"Enter."

Grimm opened the door, stepping into Lord Thorn's chamber for the second time within an hour. To his relief, he found the Prelate in the same beneficent mood as earlier in the day.

"Questor Grimm, how may I help you?" The smile on Thorn's face was unexpected, but welcome to the troubled Questor.

"Thank you for receiving me again at such short notice, Lord Prelate, but I have news of great treachery within High Lodge."

Thorn sat bolt upright. "You intrigue me, Brother Mage. Do, please, tel me more."

Grimm had no desire to blight the career of a mage before it had started, so he considered his words with care. "Prelate Thorn, I now realise that I experienced an inadvertent journey into the astral realms during my time at High Lodge. There is no doubt of the matter, none whatsoever."

Thorn leaned back into his mahogany throne and frowned. "Believe me, Brother Mage, I would love to discuss this matter with you for several hours in a circuitous, roundabout manner; however, I have many cal s on my time. Can we please cut to the chase? If there is treason within our ruling House, I wish to know the details without delay."

Grimm rubbed his left hand over his mouth while he considered what he would say. In retrospect, his story of blood-drinking and cannibalism might appear ridiculous to any right-minded man, but he felt the need to describe it to another person: any person.

"Lord Thorn: at the end of my stay at High Lodge, I had what I thought was just a disturbing dream. On reflection, and after considering my time spent in the fifth linear dimension in Crar, I now realise it was no dream, but a voyage into the spirit realm. A disciple of the Order of The Sisters of Divine Mercy had played a trick on me: an attempt to persuade me to give my love to her."

Thorn leaned forward, frowning. "This was not in your report, or in Questor Dalquist's. Why did you choose not to report it?"

Grimm swal owed hard, spreading his hands apart.

"I considered it a minor diversion: a young girl's whim, Lord Prelate," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Questor Dalquist was of the same mind. I thought it no more than a prank or jest."

"What of this dream?" the older man demanded. "What aspect of it persuades you of treachery within our midst? This is a serious charge, Questor Grimm!"

Grimm's inner being urged him to flee; what he had to say would surely seem ludicrous to an experienced mage like Lord Thorn. Nonetheless, he knew he must release the tension within him, somehow or other.

"I expected the girl to be criticised or chastised in some minor fashion," he said. "In my dream, I saw her scarred, brutalised body carved up and eaten, and her blood drunk by a coven of witches, led by the Prioress of the Sisters of Divine Mercy. I believed this to be a dream, a nightmare, but I now know it to be true, after long introspection. Dark forces are afoot in High Lodge: protected by it, and given a free hand by the Lord Dominie."

Having expected to be excoriated, the Questor felt stunned to find himself instead being congratulated.

"Indeed, Questor Grimm; that is a most worrying matter. I worried about that particular Order for some time, and I applaud you for your courage in bringing it to my attention. Your recent promotion means that you wil be travel ing to High Lodge within the next week, so I advise you to keep your eyes open with regard to the Order's influence. I have suspected the Prioress of dark acts for many years, although I have no proof. I have met her before, and I know her to be a prevaricator at the very least. Since she and her Order are honoured guests of the Dominie, I advise extreme caution. Whatever your conclusions, I instruct you to do no more than to notify me as to your findings, without tel ing the Presidium, and without discussing it with the Prioress or her Order. If you wish, you may consider this as your next Quest."

Grimm felt stunned by the vehemence of Thorn's reply, but gratified; it seemed the Prelate's mind was more aligned with his than he had expected. His head seemed to spin for a moment, perhaps due to the unexpectedness of being sent on a new Quest so soon after his last.

"You are expected at the Lodge in three days," the Prelate said. "Enjoy yourself until then, but remember to be careful with the Order, and do no more than to gather information; take no action against them. I order you to restrict yourself to that goal."

"I wil , Lord Thorn." Grimm had faced demons, autocratic warlords and assassins, but he had always had the option of defending himself as he saw fit. This particular mission would be like an intricate game of chess: a subtle game he had never mastered. He only hoped that it was a game at which he would prove adept.

As he turned to go, Grimm heard one more comment from Lord Thorn. "Enjoy yourself tonight at Necromancer Numal's party tonight, Questor Grimm."

Is there anything here Lord Thorn doesn't know? Grimm wondered.

He bowed and exited the chamber, his earlier elation replaced by disquiet and worry. He rubbed his right temple, which had begun to develop a faint but nagging ache.

Perhaps I've been pushing myself too hard, the Questor thought. A little recreation might be just the thing.

A new mage's Acclamation was something to celebrate, so Grimm vowed to put his worries behind him until it was time to leave.

Chapter 5: Rivalry and Revelry.

Grimm arrived for Numal's Acclamation feast in plenty of time. His own ceremony took place within an hour of his Mage Staff prevailing against the magical y sharp and immutable edge of the Breaking Stone.

In Numal's case, it would seem either that such swift preparation had not been possible, or, as was more probable, that the Acclamation of a new Questor was regarded as a more significant event than that of a humble Necromancer.

The feast was to be held in the upper gal ery of the East Wing, affording a bird's eye view of the Great Hal . Grimm saw several places laid at the great, round banqueting table, but far fewer than had been laid for his own celebration.

Grimm heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see the acerbic Magemaster Faffel, under whose stern instruction he had studied Courtly Graces. The Magemaster wore sky-blue silk robes, and an ostentatious gold cummerbund sought to contain a bulging waistline. A tal , black hat, topped by a peacock feather, perched precariously on Faffel's burgeoning, jet-black hair, which looked ludicrous in contrast to such a lined, ancient face.

The young mage suppressed a groan, since Faffel's presence meant that he would feel constrained to use the formal, starchy tones of Mage Speech throughout the feast. He had had enough of this in his previous Quest, under the ascetic Xylox.

Faffel's smal , yel ow eyes scanned the Questor, searching for the least imperfection in his apparel or his bearing, but, at the end of his scrutiny, the old Magemaster gave a slight, grudging nod of approval.

"Greetings, Questor Grimm; it seems that my patient instruction has, at last, borne some fruit. Your appearance and bearing appear appropriate to the occasion. I am pleased to see that the spoils of your Quests have been put to good use."

What patient instruction was that?

Faffel's mode of tuition had consisted of little but slaps, insults and acidic rebukes. These had been directed, in particular, at boys from less wealthy families, like Grimm. The man fawned over richer, titled Students, schooled in deportment and court protocol since they were weaned, and he had never tired of mentioning that he had been received at the King's court on several occasions.

Grimm detested snobbery, and he now had sufficient confidence in himself to take the conceited Magemaster down a peg or two.

"Magemaster Faffel, it is good to see you," he lied. "However, these fine silk robes were not purchased with proceeds from my Quests, but from funds voted to me by the High Council of Crar when I was declared Baron."

If anything could sway Faffel's self-importance, it was a noble title, and Grimm felt pleased to see that it had the desired effect. He saw an immediate change in the Magemaster's manner at the Questor's very mention of the glittering title: *Baron'. It seemed that Faffel was impressed by a noble cognomen, no matter how it had been bestowed.

"Lord Grimm, I apologise without reserve. I had no idea that you had been elevated to the nobility, and I congratulate you."

Faffel executed a perfect court bow, sweeping the ridiculous hat from his head so that the peacock feather brushed against the floor. Grimm toyed with the idea of extending his hand for the Magemaster to kiss but restrained himself, acknowledging the gesture with a brief but courteous nod. He could not act in such a contemptuous manner, even to such a shal ow and conceited man, and he decided instead to be gracious. After al , the unpleasant Magemaster had managed to turn a clumsy blacksmith's boy into a competent dancer and an ambassador for the House who would not disgrace it, even in the most elevated company.

"Thank you, Magemaster Faffel. Thank you for educating me in the ways of the court. Without your diligent guidance, I am sure I would have dishonoured my title in many ways, with lapses of protocol or inappropriate speech."

Grimm felt revolted to see how the simple five-letter word, *Baron', had turned the Magemaster into a fawning fool. It might have been better not to attempt to upstage the vain, snobbish man in this way, after al .

As Faffel's stream of sycophantic trivia became unbearable, the Questor felt relieved to note the arrival of the earthy Magemaster Kargan, whose face lit up at the sight of his erstwhile pupil.

Grimm knew Kargan would not bother with mindless chit-chat, and Mage Speech would go out of the window. Although Kargan wore robes of excel ent quality, they seemed somehow loose and il -suited to his spare, wiry frame, and his blue-tinted spectacles added an air of mystery.

"Wel ; if it isn't my old Student, Questor Grimm! My, aren't we a fine young popinjay these days?"

Kargan cast a disapproving glance at Faffel. "Hmm ... I can see where you got the idea from, although I'm pleased to see that you, at least, chose to keep your apparel within the bounds of reasonable taste,"

he added, his voice dripping with contempt for the other Magemaster's ludicrous outfit.

Grimm opened his mouth to acknowledge Kargan's greeting, but Faffel interrupted him.

"That should be *I see whence you obtained the idea' ," the primping Magemaster sneered. There seemed little love lost between the two mage tutors, and they started a verbal sparring match, each trying to outdo the other.

Grimm, now freed from Faffel's obsequious attentions, looked on with some amusement as the two men traded slights and innuendos, although they always steered clear of outright insults.

The spat came to an abrupt halt as Grimm heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Gentlemen, your attention, please."

Al three mages turned around, and Grimm saw the imperturbable Senior Magemaster Crohn, the head of the Scholasticate, standing at the head of the spiral staircase. He leaned on his staff, his expression intense and disapproving.

"This is an important occasion, and it should not be belittled by paltry squabbling. I would be grateful if you would put your petty rivalries aside for the nonce. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Senior Magemaster."

"Your words are as clear as the most lambent crystal, Senior Magemaster."

Crohn turned to Grimm, who had once been his protege, the acme of his career. Few Magemasters indeed could claim with justification that they had raised a Mage Questor!

"Questor Grimm, it appears that outdoor life agrees with you. You seem in excel ent health."

"And you, Magemaster Crohn. It is good to see you looking so wel ."

"Alas, I regret to say that I suffer from rheumatism and arthritis, Brother Mage. However, I thank you for your solicitude."

Grimm expressed his sincere regrets. He knew Crohn had been a tower of strength until the day he had faced the ful fury of Grimm's explosive Outbreak. It pained him to think that the old Magemaster's infirmity might be the result of the birth of his own powers, but he knew Crohn did not regret it in the least; it had been the culmination of his career to bring a nascent Questor to maturity. There was an understanding and respect between the two thaumaturges that few could understand, born of those tumultuous minutes in which Grimm Afelnor had wandered into the dark cavern of insanity and emerged as a man and a true mage.

Kargan and Faffel made their ways to opposite sides of the gal ery, after each had helped himself to a brimming glass of wine; it seemed that both were in the mood to start their drinking at the earliest opportunity. This left Grimm standing with his erstwhile tutor.

"Magemaster Crohn, wil Lord Thorn be in attendance tonight?" Grimm asked. If so, he thought, it might prove an opportune time to ask the questions he had forgotten to put to the Prelate at their two earlier meetings.

"I regret not," Crohn said. "I believe the annual accounts are due for submission to High Lodge."

Grimm's brow furrowed. "I always thought that was the responsibility of Scribe Vimat and his staff."

On occasions, the dedicated Vimat had been cal ed upon to lecture Grimm's Student class on the subject of Mathematics, but he was more usual y to be found poring over his ledgers and check-sheets in a cramped, dingy office in the East Wing.

"The ultimate responsibility for the correctness of the accounts is Lord Thorn's," the older man replied.

"He often chooses to check Scribe Vimal's figures for himself, although the Scribe has a marvel ous facility with arithmetic."

More likely, he just couldn't be bothered to turn up for a humble Necromancer's ceremonial feast.

A Questor was a different matter: a mage who could advance the status of a House and its Prelate in the eyes of the Lord Dominie, through a series of favours and political skulduggery carried out in the name of High Lodge. More run-of-the-mil mages were useful for the everyday running of the House and for tuition of the scions of rich families, but of little consequence in the wider scheme of things. Grimm's mouth twisted into a wry grimace, and Crohn smiled; very little passed the Senior Magemaster's notice.

"You are probably correct, Questor Grimm; perhaps the occasion is not noteworthy enough for Lord Thorn. However, if you please, we wil acquiesce to the official explanation. Necromancer Numal has worked hard to gain his just rewards of the staff and the Guild Ring, and we should ensure that his special feast is one for him to remember. You are a friend of his?"

Grimm shook his head. "Not as such, Magemaster Crohn. Until today, I met him on only one previous occasion: my first ful day as a Student.

However, I find him an interesting and companionable man, and he seems to enjoy my company, too. His seems to have been a lonely incumbency, and I would say he needs al the friends he can get."

"That is a poor reason to become an especial friend," Crohn said, his expression strange.

"Magemaster Crohn, I can remember Rule 3.14.8 quite wel ," Grimm said, smiling, thinking he understood Crohn's quizzical look.

Rule 3.14.8 concerned * unnatural and unwholesome relationships' , and several years passed before the meaning of the regulation became clear to him. He knew such relationships were forged within the Scholasticate on occasion, and, although he could not understand the attraction of two men for each other, he knew how scarce true affection was within the House. He could not bring himself to condemn such associations.

Even the Magemasters seemed to tolerate these il icit liaisons at times, at least when they occurred between Students of wealthy families and were not too blatant.

"That is not what I was trying to imply, Questor Grimm," Crohn said, his tone neutral. "I merely meant that a stolid, middle-aged Necromancer is an unusual intimate for a young, active Questor to have. A Necromancer has little sleight that a mage of your cal ing could not master, except the ability to contact the souls of the dead."

Crohn's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I believe you are stil hoping to discover some hidden truth behind the death of Prelate Geral, so as to exonerate your grandfather. Am I right?"

Grimm felt warmth flooding into his face: he knew that he could not lie to this man. He was indeed dedicated to prove Loras innocent of treason, but Crohn had it wrong. How much could he trust the ancient mage, who reported directly to the Prelate?

Crohn leaned closer to the Questor, his voice a faint murmur. "I swear on my name as a Guild Mage that anything you tel me, short of outright treason, wil remain between the two of us. My sole wish is to save you embarrassment and disgrace. Lord Thorn and the Conclave wil hear nothing of what you choose to say, but speak truly."

Grimm closed his eyes and stood for a few moments, deep in thought. How he yearned to tel another Guildbrother of his doubts! He knew he could confide in his best friend, Questor Dalquist, but Dalquist was only ten years older than he, and had never known Loras Afelnor. Crohn, however, had studied alongside Loras and had known him wel .

The old Magemaster might have put him through the gruel ing Questor Ordeal, but Grimm knew Crohn to be an honourable man; he would not betray anything told him in confidence.

"You are correct in assuming that I have such a mission in mind, Senior Magemaster," he said, choosing his words with care, "but I wil tel you that my association with Necromancer Numal has nothing to do with it. I have good reason to believe that Geomancy, witch magic, lies behind my grandfather's bizarre act. However, I have no reason to believe that the soul of the dead Prelate could communicate any useful information in this regard; the man was comatose in his last days. He is no tool or puppet in any plan of mine, I assure you.

"As a former Charity boy, I recognise Numal's loneliness and feel drawn to him for this reason, and for this reason alone."

Crohn's eyes seemed to burn into Grimm's soul for a few moments, and then he nodded. "That is as it should be. I cannot sway you from your heart's desire, nor would I wish to. I think you are deluded in this regard, but that is a personal opinion. I know I would do anything to ransom my own family name, had it ever been so tarnished. As long as you do not suborn House personnel to the furtherance of this ...

this private Quest of yours, I have no objection. Just be careful on whose toes you tread whilst doing so, Grimm Afelnor. If I may be of any assistance to you in your search for truth, without transgressing House protocol, of course, do not hesitate to ask."

"I wil , Magemaster Crohn," Grimm responded, smiling broadly. "Thank you for your forbearance, your kind offer and your understanding. Wil you promise me that this matter remains confidential between us?"

Crohn nodded. "I so swear, Questor. I hope one day you wil find true peace and inner harmony, one way or the other. What you have said is already forgotten. Even the direct demand of Lord Thorn would not draw it from me."

As Grimm opened his mouth to thank the Senior Magemaster again, he was interrupted by a cry from Magemaster Kargan: "Here comes our guest of honour!"

Appearing nervous and sheepish, Numal appeared at the top of the stairs, bedecked in costly robes of green velvet. As he walked into the gal ery, Grimm saw that he was accompanied by a dour man attired in a similar manner. There was little humour in the second man's face, and his pal or and bald head made him appear as almost a twin of the new mage. Only the seven gold rings on the man's staff clearly marked him as a separate individual.

Crohn clapped his hands, and the assembled magic-users came to attention.

"Gentlemen, in recognition of forty-three years of diligent study, let us al raise a glass to our new Mage Necromancer, Numal Falwort, and his estimable and indefatigable Adept Tutor, Necromancer Sheban!"

Magemaster Kargan, as thoughtful as ever for the important things in life, handed ful glasses to Grimm and Crohn.

The pitiful assembly chorused, "To Numal and Sheban!"

The revelries lasted into the smal hours. Al present drank more than their fil , but Grimm found the alcohol had little effect on him. He drank, almost as if possessed, but he felt no need to cal on his staff, Redeemer, to clear his head. In the morning, he would leave to root out a dark, Geomantic evil at the heart of High Lodge itself, and he could not help but hope it might lead him a little further down the road to Loras'