Toman

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Bloody Fingers: Book of Prologues- Chapter Nineteen

The old man was agitated, and a little drunk. He took yet another sip of the steaming silver cup of tea beside him- well, mostly tea. The cup also contained honey, juiced lemon, and a clear liquor distilled from a blend of grapes, juniper berries, and wheat grain. He normally drank a cup or two of “hot tea” each night to help him sleep, but he had taken nine cups tonight and still could not close his eyes for more than a few breaths. He would get out of his bed, sit at his rolltop desk, and read the letter there once again. His eyes were pulled to the hand drawing it contained for the hundredth time. It was a depiction of a thin book, with a sigil on the cover that appeared to be white claws raking down its length and four different colored draconic runes- one in each corner. The letter described the book casing as a scaled leather, painted either silver or platinum- with the same four runes on the back. 

The letter was written by a relic dealer in the city of Centre Pointe on MidWay Island, who had purchased the book from a traveler but had not been able to open it. He had taken it to a wizard in that city who attempted to dispel the magical lock, but the wizard had died in the attempt. The letter claimed the rune he had worked on had flashed blue, and a bolt of lightning had come from the rune burning the man into a dry husk of skin and brittle bone. The merchant had left the book untouched in the wizard’s home and placed a guard at the door to keep others out. But this letter was dated more than three moon cycles past, so there was no way to know if the book was still secured. 

There was a timid knock on his door. The old man looked to his window and saw the earliest light of dawn had just stated to color the sky. He had missed all sleep tonight. He rose, walked over to the door and spoke through it. “Thank you. Return to your duties with the Matron. I am awake.” 

He listened for a moment as the quiet footsteps faded away. He then returned to his desk and wrapped both hands around his cup, murmuring a few low words. The steam stopped, and a light ring of frost grew onto the cup’s rim. He then gulped down the remaining tea, now cool on his tongue. He turned and walked into the dressing room where his clothes were hung. He put on clean underclothes. Pulled on sturdy boots. He then lifted a very heavy gray robe from its hook. The robe was pristine. It had a silver metallic piping embroidered along its sleeves and edges. It was multi-layered at the top. The inside layer fit snug across his chest, coming across his body and snapping into place along his side with silver clasps. The outside layer hung open and long, covering his back and shoulders but able to be kept open in the front for easier movement. It was hooded, but he left the hood down on his shoulders. He reached into a tall cabinet and pulled out a thick leather belt that had four evenly spaced pouches along its length. It also held a sheathed silver dagger with a large blue gem embedded in the pommel. He secured the belt around his waist under the outer layer of the cloak- the belt keeping the inner layer tight against his body. He then reached back into the cabinet and withdrew a long staff carved from white ash. It also had silver piping etched into its length, forming various runes. The ferrule was also forged from silver but appeared to be mixed with copper. There were copper veins throughout. And the headpiece was an intricately carved hand of the same material, the long fingers holding a huge unpolished piece of white quartz. He stopped just prior to walking out into the hallway and looked at his reflection in the small round mirror hanging on his wall by a chain. It was a new improvement on the old design of highly polished bronze. This version was a circle of glass, coated on the back with a very thin film of tin. It reflected a clear image with very little distortion. It was truly an amazing design. 

Master Toman ran his fingers through his thick white hair and tried to smooth his beard down. He straightened the cloak chain that was draped across his throat and chest, and he also straightened several rings on his fingers, so their jewels and runes were positioned correctly. He pulled his lips back into a grotesque version of a grin and reached up with a fingernail to pick a few flakes of tea leaf from his teeth. He looked deeply into his own eyes and took a large inhale- holding it for at least ten heartbeats before releasing his breath. He straightened his back. The final thing he did was to reach up with one finger and push his round glasses up firmly on his nose. He stepped out of his door and glanced left and right to acknowledge his two protectors. Men he knew well but had rarely spoken with during his long tenure as Master Sage of the Gilded Halls.  

The old man walked at a steady pace, pausing just briefly at any closed doors to allow one of the protectors to open and enter first. The men were armored, but they wore leather boots and had leather gloves. They also had gray fur cloaks over their armor to help quiet the noise of their movements. Libraries were places of silence after all.  They were still moving through the residence halls so they came upon other people as they walked, all of whom would stop and lower their eyes respectfully as Master Toman passed by. Occasionally, Toman would call someone by their name, drawing their eyes to him as he passed. The Master Sage would smile and nod but could never stop. There had been many times over the years when he had so badly wanted to stop and chat- but protocols were always expected even when they weren’t needed. If he remembered, he could always have them brought to his rooms for a private dinner that evening. Those dinners were the one privilege that had kept him sane all this time. Stolen moments were Toman could sit, talk, and hopefully laugh with a friend.  To be truthful, while Toman was terrified about the trip he was about to take- the idea of having a few days without the weight of performing as the Master Sage was delicious indeed. 

They were now walking through the stacks. Row upon row of books and scrolls, as well as artifacts and antiquities. All the shelves were designed to curve in wavelike patterns but never to match the adjacent rows. The design created the impression of privacy as it was impossible to see far in any one direction, but these rooms were always very crowded and busy. Sages were the only ones allowed to study alone in pods. The acolytes were always bunched together at the center tables.  And the initiates constantly moved around the entire room like ants- always cleaning and reorganizing the stacks although admittedly the work was always done with one hand. The other would be holding an open book. The initiates were always expected to be taking advantage of their time within the stacks. Even when working, they should be reading.

The Toman trio had almost made it through to the other side of the stacks when a very petite girl dressed in the black robe of an acolyte wandered directly into their path, her face turned down deeply into a small book she carried. One of the protectors, Argo, stepped forward to stop her- hissing through his teeth to try and get her attention. She simply took another step forward, forcing Argo to step back like a dancer matching her movements. If he had not moved, he likely would have been bumped by the book she carried and that could not be risked- even to protect the Master Sage. Toman watched as the girl’s eyes floated up, and he could see her lips twitch up in the corners before she composed herself. 

“Apologies, Master Toman.” The whisper reached his ears just as her almost smirk had reached his eyes. “I fear I had fallen into the pages- oblivious to all else.” She finally backed slowly away; her face tilted down but her eyes were rolled upward to watch the protector’s reaction.  

The girl was the spoiled daughter of a wealthy jeweler in Carpathia, who had promised a sizable endowment to the Gilded Halls each cycle she was a member. Her name was Allapeia Vas Bonnaite. She was a child who had the habit of encountering him when he was in the stacks or the common rooms. Also, she had called him by his name instead of his honorific from the day she arrived as an initiate. It wasn’t prohibited to do so but was considered rude.  The girl had been promoted quickly to acolyte by the Matron, in fact she was the youngest acolyte in the history of the Halls. The Matron had decided the girl was already well educated and had a quick mind, so keeping her as an initiate just to satisfy custom was inefficient. Toman had wondered about that promotion as had most of the high sages, but it was the Matron’s decision alone. He wasn’t sure of the exact reason, but Toman had just never liked the girl. The first time he met her she had failed at charming him, and his impression had never improved. Perhaps it was the rudeness, or perhaps it was the calculating look he caught in her eyes when her performances slipped. Regardless, Toman had actually prayed twice that she would fall sick and leave the Halls, and Toman was considered by some to be a kind man.

“Miss Bone Eat”. It was childish of him, true, but mispronouncing her name gave Toman some pleasure. “I’m pleased to see that you have finally improved on your gnomish script.” Her eyes darted down to the book she carried. “I’ll make the Matron aware. We always need help with the reproduction of some of the technical summations the gnomish artificers have produced.”

Master Toman immediately started walking again, smiling as he saw the red flush hit her cheeks. To her credit, she recovered almost immediately- flashing an embarrassed smile at Argo as they passed. His protectors fell into step with him, leaving the young girl to worry about how she would copy a language she could barely understand. 

Leaving the stacks, the three men entered the narthex where there was a circular desk staffed by two acolytes and four protectors. There were also four more protectors stationed at the heavy doors to the stacks. The acolytes were stationed here to manage the petitioners who had already lined up in queues through the portico outside. Those petitioners who didn’t reach the front today would be given a letter placing them at the front of the line tomorrow. The acolytes at the desk would hear and document the plea as well as gather information about the petitioner or organization asking for help. Most petitioners would be told that a written answer would be delivered within a few days to their stated location in the city. The handful of petitioners who had situations deemed interesting or urgent enough to warrant immediate attention would be assigned to an interview room inside the stacks, and a sage with some relationship to their question would then be assigned to them.  That sage would supervise the research needed to develop an answer or strategy. This entire process was powered by compulsory endowments required from the petitioner, the charge was loosely based on the estimated cost for the research and supplies. Normally, ten gold pieces was the minimum for a written answer. The other questions could be much higher. If a petitioner could not pay the endowment, the written plea was placed into a metal urn. Once each moon cycle, the senate would be called to a reading of the urn. Each plea was pulled out and read, and at the end of the readings the senate would vote on which plea would be answered gratis. In the event of a tie, the two top choices would both be answered without charge. 

It was a very good system. It ensured the Halls and Cabinets were funded. It provided needed research and assistance to the populace. It also ensured that worthy projects had an opportunity to be researched regardless of the financial backing behind them. Plus, the inefficiencies at the beginning of the process helped to reduce the overall number of pleas and eliminated those not vital enough for someone to overcome the frustration. The constant influx of filtered requests kept everyone in the Halls active and brought forth new ideas. The system was like a fine clockwork, just created with people instead of gears. 

Just behind the reception desk, the three men turned to the left along a semi-open walkway that had a half wall to separate it from rest of the room. There was a ramp at the end of each curving hall which curled up and back into the building. Again, there were protectors stationed at each location. Master Toman walked up the ramp until it curled all the way back to the center again, meeting the ramp from the other side. Double doors were opened into a large ascending auditorium, the Senate. This meeting room was built on top of the domed roof of the stacks. It had rows of terraced seating that curved back from a central focal point. That point was the Podium of the Master Sage.  This room was designed with ceramic wall plates and ceiling tiles that were tilted at differing angles to push sound in specific directions. As a result, the unique acoustics of this room allowed a speaking voice from the podium to be heard equally in all seats and allowed those seated to speak back and be heard at the central podium. It was an incredible dwarven design. All it required was organization, decorum, and respect to work properly. However, right at this moment, it was not working at all. A cacophony of loud voices was converging into total chaos at the podium.

Early morning meetings were often sparsely attended by sages. Today, rumors must have already been swirling as the terraces were packed with people. There was shouting coming from all levels as men argued. It all merged into a complete bedlam at the focal point where Tomas was now standing. The old sorcerer reached into one of the pouches on his belt and withdrew a lodestone and some iron shavings. His fingers drew a series of runes in the air before him, his wild magic and the iron shavings leaving a trail of sparks along the lines he drew in the air. Finally, he began to speak the runes as well- pronouncing their one true names. As he began speaking, the gravity in the chamber seemed to lessen and the assembled sages felt their feet leave the floor. Tomas allowed them to lift about two hands into the air before he purposely mispronounced the next rune- breaking the spell and releasing the chaos he had been shaping. There were numerous cries of pain as the men and women dropped back down hard. But otherwise, the room had become quiet. All the voices had stopped. All eyes were focused on the Master Sage. 

“There will not be a vote. There will not be a discussion.”  Tomas spoke in a normal tone of voice, but it reached every ear clearly. “I will not tell you where I am going or what I will be doing. If I have not returned by the seventh day, you are to meet on the seventh night and vote for the next Master Sage. My suggestion is High Sage Mattias.” An overweight, slightly unkempt man nodded to Tomas, accepting the nomination. Mattias seemed a decent sort, although perhaps not exceptional. He focused his research in the greenhouses and had what some considered too much fascination with bees. Still, he was organized, well liked, and happy with the status quo. He would be the perfect successor. A capable man but certainly not someone to make others forget Toman’s legacy.

Toman’s voice rang out as buzzing conversation started again, “MAY THE GILDED HALLS STAND…” 

“FOREVER!” A hundred plus finished the affirmation that Tomas had begun. The traditional call and response to end a Senate meeting was still echoing as the Master Sage turned his back and quickly began the long walk back to his residence suites. Again, his protectors falling into perfect step with him. As the three men exited the room and began the descent of the curved ramp- the bedlam of voices rose in volume again.

Toman walked down the ramp and re-entered the stacks. Again, pausing at the doors so they could be opened for him. He moved quickly through the stacks and into the residence halls. He returned no greetings this time, keeping his eyes focused directly in front of him as he walked. At his chamber door, he paused again. “Nobody is to enter these rooms unless a new Master Sage is named.” He spent a few breaths to look intently at each man.

Toman walked over to his desk. He dipped a quill in ink and wrote a quick note regarding the reassignment of the young acolyte who had interrupted his walk. After all, the Master Sage must stay true to his word. He went back to his front door and opened it halfway. Argo was visible through the opening. “See that this note is delivered to the Matron today.” The protector’s eyes squinted a little and it looked like his jaw clenched in frustration as he took the note. “Yes….” The old man chuckled to himself as he closed the door again. “Gnomish script.” 

Toman dipped a finger into one of the pouches on his belt. It came out covered in fine gold powder. He traced a rune onto the back of the door and then whispered the rune’s name. Again, sparks flashed along the script and the outline of the door glowed with a golden light for a few seconds as the sorcerer put an arcane lock into place. Again, likely a childish action- but still something that gave him satisfaction knowing it would take effort to get into his room if he couldn’t return.

The old man returned to his desk, opening a tiny drawer to remove a small vial. He also reached down and picked up the letter, then placed it into one of his belt pouches. It should not have fit without being folded, but it seemed to slip straight in without hesitation. He pulled the rolltop down and locked it in the traditional way with a small metal key. He then placed the key on the top edge of the desk and moved over to a blank space of wall on the far side of the room. He slashed the air with a finger, his wild magic disrupting the hidden rune drawn there and the wall illusion dropped away revealing a thick stone door with no handle. Toman placed his palm against the door and it pushed open easily, hidden silver hinges swinging the door soundlessly inward. He entered the laboratory, closing the door behind him.

Toman’s workshop was a large windowless room with numerous tables made from an assortment of materials, several wooden cabinets, and a few small metal cages all placed along the walls. The cages appeared to be empty. In the corners of the room, there were four glowing spheres floating near the ceiling. If you looked closely, the lights could be identified as four enlarged pearls- each with a rune carved into it that looked roughly like a firefly. In the midpoint of each wall there was a large gem embedded into the stone: a diamond, a sapphire, a ruby, and a citrine. Currently, a soft white light emanated from the diamond and there appeared to be a frost of ice surrounding it on the wall. The room was well lit, cold, and uncomfortably clean.

In the very center of the room a circle of mithril had been inlaid on the stone floor. The circle was likely ten hands from one side to its opposite. Twelve sigils had been etched into the metal ring, placed evenly around its circumference. There was a little more than two hands space between each mark. These twelve symbols were what identified this particular summoning circle. They gave the metal ring its true name.

Toman knelt outside the circle’s outer edge. He took a thin metal pick from one of his belt pouches and then dipped it into the small vial he had taken out of the rolltop desk. He then started to scribe very slowly, placing a new symbol precisely in the middle of two existing sigils on the ring. Toman needed to ink a total of twelve new symbols, the true name of another summoning circle. Doing so would magically link the two rings, making them share the exact same space for one brief moment in time. As Toman carefully worked his way around the circle, a buzzing sound could be heard. It was quiet at first, but the volume increased as each new symbol was finished. As the Master Sage crossed the opposite point from where he had started and finished the seventh new symbol, two loud pops occurred. A green glowing line suddenly extended from the new symbol to its opposite, and then ignited a second green line that extended from the adjacent original sigil to its opposite.  Each new symbol Toman drew made two pops and two glowing lines. When complete, the circle had been split into twenty-four equal wedges- and the buzzing energy vibrated the stone floor. 

Master Toman stood up, his knees popping. He stretched for a few breaths, and then placed the metal pick and the vial of ink into a belt pouch. He then took one more deep breath and began saying the true name of each symbol in order. When he named the second mark of an opposite pair there was another reaction. The line expanded upward about four strides tall- creating an image like looking through a window. When all twenty-four sigils had been named, the wedges began to spin. The movement blurred together to form a ball of colors and shapes that were continuously in motion. Toman’s head ached a little, and he felt his stomach clench as reality shifted. Without any hesitation, the Master Sage walked into that impossible sphere, and it popped like a soap bubble. 

The old man, the shifting sphere of images, and the newly inked sigils had all disappeared.