Drima gaped. “I see what you're seeking to do here, Magemaster,” she hissed, “but I don't appreciate the comparison!"
"I too am a teacher, Mistress Drima. I try to turn callow, carefree boys into responsible adults. I do not see innocence as a positive virtue, but a dangerous state that can only be protected or eradicated; there is no middle ground. Innocence has no concept of right or wrong, and it can be perverted. I seek to give protection against mindless perversion by filling empty minds with moral and technical knowledge.
"What I try is to give my charges the ability to make their own decisions. Such decisions may be right or wrong, but I believe a tutor's responsibility is to destroy innocence. Is it right for Loras to languish as an innocent in pained ignorance, or is it better to open his eyes to the truth? He did not choose to assault Prelate Geral, even if he believes he did.
"That's all I have to say on the matter, Lady Drima."
The smith's wife opened her mouth and closed it again. She wrapped a stray tendril of grey hair around her right index finger and toyed with it, her hand trembling a little.
At last, she spoke: “I agree, Magemaster… that is, I prefer knowledge to ignorance. Loras is a grown man, and he should be given the opportunity to confront his demons, instead of cowering from them. I'll do my best to convince my husband that if what you say is true, it may be in his best interests to consider it carefully."
"Thank you, Mistress Drima,” Kargan took Drima's small left hand in his own wrinkled, liver-spotted extremity. “That is all I could ask."
Drima nodded and rose to her feet, slipping her hand from the Magemaster's.
"I'm doing it for Loras, not for you,” she said. “Please wait here and I'll see what I can do."
She left the room, shutting the flimsy door behind her, and Kargan slumped back in his chair.
Well, the die's cast now, he thought. Let's see how it lands.
After a seeming age, Loras entered the room. His face was ashen, but he had the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"All right, Magemaster,” he rumbled in a quiet voice. “I am willing to be convinced: so convince me!"
Kargan felt his heart beginning to pound, and he took a succession of deep breaths.
"Please sit down, and shut your eyes, Master Loras,” he said, motioning to the chair opposite him. “Make yourself as comfortable as possible, and try to remain still."
Loras did as the Mentalist bade him, lowering himself into the chair and closing his eyes, his head slumped on his chest.
Kargan grasped Seeker and began to access his memory of Bledel's incantation, rehearsing it in his head. As a musician and a mage, he found it easy to read ahead, scanning the sequence of runes and cadences for cohesion and harmony, silently moving his lips as he did so. He spotted a few areas where his recalled sequence deviated from magical logic; having cast the spell once, he now understood the purpose of each section of the thaumaturgic chant, and he mentally substituted the correct rune, rhythm or cadence. At last, he felt satisfied, and he settled himself into a comfortable position for casting, ensuring that his body would not fall from the chair while he was away from it.
"Are you ready?” he asked, and Loras nodded.
Kargan accessed his power and began to cast…
The last few runes spilled from the Mentalist's lips, and he knew he had succeeded, his heart full to bursting with a sense of triumph and elation.
"You may open your eyes, Master Loras,” he said, with just a trace of smugness.
"Nothing happened, Mentalist Kargan. We haven't gone anywhere!"
Kargan's spirit form stood up, and Loras gaped.
"We are free of our bodies, and capable of drifting through your memories to wherever and whenever you desire,” the said Mentalist, as if outlining a summer picnic. “Where and when would you like to go?"
Loras also stood, looking down at his physical body with wide eyes. “An impressive spell,” he said. “Very well; I wish to travel to-"
"Don't tell me,” Kargan interrupted. “This is your spell. Just access the relevant memory inside the privacy of your own mind. Perhaps that will prove to you that I am not using some king of flashy subterfuge."
The small room faded and disappeared, to be replaced by an open field. Loras’ memory counterpart now wore an unrestricted shock of black hair that flowed over his back like a dark wave, and his lower face now bore a burgeoning, black beard. This younger Questor stood with a defiant, confident expression, his staff raised over his head in a two-handed grip. Beside him stood a slender, blond-headed man that Kargan did not recognise. This man, too, bore a staff with seven gold rings, and his expression seemed no less determined.
The blond man spoke, and Kargan realised this handsome young Questor was no less than Lord Thorn!
"If we succeed, this ought to get us into the Deeds of the Questors,” the younger image of the Prelate said, and dream-Loras nodded.
Kargan turned to see an advancing line of beasts. They were like dogs, but the size of horses, and their four-inch fangs dripped with foaming saliva. The Magemaster guessed there were forty to fifty of these hell-hounds, and they raced towards their human prey with astonishing velocity.
The dream-Questors stood their ground, unleashing their first spells when the beasts were about fifty yards distant, sending a pink shower of canine gore into the air.
"The vision is accurate,” Loras declared, although he seemed otherwise uninterested. “This confrontation was not recorded in any of the Guild's annals, as far as I am aware; politics intervened. I am convinced in the efficacy of your spell."
Kargan winced as the lead beast leapt onto dream-Thorn, only to be thwarted by what appeared to be an invisible ward. The dog-thing's claws skittered over the unseen dome's surface, and dream-Loras dispatched the animal with a potent spell of green fire.
"I suggest you take us to the night of the… incident,” the Magemaster said, unable to tear his eyes from the carnage unfolding before him. “Perhaps two hours before it happened?"
The bloody scene warped into the image of the Refectory at Arnor House, where dream-Loras sat opposite a middle-aged man. The older mage was somehow familiar, but Kargan could not place him.
"That is Questor Olaf,” Loras said, and the Mentalist nodded slowly, recognising the younger image of the now-grizzled senior Questor. “As I recall, we did have dinner together on that night."
Loras seemed to be taking the whole thing in his stride, almost enjoying the revelations of his youth as the two dream-mages discussed trivial House matters, including the results of a recent athletic tournament.
"I believe we should visit Lord Thorn's chamber,” the Magemaster said. “We may have to wait some time, but the results should be… interesting."
"Very well, Magemaster Kargan; Thorn's room is at the end of the West Wing corridor. Let us go."
The two mages, under Kargan's direction, walked through the intervening walls, up the stairs and into a dark empty room.
"What do we do now?” Loras asked.
"We wait,” Kargan said. “I hope this will be interesting and instructive."
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Chapter 30: Loras’ Betrayal
The Magemaster looked at the blacksmith, and he could have sworn that he saw traces of tears in Loras’ eyes. The former Questor must have caught the quizzical lift of Kargan's eyebrows.
"I never thought I would see the House again,” he explained. “If I am a little affected by this, it is because I was brought up here, just like you. When I was banished, it was as if most of my life had been stripped from me, along with my magic."
Kargan nodded. “I know what you mean, Questor Loras-"
"Master Loras,” the smith corrected him. “I am no mage now."
"My apologies, Master Loras; I know just what you mean. I may lose all this, too, and the prospect scares me more than I would have thought.