“They are still working out the details,” Sir Edge said, “But all of the Mage School students and faculty have been moved inside the Rune Tower. The dormitories and class buildings to the east of the square have been taken over by the Reneul and Sampo refugees.” He gestured to the far side of the square. “The dwarves have the class buildings on the west side.”
Sir Edge led Willum down the center road away from the Rune Tower. Once they passed the rows of class buildings, Willum saw that the open stretches of manicured grass leading up to the main gates were covered with tents.
“Captain Demetrius’ cavalry has the west lawn. The academy and their retirees have the east lawn and guards quarters.” Edge shook his head as he took it in. “I still can’t get used to it. When I was here before, I thought the Mage School was overly extravagant. Too much open space for so few people. Now it actually feels crowded.”
“Crowded? I don’t think you’ve seen crowded. This is positively roomy,” Willum said, then realized he may have come off sounding somewhat rude. “Uh, no offense. I was just thinking about how cramped it was inside the academy.”
“None taken. I see what you mean,” Edge said. “Now we should go and wait for the others.”
They turned around and headed back towards the Rune Tower and Willum asked, “Where are we going?”
“I told the others I’d meet them at the library before the meeting.”
“Others?”
“Yes. Fist and Jhonate will be attending as well. I’d bring Gwyrtha if I could get her in there, but I’ll just have to keep her informed through the bond.”
“Oh. Good.” Willum was relieved. The more people involved the better. He had no idea how he was supposed to help search out spies in a place this big and unfamiliar. “What about Bettie and Samson? Or Tolivar?”
“You can let them know whatever you see fit. Tolivar is quite busy with his training or I would have asked him before. Also . . .” He gave Willum a hesitant glance. “How is he doing anyway? Fist says he seems better and he’s walking around and talking almost as if there is nothing wrong, but everyone is uneasy around him. I think they’re wondering if he might crack again.”
Willum hesitated. What was okay to say? “Well he’s still recovering, but I really don’t think there’s anything for people to worry about. Even when he was-, well . . . even back then he wasn’t a danger to the people around him.” That wasn’t exactly true, but close enough.
“That’s good to hear,” Edge said.
They walked around the clock tower and approached the wide bridge that led to the main doors of the Rune Tower. As they stepped onto the bridge, Willum ran to the edge and looked down into the swift moving waters of the moat below. It was just as his father had described it. He could even see the dark forms of the perloi swimming sleepily deep within.
Sir Edge didn’t wait, so Willum had to jog to catch up as he entered the tower. They walked down an elaborately decorated hallway and Edge stopped in front of some ornate double doors.
“The first time I walked through these doors a friend told me that all the knowledge in the world is kept in here,” Edge said and as they walked inside Willum figured he could be right.
Once again, Coal’s descriptions hadn’t done reality justice. The library was huge, open, and several stories tall with ladders and stairways to the different levels sprouting everywhere while a domed ceiling arched far overhead, painted with fantastic murals. The bottom floor was covered with chairs and tables for people to study at. The place was packed with students from both the Mage School and academy who were reading.
Sir Edge grabbed his shoulder and pointed towards the center of the floor. “Here, I want to introduce you to one of my favorite people. He’s the head librarian here.” Sir Edge gestured and Willum’s eyes settled on the large circular desk at the center of the library’s ground floor.
It was like the nerve center of the library, where every book was taken to be checked out or returned. Several students wearing sashes designating them as library assistants manned the desk while others carried books in and out of the library proper.
Sorting through piles of books was a tall, thin gnome with droopy ears and a long pointed nose. He was wearing a pair of spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, along with another set resting on his forehead. The students milling around checking out and returning books seemed to avoid speaking with him. Instead they waited in line to speak with the library’s student workers.
Sir Edge whispered as they approached, “Now here’s the thing you should know about Vincent. He’s so full of knowledge, but he gets easily sidetracked. The best thing to do is to redirect him if he starts wandering too far afield. It can be a pain at first, but you’ll get the hang of it. Just watch me.”
Sir Edge cleared his throat and approached the tall gnome. “Vincent, may I speak with you a moment?”
“A moment?” Vincent’s head popped up and the spectacles on the end of his nose clattered onto the table in front of him. “What a small amount of time to speak in. What could you hope to learn in-? Why Sir Edge, so good to see you again so soon. When you left last night I feared I might not see you for another year. I jotted down a note about it. Let’s see . . .” He bent down to shuffle through some notebooks under the desk and as he did so, the set of glasses on his head fell to join the other pair on his desk.
“Vincent, I’m staying for a while,” Edge said. “At least as long as we’re under siege.”
The gnome chuckled. “Under siege indeed. The Mage School hasn’t been under siege in over two hundred years. That was the War of the Dark Prophet. There is a whole section on it. Floor two, north end, aisles c-f.” His eyes widened. “Sir Edge, are you wearing swords in my library? Now that is against regulations. I’ve told you that before.”
“Vincent, we spoke about that yesterday,” Edge said calmly. “Those regulations have been waived ever since the academy refugees arrived. You’ll find it in the most recent edition of the rulebook, section five, chapter two, paragraph one.”
“Ah yes,” Vincent gave the end of his nose a tug. “It’s all a bit silly if you ask me, changing rules and traditions just to avoid inconveniencing a few warriors. Rupert Rolph said it best in his soliloquy on the rules of Alberri’s capitol. It’s a fascinating read if you care to look into it. Floor five, aisle-.”
“Vincent, I would like you to meet my friend, Willum, son of Master Coal.” Edge said, dragging Willum forward.
“Willum son of Master Coal? Where have I heard that?” The gnome said frowning. “Now where are my glasses?” He patted the top of his head and gave his nose another tug.
“There are two pair on the desk in front of you, sir,” Willum offered.
“Ah, so there is,” the gnome said and put both sets on the top of his head. “Thank you, Mister . . ?”
“Willum, son of Coal,” Willum said and turned around but Sir Edge was no longer standing there. The named warrior was sitting at a table a ways across the floor, a thick book already propped in front of him.
“Ah yes, Coal. Would that be young Master Coal, named at The Bowl of Souls some thirty years ago?” Vincent asked.
“Yes. You knew him?”
“Of course. He studied here late many a night. Sometimes with that goblin friend of his. Now when you see him again, be sure to tell Coal he never did bring back that book on demons he borrowed. ‘Count Reynard’s Illustrated Book of Demon Anatomy’. It’s a rare one, missing from its shelf on floor three, aisle seven, half way down on the second shelf.”
“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” Willum said feeling both sad and touched that the gnome remembered his adopted father. “He died a few days ago.”
“Dead? Master-, ah yes, I heard about that. So tragic. What a loss. Master Coal was a great one. Always kept quiet and returned his books on time. Except for that one book, ‘Count Reynard’s-‘.”
“Tell me, Vincent,” Willum interrupted, placing one hand on the pommel of his axe.
“What can you tell me about imps?”
“What are you doing, Willy?” the imp asked. “Ho-ho, that’s not funny.”
“Imps? What a fascinating subject!” Vincent said, giving his nose an excited tug. “You know, I wrote a treatise on the enmity between imps and gnomes back in my younger days. Why I must have been, oh, two hunded or two-hundred-two or something. I published it just before William the Raft published his account of his journey to the imp town of Pull. He was so perturbed. You can find his book on floor-.”
“I’m glad you are an expert, Sir, because I happen to have an imp with me here at the school,” Willum said.
“Don’t tell the gnome that!” the imp cried.
“Truly?” Vincent asked, eyebrows raised. He gave the end of his nose a sharp tug. “How very fascinating! I haven’t encountered an imp in decades.” He frowned and mumbled, “When was it? Surely it was before Councillor Muldrew wrote his autobiography. That was . . . forty six years ago? Or was it after he put out the second edition? Yes, that’s it. After he added the chapter about how he researched his treatise on the constantly sinking old capital city of Malaroo. Fascinating subject really. Floor five, aisle eight, second shelf, between-.”
“Yes, well this imp I know is always wanting to play games,” Willum said. “Have you ever played games with an imp?”
“Good gracious. Games with an imp? I learned my lesson years ago,” laughed the gnome. Then his lips turned to a slight frown and he cocked his head. “My father always said, ‘never play ledger games with an imp’. You can read his advice in, ‘The Life Lessons of Head Librarian Reginald of Alberri’, chapter twelve, page 477, paragraph three.”
“Yes, well I have convinced the imp to play games without using the ledger,” Willum said.
“Stop it now, Willy. I am not amused,” it snapped. “You will ruin my reputation.”
What reputation? No one knows you exist, Willum said.
“Without the ledger?” Vincent reached up and slowly pulled one of the pairs of glasses down to settle firmly on the bridge of his nose. “Now that is interesting. And you say the imp is here? At the Mage School?”
“Okay-okay, Willy. No more funny time, no. This gnome is focusing,” the imp was sounding panicked.
“Yes,” Willum said. “It’s here. And it keeps asking me to give it a name.”
“Oh does it, now?” Vincent said and Willum could see that his whole demeanor had changed. He was no longer fidgeting and his eyes were completely focused on him. “Come, young Willum, follow me.”
Willum looked back at Sir Edge, but the warrior was absorbed in his book. He wanted to ask him how much time he had, but the gnome was already heading towards one of the staircases leading up to the upper floors. Willum sighed and followed.
“Ho-ho, you’ve done it now,” the imp said. “And you claimed we were friends.”
After the way you tricked me and blocked off my mind, I’m not so sure about that anymore, Imp, Willum responded and let go of the handle as he followed Vincent up the stairs. They climbed all the way up to the fifth floor and past it.
“Wait, six floors?” Willum said in confusion. “My father always said there were five.”
The gnome paused. “Ah yes, well we had to add a floor after the prophet lifted his ban on spirit magic. So many books were brought out of storage, you see.”
The logistics of adding a floor to an enormous library at the base of an enormous tower were lost on Willum, but he shrugged and followed the gnome as he continued up past the sixth floor up to the bottom lip of the dome ceiling. The stairs ended at a plain doorway marked simply, ‘Head Librarian’.
Vincent opened the door and as he stepped inside, a light flickered on within. “Come. Come on in.”
Willum stepped in, unsure at what he would find. It was a large room with a long bed in the corner and a wide oak desk pushed up against one wall. The walls were painted a light green color and the floors were of highly polished wood. It was extremely tidy and uncluttered, almost as if its only use was a light dusting from time to time.
“Huh,” Willum said.
The gnome sat at the desk and pulled out a thin drawer. “What was that?”
“I guess I expected more books, Sir,” he replied, looking at the one small bookcase beside the gnome’s bed. There were only maybe a dozen books on it.
“Call me Vincent, please,” the gnome replied. “This room is just my private quarters, after all. If I brought the library’s books in here, I’d forget them. Likely, I’d just harass some of the students looking for them and that wouldn’t do at all.”
Willum watched the gnome pull open a drawer and take out a thick book bound in green leather. This Vincent was acting completely different than he had been earlier. The gnome reached into his suit coat and withdrew a slightly bent quill.
“So, Willum, son of Master Coal, you have an imp here at the school with you.” He turned and faced Willum with quill and book in hand. He jotted down a couple notes. “So how did that come to be?”
“I, um, inherited the imp from a friend,” he said cautiously.
“You inherited it? How odd.” He jotted down some more notes and Willum noticed that he never dipped the quill in ink. He shifted to mage sight and saw that the quill was dancing with colors. As was the book itself. And the glasses the gnome was wearing. “Is this imp a fighter or a player?”
Willum’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Well, imps are much like gnomes in some ways. There are some whose goal in life is to trick or outsmart their enemies. There are others who only want to fight, to maim, to destroy.”
He placed his hand on the handle. Which are you?
“Ho-ho! No-no, Willy. I’m not telling you that! Not when you’re blabbing to the enemy!”
“He’s a player then,” Willum said.
“Stop!”
“Ah, a tricky devil. That’s good,” said the gnome as he jotted down another note. “And where are you keeping this imp?”
Willum hesitated. Sir Edge had vouched for Vincent, but Willum had just met him. Imp, are there any moonrat eyes in this room?
It snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. She wouldn’t try. Everyone knows gnomes are immune to bewitching . . . ugh, why am I helping you?”
“I have it with me, sir,” he said and pulled the axe from the sheath. He made sure to hold it by the head, so he wouldn’t seem threatening. “It is bound inside my axe.”
The gnome nodded thoughtfully, a smile curling the pencil thin mustache on his lip. “An imp bound to a weapon? That is quite fascinating.” He made a few more notes, then scooted his chair back. “Would you mind placing it on my desk please?”
“You don’t seem surprised,” Willum said, hesitating.
“Oh, I’m definitely surprised. Imps are rare nowadays.”
“But you didn’t blink when I said it was in my axe.”
Vincent laughed. “Well an imp spirit bound to a weapon makes a lot more sense than any other way you could bring an imp inside the school without causing an uproar.”
Willum found himself smiling back. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that it’s so rare for people to know about spirit magic at all, much less binding magic.”
“Don’t fall for it, Willy. No-no, gnomes are tricky. He’s trying to charm you.”
I don’t think so. Do you sense anything that would infer bad intent from him?
“HE’S A GNOME.”
“Young Willum, the prophet’s memorandum on teaching spirit magic has until recently been honored at every mage school in the known lands. The gnome capital, however, has never been under such restrictions,” he said. “You see, since imps use spirit magic, all gnomes are taught about it as children.”
“Of course they are. They’re our e-!”
Willum made up his mind. He placed the axe on the desk.
“Hmm,” Vincent leaned over the desk and peered at it. His fingers hovered back and forth over the metal, but he was
careful not to touch it. Willum saw the wispy glow of spirit magic surrounding the gnome’s fingers. “Hoo, that is interesting indeed!”
Vincent giggled and ran over to the small bookcase beside his bed. He pulled out one of the books and ran back, smiling all the way.
“Did you learn something?” Willum asked.
“I believe so!” said the gnome. He flipped through the pages. “What do you know about the relationship between the species that have blood magic and the opposing demon races?”
“Just that they’re enemies.”
“Oh? And why is that so?” asked the gnome.
“Uh . . . I don’t know exactly. Just that the demons were created for that purpose,” Willum replied.
“True, true. Now the identity of who created the demons is a fact lost to time. The prophet himself is perhaps the only one who knows. What we do know is that they were created as a counterbalance to those of us with blood magic. Can you imagine why the creators of the demons felt that was necessary?”
“I remember asking my father that question once. He didn’t know the answer, but suggested that their creators likely made them because they were afraid that blood magic was too powerful,” Willum said.
“Good! Yes, the elves with their overflowing life, the dwarves with their toughness, the dragons with their adaptability and regeneration, and we gnomes with our mental capacity. All of us have an advantage that the other species do not.”
“Long life?” Willum suggested.
“Good, yes, long life. But it’s more than that. You see, the elemental and spirit magic that humans and some of the other races have is rare. Only a select few have it. But in our races, blood magic is omnipresent. Every gnome has the gift of intelligence, just as every dwarf has the gift of toughness. If one of the blood magic races grew large enough, they could quite easily conquer and subjectify the other races.”
“I never thought of that,” Willum said.
“That’s my theory anyway. I believe that the creators of the demon races hoped that whenever one race with blood magic became too numerous, the demons would rise up to take them down.” Vincent raised a finger. “However, this hasn’t been the case. The enmity between our races has been fierce and there have been clashes and large battles, especially in the past, but whenever one of our races gained too much power, it wasn’t a demon that took us down. It was a calamity, be it a weather phenomenon, or invasion of orcs or humans. When it comes down to it, the demons have never truly been needed to fulfill their purpose.”
The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat Page 13