The Grandmaster's Tale

Alan didn’t look convinced. I shrugged. Let him think what he liked. I wasn’t sure if I should discuss his ancestry with him. I’d made some quiet enquires at the orphanage, but all they’d been able to tell me was that his mother had been a whore—which explained why he hadn’t been adopted out very quickly—and his father a mystery. The town council had paid for his schooling, after he came into his magic … ironically, a scholarship program started by Boscha himself. I supposed he’d done his son one favour after all. And it had bitten him.

“So,” Alan said, finally. “What now?”

Geraldine elbowed him, again.

“Good question,” I said. I knew what he meant. They’d worked hard to achieve their goal, and they’d celebrated their success, and … what now? “What do you want to do?”

“I …” Geraldine met my eyes. “I thought I’d apply for an apprenticeship. But will they let me take it? If I get it?”

“Yes,” I said, simply. “Right now, the Supremacists have been discredited. I’m sure they’ll adapt, given time, but … you should have no trouble applying for an apprenticeship. I may offer you two one later myself, depending on how things go.”

“Depending,” Alan repeated. “And them?”

“They will be expelled if they cause any more trouble,” I said, firmly. “They know it, too.”

I sighed inwardly. I understood their doubts. Walter and his cronies had been humiliated—true—but they still had wealth, power and bad intentions. They could make life very hard for Alan and Geraldine, if they thought to try. But … their fathers would be a little more careful now. They knew I could land them in hot water by revealing the truth … maybe they’d keep their sons in line. Maybe.

“Thank you, sir,” Geraldine said. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you both later.”

I watched them go, then sighed again. The Supremacists were wrong. Alan and Geraldine were remarkably talented, their magic bursting with potential, and yet neither of them had come from magical families. Their talents should be nurtured, allowing them to reach their full potential … they didn’t deserve to be pushed aside, to be used as stud bulls or broodmares and little else, just because of an accident of birth. We all knew that crossbreeds were stronger and sturdier, when it came to everything from garden roses to magic. The Supremacists would, eventually, start damaging their own bloodlines. I’d seen quite enough mundane bloodlines that had real problems with inbreeding.

And they’d discredited themselves. They knew it.

It wasn’t a complete victory, I reflected, but it would do.

The door opened. Daphne—I was surprised she’d stayed, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been—looked in.

“Grandmaster,” she said. “The students are waiting.”

Grandmaster, I reflected. I was now the Grandmaster. And I am going to do the job right.