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take a frugal meal; an over-full stomach was not conducive to happy riding. A
crusty roll, a small pickled fish and a glass of orange juice would have to
suffice. As he moved to a table, he noticed a solitary figure hunched over a
full plate. Although the mage's head was covered by a hood, Grimm noted his
naked staff, bereft of any rings denoting status, marking him as a very recent
addition to the senior ranks of the House. This silent figure could only be
the new Necromancer, Numal.
"Greetings, Brother Mage."
Numal's head jerked up, and Grimm looked into a face of misery. The
Necromancer's sallow complexion seemed even paler than usual, and the Questor
could not help but notice Numal's bloodshot eyes.
"Greetings, Grimm, was the whispered reply. Do you think you could talk a
little more quietly?"
Grimm suppressed a smile; Numal's malady was an easy one to cure. In a softer
tone, he said, Take hold of my Mage Staff, Numal. It has some very useful
spells cast upon it. Don't worry, it can't hurt you if you touch it with my
permission."
The fledgling Necromancer reached out a trembling hand and clutched Redeemer.
He shuddered as if palsied for a few moments, before falling back into his
chair. Grimm was pleased to see that, although Numal's eyes were still red,
they seemed more focused and clear.
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"Thank you, Grimm, Numal said. I needed that. How did you do it?"
"It's just an application of the Minor Magics, Numal: a spell of Stability to
steady your stomach and stop the world spinning around, and a spell of Clarity
to clear your head. If you cast them on your staff, using the Third Instance,
they'll stay there forever."
"What do I use for activation energy? the Necromancer asked.
"They're simple enough spells, Grimm said. Body heat's more than adequate as
a source of energy."
The new mage eyed his neglected breakfast with renewed interest and began to
attack it with vigour, while the younger man polished off his own.
"I made a complete fool of myself last night, didn't I, Grimm? Numal said,
looking up from his breakfast. His face was ruddy, embarrassed.
Grimm's shrugged. Don't worry about it, my friend. When the wine's in, the
wit's out', as they say. I fell face-down into my food at my Acclamation
feast. As I look back on it now, getting so drunk was unbelievably foolish. If
you miscast a runic spell, it doesn't work and your hangover just gets worse.
You can't miscast Questor magic; you invent it on the spot, but you can still
make mistakes. As a Questor, I could have wrecked the place if I'd cut loose
with the wrong spell while drunk. I understand there are quite a few
regrettable accidents at Acclamation banquets; it's an opportunity to let your
hair down after years of self-denial."
"I don't have any hair, was Numal's sullen reply.
Grimm shrugged. That's just a figure of speech. I'm sure a lot of mages lose
control of their mouths at these affairs, and I doubt your heartfelt little
outburst last night was any exception. Remember, I fell over and spewed my
guts up in front of the Lord Prelate himself, so you can count yourself
lucky."
"Looks like he couldn't be bothered to turn up for a mere Necromancer's
celebration, the new mage observed. You can bet if I'd been a Weatherworker,
a Shapeshifter or..."
"Or a Questor. Grimm disliked the self-pitying tone in the Necromancer's
words, and his mood was not improved by his growing headache.
"I know it must look that way, Numal, he continued, but Magemaster Crohn
told me Lord Thorn was in mortal combat with the quarterly accounts, or else
he'd have been there."
Numal, his expression still sour, opened his mouth to speak, but Grimm
pre-empted him.
"Numal, my friend, did you join the House as a Charity Student?"
"Of course not: my tuition fees were paid by a trust fund set up by my now
long-dead parents. They were keen enough to get rid of me, I noticed. Oh, I
got to go home during Scholasticate closures, of course. All my parents ever
asked me was how I was faring with my studies: about the Magemasters, what I
was learning. But I don't think they ever asked about me, my wishes or my
feelings. My parents were both teachers, and I don't think they cared about
anything else in the world.
"After seven years as a Student, and twenty more as a Neophyte, they died of
Badlands sickness during some damned stupid expedition. Oh, the trust fund
carried on paying for my tuition, and my uncle Baran, my father's brother,
began to take me in during the holidays. He was no barrel of laughs, either.
He was a merchant, and I think he thought more of his damned accounts than of
me. Just like Lord Thorn."
"My heart bleeds for you, Numal, the Questor snapped. I don't even remember
my parents; they died when I was very small. You wanted to be an entertainer,
and I wanted to be a blacksmith, like the father I never knew, and my
grandfather. So I guess neither of us got what he wanted."
Numal's mouth opened again, but Grimm interrupted him again. Please let me
finish, Necromancer Numal. Thank you. All right, I passed from Student to mage
in ten years, but they were ten years in which I never set a foot outside the
Scholasticate walls. Unlike you, I loved the people who brought me up, but I
saw my grandmother only once in those long years. I didn't get to see my
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grandfather until after my Acclamation. My grandfather, Loras: the Renegade;
The Oathbreaker; the Traitor. I'm sure you've heard of him."
Numal's eyes opened wide. You are his grandson? His voice was no more than a
whisper, as if Grimm had spoken blasphemy or treason.
"I guess you can imagine how that glittering reputation brightened the days of
a charity Student, the young mage growled. Traitor's spawn: that's a
pleasant little nickname, isn't it? I spent ten years walled up here, eating
slop with the rest of the paupers while you ate the finest food the Refectory
has to offer. I studied hard; I had to, just to keep myself from being
condemned to an endless period of meaningless servitude."
Numal frowned and reasserted himself. Ten years? You think that's a long
time, Questor? I studied for four whole decades, just for a pretty ring and a
piece of wood I made myself!"
Grimm felt heat flooding into his face. Oh, that's not all, Numal, not nearly
all. During the last seven months of my blissful tenure as a pauper Neophyte,
I was slapped, harangued, beaten, starved and reviled on a daily basis by my
tutor. He gave the other boys free reign to add to my misery, without the
least interference from the Magemasters. At the end of that, I became a
Questor, but it was a close call between that and losing my mind. There were
many, many days and weeks in those seven months that I gave serious thought to
committing suicide, and only my determination to gain this pretty little ring
sustained me.
"How was your time as Neophyte, Numal? A little tedious, perhaps? Was the
prime steak you were served a little tough on occasions? I'll wager any price
you name that those last seven months made your forty-odd years seem like a
picnic."
Grimm noted Numal's slack jaw, and several moments passed before the older
mage got it under control.
"Can they really do that to you? the Necromancer whispered, his eyes wide.
Magemaster Sheban was often brusque and curt when I skimped on my
preparation, but he never raised a hand to me."
"They can do anything they want to a charity boy, Numal. Have you ever been
forced to eat a whole bar of soap when you protested after the fifteenth slap
of the day? Have you ever had to repeat a spell-chant twenty times without
error, only to be beaten when fatigue made you botch a single syllable on the
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