“So that you can kill me with your mighty magic sword?”
“Well, if it comes to that. Of course you could just let me go.”
“Or keep you here until you starve, until your bones lie beneath dust beside that sword.”
Alex thought for a moment, then said, “You said, magic sword.”
“It seems I see more than the hooded hawk.”
“But, you know this sword is magic.”
“I know this sword. I know the river. Who better?”
“So, you know things.”
“I know many things. I have lived among these shelves for so many years, so many centuries. So much knowledge. So many things I know.”
“Then you can tell me what I need to know, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Will I? Will you?”
“You don’t really want to kill a scrawny boy like me, do you? What are you?”
“Hah! At last the thief thinks. I am all around you, and yet you do not see me. Where am I? Who am I? What am I?”
“A riddle? Hmm. You are the air?”
The voice boomed its laughter.
“Do you have to be so loud?” Alex asked.
“Should I speak like this, thief?” the voice whispered, and it came from all directions.
“You’re not in my ear when you whisper.”
“No, indeed.”
“So, you can’t be the air.”
“I like you, thief. You reason well. I think I’ll keep you.”
“So if I were more stupid you’d let me go?”
Again the voice laughed, but quietly. “Oh, thief, I do like you. You will keep me company.”
“And will you feed me?”
“I cannot.”
“Then I’ll die. Will you like me so much then?”
“No, indeed. You will amuse me less then.”
“If you let me go I could come back and visit.”
“Blind you may be, but so clever. Oh, delicious. Yes, I taste you. Yes I have you, and I will not let you go. In here you will learn, all that I know.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“So, if I asked you anything you would answer?”
“Yes.”
“Answer honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have your word?”
“Words are all I have.”
“Do you swear?”
“Fuck!”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you swear you will tell me anything I wish to know, if you knew it?”
“If? If? I know…”
“You know all,” Alex droned, “yes, everything, except what I want to know.”
“There is nothing I do not know. I know all. Ask me.”
“It’s not important. If you don’t know, then you don’t know.”
The voice rumbled its disapproval. “There is nothing you could ask that I do not know. Nothing that is, nothing that has been. No thought ever known of man.”
“I don’t believe you. You say you know all, yet you won’t swear to tell me what I want to know. I don’t think you know.”
“Try me?”
“Why waste my time? No, I’m just going to sit down here.”
“Ask, and I will answer.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear.”
“You swear you will answer any question that I ask?”
“I do.”
“Then how do I escape you?”
For a moment there was silence, then the voice laughed again, and the sound seemed to caress Alex’s face kindly. “Oh, I do like you. Will you not stay?”
“I have things to do.”
“Indeed you do, he who hears the voice. The voice of blood.”
Alex shuddered. “Is that all this sword speaks of?”
“Only while it is polluted by foul necromancy. In its natural state it has an…interesting personality.”
“Polluted?”
“You are clever but sometimes foolish. It is ever so with men, even small men.”
“So will you tell me how to cleanse the sword?”
“You know already.”
“I do?”
“You know but do not know that you know.”
“You love your riddles.”
“You must solve this one. You are clever, for all your blindness. Think.”
Alex made a show of thinking. “Hmm.”
“Frowning will not show you the truth.”
“Let me think.” The voice was silent. “Cleansing.” Alex struck himself in the forehead. “How could I be so stupid?”
“It is the fault of many men who think themselves wise. Only I know all.”
“The tears of the woman tortured by the necromancer.”
“The nymph, yes. You see, I did not have to tell you. The daughter of the river left you a gift. Cleanse the sword. Then it will never be quiet. It will babble, like the brook. Or do not cleanse it, if you prefer.”
“And now, will you release me?”
“Knowledge will set you free.”
“And you are knowledge.”
“Why, yes. But how?”
An idea had been slowly dawning on Alex, and now he stated it, “You are the Labyrinth?”
“I am. Oh, I do like you, thief. Remember, only borrow what you have taken. Return it later.”
“That was my intention. You have no treasures here worth stealing.”
“Hmph! Knowledge is treasure, the greatest of treasures. Empires rise and fall, but as long as knowledge remains the light will never fade.”
“I meant no offence. But I prefer gold.”
“Ah, though the world grows old the young do not change.”
“We can’t be born with wisdom, now, can we? except maybe if we’re a library.”
“Oh, delicious flattery. You must visit again. For now, send my greetings to Jared and Javid, it has been too many seasons since those men of science have walked my halls, too many moons since they have browsed my shelves. Such men know the value of my treasures.”
“You do know everything,” Alex flattered.
“Go, thief, before I change my mind.”
“One more thing.”
“Ask.”
“Why didn’t you trap me sooner?”
“My knowledge is without bounds, but my power is limited. I have this power here, but not everywhere in my halls.”
“I am privileged to pass this way then.”
“You are, thief. And I to meet you. I will guide you.”
“Thank you.”
“But before I lead you back to your boat I want you to see something.”
“More musty tomes? I mean, treasures.”
“Something that you must understand, wielder of Seltien. One of the lost is found, perhaps more. Even here, in this oasis of ideas amidst the unthinking world, the troubles that world will face begin to manifest. Even the gods may not understand these changes, yet you and other mortals like you must, or the light may fail in that darkness which approaches.”
“You speak cryptically.”
“It cannot be otherwise. Even I do not see all.”
“I thought you knew everything.”
“Everything that has been I know. Everything that is I know. Everything that can be known I know.”
“So you don’t know what may be in the future.”
“The future is always uncertain. Many paths lead from the present, but only some will be taken. Directions pile on misdirections. If the future were more direct so would I be. Follow.”
All the lights suddenly went out. Then through one doorway a lamp flared into life. Alex walked toward the light. As he reached the light it dimmed and through another door another light flared into life. He followed the lights through the labyrinth up and down stairways and ramps beside which handcarts piled with books and scrolls rested, through corridors, across rooms with stuffed shelves, and floors connected to ceilings by precarious towers of books, walls hidden by barrels
stuffed with scrolls, past storerooms and around silent cloisters and skirting dormitories where monks or nuns dozed. After a while the lights that led him went out, but he could see a faint small glow in the distance.
“Make your way quietly, thief,” the Labyrinth whispered, “you may have my leave, but the orders of the Leaves are proud of their privileges, and may not be so understanding.”
“You mean they’ll skin me alive and make a book out of me?”
The Labyrinth chuckled. “Ah, to have you in my shelves, forever mine.”
“You have a disturbing sense of humour, Labyrinth.”
“Quiet now.”
Alex approached the glow, which was another lit room, but without other lights leading the way. As he neared the room he saw lecterns in neat lines dimly lit by a distant source, some with closed books on them, some with two open books, and small pots and quills. “It is a scriptorium,” the Labyrinth whispered in answer to Alex’s unspoken question, “here the copyists and illuminators work to stock my shelves with the treasures of many cultures.” At the far end of the room, in a circle of light created by one the Labyrinth’s magical lanterns, several figures clustered in a small ring, their heads bent down toward another. Coming closer, up to the doorway, he saw there were five people, three monks and two nuns or, at least, two monks, two nuns, and another man, who was sitting between them on the floor, cross legged and naked. In the hands of the sitting man was a book, and he stared at it as if uncomprehending. The others spoke quietly to each other, stopping to listen occasionally when the sitting man looked up and spoke. Then they would speak haltingly with him, until he became frustrated by something they were saying, and looked down at the book again, again puzzled. Alex saw that the book was upside down. But the seated man did not seem to comprehend that. Alex did not understand what they were saying. He moved closer, silently, wrapped in shadow. Still he could not quite make out what they were saying. He moved closer, edging through the doorway, and from the shadow of one lectern to the next.
Soon he could hear, though still not understand. The naked man spoke in a foreign tongue. The library was famous across Thudalth, so it was not unusual for scholars from distant parts to join the orders of the leaves. Alex thought the language sounded familiar. The two monks and the two nuns alternately spoke haltingly with the naked man, apparently questioning him in his own tongue. Alex then realised why he recognised the language. It had been spoken by the catamite in the House of Delight, and also by the naked blacksmith at the shrine of Fulkthra. At least he thought so. He could not be sure, since he could not understand the language at all. But there was a vaguely musical quality to it; as with some languages of traders from the Silk Sea, but richer, more varied in its tones, and with those tones layered with each other in a harmony he would have thought impossible for human vocal chords to produce. The questioning monks and nuns now spoke to each other in Ropeuan.
“There is no doubting the language,” said the elder of the monks, “but what it means I can’t guess. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”
The younger monk nodded. “It is remarkable that any man should speak it so fluently, Reverend Father.”
“But not unprecedented, brother,” said the elder of the nuns.
“No, Reverend Mother,” agreed the younger nun.
Apparently the two elders were the abbot and abbess.
“What do you mean?” the abbot asked.
“A woman appeared near the cells of the sisters a week ago. She was naked and confused also. When she was brought to me she was distressed, and said she couldn’t see tomorrow. She said it in this language, and yet the world did not change. But she vanished before I could question her further. It does not bode well.”
“This one says that what was clear is now obscure, yet he doesn’t have the knowledge of what was clear. It makes little sense in itself, but with the language, and the woman you saw, I fear it makes too much sense.”
“Only they could speak so clearly in that language.”
“And yet it aids them little. And there is something wrong in that.”
“But perhaps inevitable. Kemthi guide us.”
“If she can. And Pulmthra teach us.”
“If he may.”
“I fear neither may be possible at this time.”
“Yet the sands of the hourglass fall. This time will pass like any other.”
“Let us hope; for ignorance is the darkness no light but knowledge can dispel, and if the light of knowledge fails….”
No one dared say what might follow, perhaps fearful that nothing might.
Alex backed away from the room, and followed the lights that led the way back through the Labyrinth to the boat. When he moored the boat back at the edge of the caldera lake the sky was already greying with the approaching dawn, and the birds were chirping in the nearby trees, oblivious to the darkness spoken of in the Labyrinth of Leaves.
Chapter 50: Arthur and Oliver: Thedran Plain
Arthur and Oliver crouched behind the rocky outcrop atop the isolated small hill with half a dozen of Sir Marl’s knights. Footsteps softly padded behind them and Arthur spun, his sword coming out in a fluid motion, ready to block or strike.
One of Sir Marl’s scouts stood there, grinning, longbow in hand. “Highness.” Then he became serious. “Exactly as you thought. They prowl at the boundaries of the forest in small groups, but keep clear of the road. Their carts and sumpter horses are a few hundred yards further in, drawn up in what looks like random order, but could function as a good defensive formation. They’ve lit no fires, and they laze about in the camp, as if indifferent, but many wear armour under their ragged cloaks, and no tents are pitched. Possibly they wait for reinforcements, but more likely...”
“Or wait to spring a trap.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Then there’s only one thing for it.”
“We return to the main body of Sir Marl’s battalion?” one of the knights asked.
“Where’s your sense of fun? No, we help them spring the trap, with us inside.”
“We what?” said another of the knights.
“Not you. You lot will stay here. Oly and I are going to ride into the forest. When they spot us, we’ll turn and run. Our horses are swift. Yours are bred for war. You’ll wait here.”
“A surprise attack then,” the scout said.
“We can’t let you do it, Highness,” another knight said, “Sir Marl would have our skin.”
“You’ll damn well do what your prince tells you. Or you’ll be strung up from that big tree down there.”
The knights all looked uneasy. They had been sent with Arthur and Oliver precisely to prevent this kind of danger to the prince. “With all due respect,” said one, “you don’t give us much of a choice. Strung up by you or strung up by Sir Marl.”
“You’ll be strung up sooner if you’re a traitor to the prince,” Oliver said with a serious expression, “by your foot.”
“By my…”
“That’s right,” said Oliver, “you’ll look a right fool hanging by your foot. We all know you idiots are more concerned with honour than life, so…there you have it.”
The knights were puzzled by Oliver’s sense of humour. Only the scout seemed to get the joke. “Knights,” he said, looking to the prince and his cousin with a shrug, “no bloody sense of humour.”
“And who exactly is going to string us up?” said one of the knights, comprehension dawning on him.
“Well,” said Arthur, “You’ll string up him, he’ll string up him, and…well you get the general idea.”
“That’ll leave one of us still standing.”
“Then I’ll string up you. Look, men, Oly and I brought these horses against precisely this contingency. We won’t come within range of them, but they’ll see us and give chase. They’ll never catch us. And then you’ll slam into their flank to slow them down even more. Then, when they’re confused, follow us at speed.”
“One
thing, Highness,” the scout asked, “Will they bother riding out to attack two men?”
“Not unless they have intelligence that I’m out here somewhere. And see my tabard.” Arthur tapped the tabard with the royal arms that he wore over his cuirass, one of the few pieces of metal armour he had worn.
“I was wondering why you bothered with that,” Oliver said. He hadn’t worn any identifying colours. “And you think they do know you’re out here?”
“I’d like to know. I have my suspicions.”
“And you want your suspicions confirmed?” the scout said.
“You don’t think I…” Oliver began.
“No. And the way we left the city, no one would have seen, unless they had a good reason to watch carefully. Your brother may have noticed your absence, especially if an agent of mine happened to mention certain possibilities. You are well known for being irresponsible with the prince’s person.”
“What. That was why you brought me out here?”
“Not at all, Coz.” Arthur gripped Oliver’s shoulder in friendly fashion. “I know that you’re about the only noble irresponsible enough to enjoy my sense of fun, and shiftless enough to not want me out of the way.”
“You need to polish up on your flattery.”
“No, I’m the prince. I wait to be flattered. Now that we’re about it, why don’t you start?”
“You sure your old bones can take the strain?”
“That’s the kind of loyalty I like.”
The scout looked oddly at the prince, and asked, “You like to be insulted?”
“A sycophant can’t be trusted. Only a man who would insult me at every opportunity doesn’t want anything from me.”
“Not every opportunity,” Oliver said, “old man. By the way, I wouldn’t be too sure my brother keeps track of my movements, other than to count the prostitutes I bed so he can preach to me about my dissolute life. You’d think he’d give me some credit for prowess.”
“So if the city’s whores are unsatisfied he’ll realise something’s out of place?”
Oliver leered. “You’re right. He’ll have noticed.”
“At any rate his household chancellor will have noticed the savings for the treasury.”
“Hey, quality costs. It’s not any woman can please a man of my refined tastes.” He thought then of the nun of Love. He had yet to determine her price, and wondered if in the end it might be more than even he would be willing to pay.
Horn of the River God: Book I of The Song of Agmar Page 46