Thorn felt an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh at Crohn's evident discomfiture, but he managed to master it.
"That is my decision, not yours, Senior Magemaster Crohn. I want you to consider Neophyte Chag for this Speciality. He is the right age for it, and he is a charity case, after all."
Crohn's face was like stone. "I urge you to reconsider, Lord Thorn. The boy is erratic in his moods, and I fear for his sanity if he is subjected to the Ordeal. Remember Neophyte Erek."
Thorn was only too aware of the debacle of Erek's Questor Ordeal; the boy had committed suicide after blasting Senior Magemaster Urel into bloody fragments. He had been pushed too far, too soon.
"That is why I want you, Magemaster Crohn, to handle his Ordeal. You are the only living man in this House ever to have raised a full-blooded Questor."
The Prelate saw a momentary expression of naked fear flitting across the Magemaster's face, and he felt an unalloyed sensation of satisfaction.
"Questor Grimm's Outbreak almost killed me, Lord Thorn!" the older mage protested. "Another such eruption of power would surely finish the job."
"You refuse my order?" Thorn forced his expression to remain neutral. Crohn was reacting just as he had hoped.
Crohn's face reddened. "Yes, Lord Prelate, I refuse your order! It is unreasonable and unethical. I also wish to state formally that I consider Chag Jura a most unsuitable candidate for the Ordeal."
"Perhaps Magemaster Faffel would be of a different mind, Crohn."
"Faffel!" Crohn expostulated. "He can be brutal with the Students at the best of times; he would turn an Ordeal into a bloody assassination. In my capacity as Senior Magemaster, I refuse to assign him to any Questor Ordeal, now or ever! That prerogative is mine, and mine alone, Lord Prelate."
Thorn spread his hands, as if placating Crohn, maintaining his reasonable, avuncular tone as he spoke: "I tried to be fair with you, Magemaster Crohn. Perhaps you are right; it may well be that the strain of Questor Grimm's Outbreak and the heavy responsibilities of your position have taken their toll on you. How old are you now, Senior Magemaster Crohn? Ninety years?"
"Ninety-three," Crohn responded, his expression stern. "Lord Prelate, I fail to see what bearing my age may have on this fruitless discussion. I am still healthy, fit, and in my right mind. I may reasonably expect to remain in this state for several decades more."
"You say you are fit, Magemaster Crohn, but you declare yourself unable to resist an eruption of anger from a frustrated adolescent. Should you refuse me again, I shall have to conclude that Magemaster Faffel should replace you as Head of the Scholasticate."
"You can't do that, you…"
Thorn raised an admonitory finger, pleased that the older mage was rattled enough to lapse into vernacular speech. This was perfect!
"Be careful what you say, Crohn Mindstealer. I will not tolerate outright insults, even from you."
From the Magemaster's reaction, the Prelate knew he had mustered just the tone of concern and regret he had intended.
"I apologise for my outburst, Lord Prelate. Please forgive me," Crohn said, his face a rigid mask of mortification at his momentary loss of self-control.
"Magemaster Crohn, I can tell you are under a severe emotional stress at this time." Thorn suppressed the smirk that threatened to spoil his stony, impassive appearance. "It would not be fair to expect an immediate answer from you, so I will give you a day of grace in which to consider the matter. Consider it well, and sleep on it. Take the rest of the day off, by all means. Kargan can deputise for you, and Questor Dalquist can cover your classes in Perception, Interpretation, and Visualisation. Think hard, old friend. We have known each other a long time, and I have no intention of seeing you disgraced or dismissed. Nonetheless, I have the priorities of Guild politics to consider."
The ashen Crohn looked a pale shadow of the man who had walked through the door earlier. He displayed every sign of his advanced age as he rose to his feet to leave, leaning on his staff for support.
"Thank you, Lord Prelate. I will think on what you have said." The Senior Magemaster spoke in a halting, tired voice, and Thorn knew he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams by managing to cow the old man in such a simple manner.
"Thank you, Mindstealer. My position is no sinecure, you know; I often need to make difficult, sometimes painful, decisions for the good of the Guild. I trust you appreciate that I am not always free to act on my own inclinations and desires, and that I must fulfil my duty as best I am able, regardless of the consequences."
Crohn nodded; Thorn assumed the man was too full to speak, full of emotion at having let down the House. This suited the Prelate's purposes well.
Once Crohn had left the room, Thorn allowed a broad smile to spread across his face. The Magemaster was a valuable asset to the House, and the senior mage wanted to humble the man, instead of destroying him. He knew only too well that Crohn would be forced to step aside in favour of Faffel, but he would still prove a useful Magemaster. In the same manner, he intended to belittle Dalquist, giving him trivial, mind-numbing tasks until he might be needed in his role as a House Questor.
The Prelate took a brandy bottle from a desk drawer and poured himself a generous dose of the fiery restorative.
It's time to celebrate, he decided, downing a mouthful of the warming fluid.
Following an angry, almost incoherent telepathic message from his mother, Thorn knew that Questor Grimm had been instrumental in the dismissal of Lizaveta from High Lodge, and he did not believe, for even a moment, Horin's assertion that Questor Grimm was being employed in some kind of fanciful public relations exercise.
Afelnor must have been sent by the Dominie on a very important mission; only the destruction of Lizaveta and her hateful Order seemed to fit that bill. Thorn had no intention of stopping the youth from achieving the Prelate's ultimate aim: freedom from his despised, interfering mother, who had put him in his current, comfortable position at the expense of his dear friend, Loras Afelnor.
However, there was always the risk that the boy would discover Thorn's relationship with Lizaveta, and he might be tempted to reveal this to others. Worse than that, he might even discover Lizaveta's role in Loras' disgrace, and Thorn's complicity in this. The Prelate could not allow that to happen; what to do?
Thorn took another draught of brandy and sat in thought. He knew that he would never have enough magical power to overcome Lizaveta's defences, so as to compel the old witch to keep her mouth shut, so the important factor was to silence Grimm Afelnor.
Once Thorn's mother's influence was nullified, the Prelate would be more than happy to shun the dangerous corridors of High Lodge politics, but he knew that he would need a cogent argument to ensure that Afelnor kept his mouth shut. Perhaps it would be best to intercept the hopefully triumphant but weakened Questor on his return from Lizaveta's Priory, in person. By that time, Thorn was sure, he would be able to handle the young mage, and even kill him if necessary.
No; if Grimm was alive on his return from the Priory, he must die.
If Grimm was unsuccessful in his Quest, the Prelate could say that he had rushed to the rescue of his beloved mother, as soon as he had discovered the purpose of the young Questor's mission.
No, I can't do that, Thorn thought. A House Prelate does not Quest; it would raise too many questions. Perhaps Questor Xylox might accept the task… He's a bit of a prig and a bigot, but he could be just the man I need. He dislikes Grimm intensely, and he's an Arnor man through and through. I'll have to be careful, but I don't think I'll have too much trouble convincing Xylox that Grimm is a rebel and a renegade.