.
"Loras, I'm sorry!” Drima's face lost its ruby cast, and her voice softened. “That was completely unfair of me; of course the accident wasn't your fault. But can't you see how much I care about you? We've lost our son and daughter-in-law, and I couldn't face it if I lost you, too."
"What about Grimm?” Loras asked. “I felt the same sorrow and loss you did when we sent him away to Arnor; you know I did. But he was not suited to smithy life, and you could only teach him so much of less physical activities. Yes, I felt hope that the lad might grow to expunge my… my guilt, but that was never why I sent him to Arnor."
"You deceived me, Loras.” Drima cupped her right hand under the smith's chin and turned his face towards her own. “I knew enough of your past by then: your mutterings during all those nightmares told me all I needed to know. I went along with your lies because I felt your pain. But you deceived me, nonetheless."
Loras wrenched his head away from her guiding hand, and the empathic Kargan felt his pain like a knife-thrust through his own vitals.
The smith's voice trembled as he spoke: “I know, Drima, and I feel shame for that; a shame greater than I ever felt for what… for what I thought I had done. I have no right to ask this, but I beg you to believe that this is not for me and my pride alone. This is for all the Students, Neophytes, Adepts and Mages whose lives will be perverted and turned by Thorn's influence; but, most of all, it is for the sake of our grandson.