Kargan rubbed his chin. “If you cast a simple runic spell, instead of one of those bizarre Questor concoctions, you'd know soon enough, Loras."

Every ‘normal’ spell carried a penalty for a miscast, ranging from a mild pang to the agonised death of the caster, depending on the power used. Only Questors, with their unique form of magic, seemed immune to such punishment.

"Do you remember the Minor Magic Light spell?"

"How could I ever forget it?” Loras rolled his eyes. “Magemaster Tomas hammered that spell into me day after day"

Kargan nodded. “Tomas was my Neophyte tutor. He was a very old man then, but strict.

"Try the Light spell, Master Loras. You'll soon know if you still have magic."

Loras’ lips moved in silence for a moment, and he nodded his head in a complex rhythm as he rehearsed the spell in his mind.

"Ap-chet-jak-tat-de-ran!"

The spell was simple enough, but the tricky cadence held several traps for the lazy or inattentive Student. Even before the gentle, formless glow appeared in the centre of the room, Kargan's critical ears knew the chant was perfect.

Loras’ eyes widened in disbelief, and Kargan clapped his hands in pure joy.

I've done it! The thought blazed in the Mentalist's head with an intensity that far outshone the spell's feeble glow.

"Welcome back, Questor Loras!” Kargan said, feeling a broad smile spreading across his face.

Loras snuffed out the spell, cried, “Puridemendyura-madat!", and gestured towards the small fireplace in the bedroom. The paper and kindling exploded from the grate, and Kargan ducked to avoid a flaming, splintered fragment of wood that flew over his head.

"We need to work a little on your control, Afelnor,” the Mentalist said in a parody of his Magemaster's tone. “But I believe you understand the basic principle."

"You did it, Magemaster Kargan! I am a Questor again!” Loras wheeled and grabbed the Mentalist in bear-like arms, crushing the breath from Kargan.