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have to be cleaned up, and he felt a little surprised at his progress.
However, the staff remained just a rough piece of wood, and no magic resonated
within it. How was he to imbue it with all the powers it was meant to attain?
The completion of Crohn's staff, Mist, had taken seven months, but Grimm had
consistently outperformed Crohn's expectations before; he hoped that he would
continue to do so.
He realised he was very tired and hungry, and he shuffled off to the Refectory
with the rough, fledgling staff, vowing that Redeemer would never leave his
side for a moment until his Acclamation, no matter when that might be. He sat
alone as he ate, but he felt no loneliness. Soon, he would be leaving the
Scholasticate and venturing into the wide world outside. With a start, he
realised that he could remember next to nothing of the regions outside these
walls, of which he had seen nothing for nine years. Was it really that long?
The concept seemed to mock him, and he shivered, realising that the
Scholasticate was his home and his whole world. He slept fitfully that night,
the staff at his side. In his dreams, he stood, teetering, on the brink of a
vertiginous cliff.
* * * *
For the next month, Grimm flitted like a brown bat around the Scholasticate
with his dormant staff. Some days, he spent hours shaping and whittling, or
even just softly taking to the dead piece of wood. He forged the staff's brass
shoes on his own, annealing copper and zinc ingots with his magic and allowing
them to shrink onto the gleaming wood as they cooled. To his immense pleasure,
they were a perfect fit.
At other times, he spent his time in the library, steeping himself in the
grimoires and librams once denied him, but which were now his friends. On
occasion, he would talk to his human friends, Madar, Argand and Dalquist, but
his mind was elsewhere, reaching forward in time to his Acclamation and
freedom.
* * * *
The staff was warm to Grimm's touch, blending seamlessly with his hand. He had
poured formless energy into it night and day for three months and, it now
vibrated gently at his touch, like the purring of a contented cat. He placed
it on the floor and walked ten paces.
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"Staff, to hand, he muttered in plain language, without touching his deeper
power, and the staff flew to his outstretched right palm, fitting it with
intimate closeness. With a deep breath, he moved away to Crohn's cell and
tapped at the door, even though he knew well the lateness of the hour.
The dishevelled Magemaster looked haggard and peeved, standing shivering in a
long night-gown.  Could it not wait until the morning, Afelnor? he groaned.
"My staff is finished, Senior Magemaster Crohn. Grimm could barely control
the eagerness in his voice.  I am ready for my test at the Breaking Stone. He
held the brass-shod staff before him, and it glowed with blue balefire.
Crohn's eyes bulged, suddenly wide-awake.  I agree, he breathed.  I can feel
the magic in your staff, and it seems well attuned to you."
He wagged an admonitory finger at Grimm.  I trust you have done your work as
well as I believe you can. For tomorrow, you will have to prove your staff
against the Breaking Stone; only that severe test can prove the bond between
you. Failure will mean more months of work before you can try again."
Looking at the drawn Grimm, he put a friendly hand on the youth's right
shoulder.  You must go to bed, Adept Grimm. Of course, you have now condemned
me to a sleepless night, for I must summon a Conclave to witness the event.
But I would not miss it for the world. Say nothing to anybody else, not even
your closest friends. Sleep now, for you must be up with the cockcrow. Go
now."
Grimm felt too tired to argue; he had expected a greater reaction from Crohn,
but all he wanted now was sleep.
* * * *
It seemed he had closed his eyes only minutes before, but here was Doorkeeper,
arrayed in stiff, formal robes that Grimm had never before seen him wearing.
"Ten minutes, Grimm Afelnor; ten minutes and no more! crowed the major-domo.
 You must be ready for their Lordships. Wear this robe; your own grandfather
wore the same robe at his own Acclamation. Don't speak. Wash! Hurry now!"
Doorkeeper seemed no different from the man the seven-year-old Grimm had met
on his first day, apart from the fact that Grimm now overtopped him by six
inches. He flitted around the cell like a frightened mouse, chattering in the
brief staccato phrases that Grimm recognised so well.
"The staff! Don't forget the staff; I can't touch it now, can I? Quickly, put
your robe on. Tie your hair. Look, I'll do it. There. Tidy your beard a
little, do!
"Oh, leave it, then. Come on, quickly now."
They hurried down the corridor leading to the gate to the Great Hall, a gate
that had been locked to Grimm for the last nine years, and Doorkeeper flung it
wide with a flourish. Grimm hesitated for a moment, and then stepped through,
suddenly nervous and a little giddy at the wide open space of the Great Hall.
A host of formally robed wizards stood ranged around the Breaking Stone, with
Thorn standing apart.
In a huge voice, the Prelate cried,  Behold: an Adept approaches!"
"An Adept approaches," echoed the hooded mages.
Motioned to the stone, Grimm stood before the Guild Master, suppressing the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]