Tarmid groaned, rubbed his blood-shot eyes. He hadn't slept in two days now. Not since the mysterious Joyce had arrived in the fort, highly persuasive despite his nakedness. Tarmid had yet to receive any news of Joyce's activities. In part because he had locked himself in his study ever since, forgoing food and sleep and relying on his now near-empty flask for alcohol.
Joyce. He had read that name before, decades ago. His mind had somehow associated it with mysterious Steelhold. But where had he read it? Though thousands of texts had been written on the subject of the ancient fortress, many were naught but conjecture or religious drivel. There were seven different tomes called The Truth of Steehold, all by different authors, all wildly contradicting. The volumes entitled Lives of the Dwarven Saints were grounded in fact, but were twisted into tales of morality.
He had spent most of his time so far digging through these texts, searching for mention of a Joyce. He knew he had seen it before. Tarmid almost had the presence of mind to mock himself. If there truly had been a Joyce in Steelhold, how could it possibly be the same dwarf that had appeared before them two nights previous? Over seven hundred years had gone by since then. No dwarf lived that long.
But what if it wasn't a simple dwarf?
Tarmid shut the book on his tabletop, put it aside in a pile as tall as he was. He had reread dozens of volumes already, some spanning a half-thousand pages. No mention of a Joyce. Two days of research, and nothing gained. Nothing unusual in his line of work. He was about to start on the next tome when a knock came to his office door.
It was Thane, ready for another lesson. Tarmid led her in, took her to her seat, and opened the book they had been studying.
Then he collapsed onto the desk.
The scribe sat up, stunned and groggy. He was on a bed in the fortress hospital, Brother Cornelius by his side. On a small bedside table lay several empty flasks and plates housing nothing but crumbs.
"How long was I out?"
"Four days," the monk replied. "You really burned yourself out, Tarmid."
"Hogwash," Tarmid said, dismissive. "I've had worse. I went a week without sleeping for the sake of research once."
"Did you go into a coma afterwards?"
"...Yes."
"Well there you go." Cornelius picked up the scribe's medical chart. "You were dehydrated and a bit malnourished, so I fed you while you slept. You should be fine to move about soon, though I suggest taking it easy."
"Oh, by the way," the doctor continued, "The caravan from the mountainhomes came by. One of them said he had something for you. A pile of books and something about a Writ of Schooling or somesuch-"
Tarmid had sped out of the room before Cornelius could finish that sentence.
Winter drifted by Demongate as if in a hurry to meet someone, and the dwarves within the fort barely acknowledged that the cold season was coming to an end. The larders were full, and winter's chill ensured that the wine was naturally chilled in its casks.
For Tarmid, winter was a time for work. With the dwarven caravan had come enough books to fill half a wagon, as well as a signed Writ of Schooling. It had taken him an entire day to move everything into his office. The day after, he had met with Gnora to discuss the school. The lass was all for the idea, but had no time to organize it. However, they had cut a deal. At the turn of the year, she would pass control of operations over to Tarmid, to do as he saw fit. The scribe wasn't sure he'd make much of a leader for the entire settlement, but this might prove to be his best chance at starting a school.
In the meantime, he continued his research. Dozens more books had arrived, and he'd been digging through them all winter, though much slower than before. He didn't want to burn himself out again. Unfortunate, then, that this also meant that he would take forever to finish. There were too many tomes, and not enough time to sift through them all. And still no mention of Joyce.
Thane's lessons had continued through the winter, and the lass was showing great promise. After one of her lessons on political history, Tarmid asked her to walk with him. She followed the aging scribe through the halls, curious about his motives.
"I think I've already said that the Order approved and signed my Writ of Schooling. I can start bringing education to the dwarves of Demongate as soon as I have the facilities."
"Well, yes, you told me," Thane said. "Several times. I congratulated you and everything."
Tarmid shrugged. "Forgive my forgetful mind then. However, there's something I'd like to ask of you."
He turned to his apprentice, a glint in his eyes. Out of the corner of his vision, Tarmid could swear he saw Joyce flash him a mischievous grin, pipe in hand. He did his best to ignore that.
"How would you like to help me teach in Demongate?"
It was the turn of the year, and all the dwarves of Demongate had assembled in the meeting hall, gathered to witness Gnora passing control of the fort to Tarmid. That is, every dwarf except Thane, who had forgone this momentous occasion in favor of running all over the place, hauling metal bars and gemstones and talking to herself far more often than a healthy dwarf should.
Tarmid's mind wasn't fully centered on the proceedings. Countless thoughts battled for dominance in his head. His Codex Arcana had yet to turn up. Joyce remained a mystery. Disturbing new evidence had turned up in the writings of Amsan Jestedbow, and Tarmid was beginning to think he knew who the necromancer's dwarven apprentice was. And worse still, there was a vampire loose in the fortress. It would have to be captured, interrogated and executed as soon as possible. The link between vampires and bloodkin was still an unknown variable, even after centuries of the Order's research.
Gnora's voice pulled the scribe's mind back to reality.
"...from this day, Demongate is in the hands of our friend, Scribe Tarmid." She flashed him a nervous smile, and he stepped up to the podium.
"I thank you for this opportunity, Gnora," he said, voice steady from years of teaching in front of audiences. "I will do everything in my power to improve the lives of the residents of Demongate, and help protect them from evil."
He glanced at the assembled dwarves, taking in their general apathy. To most of them, it didn't matter who was in charge, so long as there was food, booze and socks. That attitude suited Tarmid perfectly. It meant there wouldn't be a whole lot of resistance.
"So, my first act as overseer of Demongate." He projected his voice with practiced precision. "Come tomorrow, we will begin construction of a new area. An area of knowledge and learning, open to all residents of the fortress. A place where you may go after work to discover new things. A place to send your children and hone their minds. A place for language, numbers, history and science."
"Tomorrow begins construction of Demongate's schoolhouse."
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Topic: Demongate: Wrapping up the Loose Ends. (Read 697892 times)