So where's the pay-off? Dalquist wondered. I don't feel the least bit different yet. I can open my eyes any time I want to. So much for the skills of a Seventh Level Mentalist! I guess a Questor's mind is too hard to crack…
In a moment, we're… I'm… we're…
Kargan sang the last syllable with the deep satisfaction engendered by the knowledge that he had cast a complex and difficult spell without the least error. His mind was enmeshed with Dalquist's, yet he retained the upper hand, the dominant presence.
He put the book back on the shelf, making his movements as gentle and economical as possible, as if he might otherwise sever the gossamer tendrils linking the two mages.
"We are together, Questor Dalquist, and nothing can harm you here. You are safe, and you will remember without fear. How do you feel, my son?” he said, in a soft voice.
Dalquist's tone was distant and dreamy as he replied, “Strange… good."
"Are you afraid?"
"Not any more. I feel calm and happy."
"Excellent. Tell me what troubles you."
Almost as a child reciting a nursery rhyme, the Questor answered him. “Shakkar told me my friend, Questor Grimm, might be in trouble, and I ignored him. When he mentioned Prioress Lizaveta, it was as if a shutter closed over my mind."
Kargan leaned closer to the Questor. “Tell me all you know about Prioress Lizaveta. Remember, Dalquist, nothing can harm you here."
A dreamy smile wafted across the ensorcelled mage's face. “Nothing can harm me here,” he parroted. “I was with Questor Grimm at High Lodge. Prioress Lizaveta was there. She controls the Order of Divine Serenity. I had just been granted the seventh ring. Grimm became very fond of one of the Prioress’ young nuns."
Kargan started.
"What?"
The single word ripped from his lips, unbidden. Such liaisons were strictly forbidden to Guild Mages, since they could lead to the loss of a sorcerer's power.
"She was called Madeleine, and she was very pretty, but I thought she had cast some kind of witch spell on Grimm. I was angry, and I went to see Prioress Lizaveta in her chamber…"
Dalquist's mouth shut with an audible snap, and Kargan began to feel some resistance from the young Questor.
"It is safe to remember, Questor Dalquist. You are safe here."
Dalquist remained immobile and speechless.
"What happened in Prioress Lizaveta's chamber?” Kargan raised his voice a little but remained calm. “You can tell me."
"I-she told me everything was all right.” The Questor seemed to struggle to get the words out. “Everything was all right… it was just a harmless friendship. I am a nasty, narrow-minded, suspicious little man."
This isn't a memory, it's a bloody recitation, the Mentalist thought, and his head began to throb as the younger mage's resistance grew.
"Describe the room,” he demanded in a sterner tone. “Describe Prioress Lizaveta."
"It's a very nice room,” Dalquist said. “She's a very nice lady… oh! My head aches.” The last words were spoken in a plaintive whine.
The ache in Kargan's own head rose to an agonising tumult. If he did not get results soon, he would have to cut the connection. He took a sip of water from a glass on the table at his right side and continued.
"You are safe here,” he repeated, his voice beginning to rasp. “You will tell me what I want to know. You cannot resist me, and you don't want to."
"No more… no more!"
"Tell me!"
"Get your filthy, prying, male magic out of my head!” Dalquist spat, in a harsh, crackling voice, quite unlike his usual tone. “Get OUT!
The invisible tendrils, stretched to their limit, broke, and Kargan fell back in his chair.
"So that's the game, is it?” he muttered, massaging his temples and grimacing.
Dalquist opened his eyes, his face relaxed and calm. “Did you find anything, Magemaster Kargan?"
"I certainly did, Questor Dalquist. You've got a Blocking spell on you, a strong one. All I know at the moment is that a lady called Prioress Lizaveta is likely to be behind it. Are you ready to dig further?"
"I thought that spell was supposed to do the trick.” Dalquist seemed none the worse for wear.
Kargan growled, “It should have done, but I'm not a Seventh Level Mentalist for nothing.
"Questor Dalquist, your memories have been manipulated somehow, by what I can only guess is some Geomantic spell, but I'm pretty sure they're still there. Otherwise, I wouldn't have felt such resistance from you. Do you want to give up now, or will you submit to further spells?"
Dalquist nodded, his expression grave. “Whatever it takes, Magemaster."
Kargan cleared his throat. “I feel it only right to tell you that the spells will become more and more difficult to cast as I begin to go through my magical armoury. I started with the simplest spell I knew that was likely to bring worthwhile results. As the complexity and power grows, there is a very real chance that a miscast will seriously impair both our minds. I'm confident enough on the first few incantations I'll try, and I should be able to use some suitable cadences to get out of some of the others if I start to run into problems. But I may need some very powerful, dangerous spells in the end."
"Whatever it takes, Magemaster,” Dalquist repeated, meeting Kargan's level gaze. “I must know. If you're willing to risk it, so am I. If you'd rather take a rest, I understand."
Kargan shook his head. “I've still got plenty of power on board, Questor, so don't worry there. It's the increasing complexity that may be the problem. Some of the very strongest spells have only ever been cast by their originators, illustrious mages like Kharos and Bledel. Nobody else'll touch them with a bargepole."
Dalquist whistled. The two mages Kargan had mentioned were legends in the Guild panoply of heroes. Even he, as a mighty Questor, had heard of them, and he respected their memories with reverence.
"Perhaps it would be better if we just-"
Kargan cut him off with a swipe of his hand. “Questor Dalquist, I'm an old man, even for a common-or-garden Mentalist, but I'm still a Mage of the Seventh Rank, and I have my pride. I've studied all the greats in my field, and I believe I know the way they think. I may only have a few decades remaining to me, but I'm no jabbering retard yet. If I could say I'd mastered these spells, I'd be a happy, proud man, but I'm not stupid enough to contemplate tossing away my brain for the sake of pride.
"As I said, there's a real risk involved. We're not just talking about a bad headache here, but blank-eyed, drooling madness or worse. So I don't want you just to say ‘yes’ without thinking about it. Believe me: if you don't want to do this, I'd rather you said so."
Dalquist sat up and steepled his hands under his bearded chin. He knew now he had been ensorcelled. But was that knowledge alone enough?
No! he thought. A part of my life's been stolen from me. I've been used as a puppet by some witch, and I don't even know what else of her influence remains within me. I'd rather go blind or mad than betray Grimm or my Guild because I was weak. I'll live as a whole man, or not at all.
"Go as deep as you dare, Magemaster Kargan,” he said. “I'm in your hands."
Kargan rubbed his hands and stretched. “I'm glad you said that, Dalquist, but I expected no less from a true Questor. We'll try a little trick of Wersam the Adamant's next. This one's not too hard, but it's a little strange. This time, I'll be you, and you'll just be an onlooker. Are you ready? Good. Lie down, shut your eyes again, and we'll start. Wellan… Wemus… ah, here it is."
Quelgrum hunched back on his heels in the small room. “What do you have in mind, Lord Baron?"
Grimm rubbed his sweaty palms together, trying to project greater confidence than he felt as he spoke.
"Well, it seems to me that the only real people here are in this building, and Uncle Gruon himself. If I were to astrally project, I should be able to find him. Whoever, or whatever, he is, I believe I'll be able to get inside his mind. Under those circumstances, I might be able to shake things up in there a little. It might make things a little more interesting out there, at least, and Gruon might wake up."