Bloodspate: A Song of Agmar Tale

by Frances Mason

  “So you think I should do this for them?”

  “I didn’t say that. You’ll have to decide for yourself. Personally, I wish I could go with you.” His eyes glowed with almost childlike wonder. “To wander the Labyrinth of Leaves! What wonders of poetry and imagination must be lost in the many miles of its shelves: songs unsung in a thousand years, plays last performed when the dust of our world strode the globe as conquering kings.” He sighed. “But only the Brothers and Sisters of the Leaves can enter there. I don’t have your sneaking skills, and I’m not going to go in swinging my sword at innocent monks and nuns to get at their books, no matter how frustrating the rules of their orders.”

  Corin looked at the twins askance. “And what makes you think I can get this codex for you?”

  “Well, you are a thief.”

  “I…I’m as honest as any man in Thedra.”

  “That’s not saying a lot.”

  “Ok, ok. I’ll…uh…”

  “You’ll…borrow…the codex for me.”

  “You’re pretty shifty yourself, old man.”

  “With age comes wisdom.”

  “You mean cunning. I don’t know though. I hear they flay thieves. They say they use their skins as parchment.”

  “Lies.”

  “What makes you so sure? I don’t want to become someone’s psalter, even if they do illustrate my bum with pretty pictures and gold leaf.”

  “They’re rumours that have been spread over generations to keep thieves away. I researched the history of the Labyrinth, among other things, when I was a Brother of the Leaves.”

  “We both were,” Jared said, “but they’re too caught up in empty disputation there. We’re more practical men. Well, I am, anyway.”

  “My Star-way rises higher day by day.”

  “And if it goes far enough you’ll fall on your head on the moon.”

  “At least I’ll have gotten somewhere if that happens. You, on the other hand, will never reach the stars.”

  “But I’ll know them, and knowledge is the greatest of goods.”

  Corin interrupted the sibling rivalry. “If you’re both practical men you’ll understand my practical needs.”

  “Practical needs? Oh, you want to be paid in gold?”

  “If I wanted your gold…,” Corin left the rest to their imagination.

  “Yes, I believe you would. What do you want then?”

  “Directions.”

  “Ah!” Javid slapped his forehead. “Of course. I’ll have to give you detailed instructions.”

  “A map would be helpful.”

  “I think I can help,” Jared said. He took out another gem. It was circular, almost flat and black as darkest night, nearly large enough to cover his palm, and faceted on both faces with a symmetrical precision that seemed beyond human craft. “I haven’t used this in a long time,” he sighed in a nostalgic tone, “it’s a gem of far seeing which I modified when we were still monks. Made it into a map of the labyrinth. It’ll guide you. I’ll target it to where the codex lies. Be sure to bring it back. I can see the library from the walls here, but we have none of the privileges of the order anymore. This is one of the few reminders I have of its interior. And in case you’re thinking of stealing away with it,” He narrowed his eyes with comical suspicion, “if you don’t bring it back I’ll turn you into a frog.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I’ve never tried. The spell could go terribly wrong. Especially at a distance. Who knows what might happen to you.”

  “You’ll have to be careful in there,” Javid cautioned, “in case they’ve laid traps.”

  “You said they don’t flay thieves.”

  “They don’t, but they don’t invite them either. And they could lock you away in one of the oblates’ cells.”

  “For how long?”

  “Oh, until you can’t tell anyone that the story about flaying is false. Maybe until you submit to becoming a novice of the order.”

  Corin’s face twisted in distaste, and he snorted, “You mean until I’m dead. This is sounding more and more like a raw deal.”

  “But you love a challenge,” Javid said slyly.

  That struck a nerve. The old man was right. He did love a challenge, as long as it didn’t involve an honest day’s work.

  “And if they lock you up in an oblate’s cell, a boy with your skills wouldn’t remain there for long, would he? Even if they could catch you in the first place. And you made your way to the top of the tower. And stole the sword from the necromancer. An amazing feat in itself. How difficult could navigating the Labyrinth be for a thief as talented as yourself?”

  “You’re too cunning for an old librarian. Sure you weren’t a thief in your youth?”

  “Quite sure, unless you call me a thief of knowledge. To that I’ll confess my guilt every day.”

  Chapter 10: Labyrinth of Leaves

  A light drizzle fell as Corin rowed the small boat towards the Labyrinth from the southern end of the Caldera Lake. He had borrowed it from the line of pleasure boats in which tourists rowed around the lake. He would return it before anyone noticed it was missing. After all, it wasn’t like he could hide it in his stash. He would steal the world if he could stash it, but a thief needs to think about practicalities. The boat was well designed, with the oars having a swivel mechanism that reversed their direction at the water, so that he could look forward as he pulled back. In front of him, the Labyrinth extended about two hundred yards in breadth, and a mile and a half from end to end, as the crow flies, curving in an arc nearly parallel to the southern wall of the circular city on its high pylons and about five hundred yards south of it, but bulging towards Corin at the centre. It was raised on massive pylons like the city, but was closer to the water than the city’s outer ring, though not right at water level like the Inner Ring, the ring that contained the palace and its inner pleasure lake.

  All Thedrans knew the Labyrinth accommodated a veritable army of monks and nuns. The twins, Jared and Javid, had told Corin it was as much monastery and convent as library; with the brothers of the order of Pulmthra, god of learning, and sisters of the order of Kemthi, goddess of wisdom – Brothers and Sisters of the Leaves as they were known – living as well as working among its collections and scriptoria. In fact, the scriptoria and collections were considered by the orders as shrines to the knowledge which those deities loved, and working in them the most sublime of devotional rituals.

  What few Thedrans knew was that the Labyrinth was better appointed than many a noble’s palace. The dormitories had adjoining garderobes. Cloisters surrounded well-tended gardens, open to the sun and stars. A herbarium extended over several floors. One massive infirmary cared for the ill, and another for monks and nuns who had been robbed of their wits or mobility by the passing of years. There was even an observatory, which Jared remembered fondly, though he claimed it was nothing compared to the one he had built on the southern tower of South Gate.

  Other than all this there were the ubiquitous storehouses; stacked with sacks of milled grain, baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables, amphorae of olive oil. There were barrels of wine large enough for a grown man to swim in; others only as large as a fat ox, filled daily with milk or cream; jars of honey shaped like a rotund monk, and not much smaller; huge blocks of cheese, as large as cart wheels; priceless spices and healing herbs in such abundance that their piles filled and overflowed from the vaults dedicated to their storage. There were even piles of salted meat, stored as insurance against times of famine, when the supplies of fresh meat could no longer be daily renewed. These and many other things most city urchins would only ever see in hungry dreams were abundant for the devotees of knowledge over bodily pleasure.

  With undisguised disgust the twins had explained to Corin that, though the orders were sworn to individual poverty of the body so that they might instead enrich the mind, in truth they did not live an acetic life, being provided with many kitchens, bakeries and refectories; and lay brothers an
d sisters kept the ovens baking, the fires burning, the spits turning and the feasts feeding for the too frequently fat monks and nuns all hours of the day and night. The twins had spoken with less disapproval of rooms full of bales of scraped animal hides for parchment, bundles of goose quills, sheets of gold leaf, and huge vats filled with dyes and paint and ink.

  All of the labyrinth’s wonders and excesses were paid for by its extensive estates in the Thedran plains and beyond – it was a greater landowner than many great princes of the realm – and wealthy benefactors, most especially the crown. The library was indisputably one of the wonders of the known world, and the greatest repository of learning from all its quarters. Scholars travelled from all over the known world in the hope of seeing just a few of its treasures, and its greatest treasures were of knowledge. Many, frustrated by the slow and difficult access to its books and scrolls guaranteed by the bureaucratic mindset of the orders, converted to the worship of Pulmthra or Kemthi, and disappeared into the Labyrinth, never to be seen again. Others traded access to their own rare tomes, if the Labyrinth possessed no copy, allowing the scribes to copy them, in exchange for the thoughts or styles or beautiful artwork of an obscure chronicle or philosophical or scientific treatise, or the poetry of a long dead language. By tradition none could enter the Labyrinth of Leaves but its brothers and sisters, and even kings respected its privileges. This meant that Augustyn, duke Relyan, despite his power, couldn’t help Javid obtain more quickly the codex he wanted. That only left one option, thievery. Corin had always said it was better to have friends in low places than high places.

  For lawful entrance, or delivery of supplies; the monks and nuns, and the merchants who delivered to them, would approach from the eastern or western end, from which long piers extended. For more creative entry, such as an artist of Corin’s fine sensibilities might attempt, it was better to keep clear of the ends. There, the massive iron bound oak doors within giant pointed arches were guarded by monks. Unfairly, Corin thought, they used scrying magic that even a skilful thief like him couldn’t avoid.

  When he was younger and not much more innocent he had tried entering that way, climbing to the end of the western pier. A monk-sentry had come down the stairs from the door, raised his hand, and light had rolled out like an expanding ripple on the lake from a glowing ball that formed in his hand. When Corin had hidden beneath the pier he had seen the unnatural light wrap around underneath it. As the tentacles of light extended from the northern and southern edges of the broad pier he had dived to escape them, and swum out until he could no longer hold his breath. When he had surfaced he had seen two monks searching the pier, among the crates and barrels, around which the light flowed, leaving no shadows in which to hide. After he had related this incident to another thief they had told him the rumour that thieves were skinned alive inside the Labyrinth to supply parchment for the scriptoria. He had never tried again.

  He was older now and wise enough to know that everything that sounded like a lie might be the truth, and every truth was just a cleverer kind of deceit. Which was to say, you never knew where the truth was, so sometimes you just had to take a chance and hope for the best. The twins had scoffed at the legend of the monks and nuns flaying thieves, and if you couldn’t trust a cunning, self-interested ex-monk well, at least you knew you hadn’t lost all your wits. He was taking a chance, but not too much of a chance; he was not going to enter the labyrinth by the piers, he was a sneaky little bugger, as his father would have fondly said and, if worse came to worst, he had this deadly sword at his side. He might not like murder, but he would sooner be guilty of one more thing in his life of many crimes than let a sadistic monk or nun take his skin, make a scroll of it and, worst of all, there inscribe a treatise on the evils of thieving.

  He rowed towards the centre of the Labyrinth. There, where the twins had said it would be, he found a section of the Labyrinth which had collapsed into the water. It was halfway between two of the Labyrinth’s refuse collection points, each about a hundred yards away. The damage was not visible from the tower of the twins, or from the shore of the lake, though the barge-men would surely see it during the day, when light reflected off the water to sparkle amongst the pylons of the city and the library. In the night, because of the way the barge-men weaved in and out among the pylons, the light of their lanterns wouldn’t reach it. The floor of the lake was shallow at this point, so that floors and walls and stairways jutted out of the water, though nothing substantial enough to lead all the way to the jagged tear in the floor high above. At the edge of the tear extra pylons had been inserted to prevent any further collapse. No one had made any effort to repair the collapse properly though. Corin supposed the monks and nuns considered filling their stomachs a more urgent priority. From the rooms beyond, a dim light filtered through into the exposed area, which was nearly fifty yards across and twenty wide. The floor-beams and floorboards of a higher level were intact, perhaps three stories above the original lowest level.

  It would be easy enough getting up to the lowest level. He moored the small boat against some of the wreckage. Taking climbing claws out of his satchel he climbed out, onto a rotting staircase projecting diagonally from the water and leaning against a pylon. Attaching the claws to his hands and knees he edged up the wooden pylon toward the tear in the floor. When he reached the edge and hauled himself over he was surprised to find the air unusually dry, given the proximity of the lake. Perhaps the orders of the Labyrinth used magic to preserve their collections of books and scrolls. The dim light he had noticed from below filtered through from several exits on different levels and both sides of the tear. Shelves without books lined the walls of the rooms that had been rent by the collapse.

  He took out the circular, flat black gem Jared had given him, and peered into its depths. As he looked it began to glow with a fierce white light. He was afraid that it would reveal him, if anyone should be nearby, and shoved it into the folds of his doublet. Then he recalled that Jared had told him the light was only an illusion. He took it out and it was dark. He peered into its depths again. This time he kept watching. The white light soon divided into all the colours of the rainbow. The rainbow swirled and drew out into strands of each colour, then the strands wove together, forming a recognisable pattern. He saw a map of the Labyrinth, in three dimensions, and his attention was drawn to a point brighter than the rest. He searched through a few nearby doors, checking each time against the plan the gem projected into his mind’s eye, until he was sure it was as the old man had said. The bright point was his own location. There was another point that drew his attention in the gem, though it was a long way through the twisting labyrinth of zigzagging, looping, turning back and around passages, and stairways and ramps between levels, in a dizzying array that seemed to challenge logic, as if stairs that led up sometimes emerged on lower levels, or passages entered from one direction could not be exited except by another. The very strangeness of the map made him wonder whether it could possibly be the real labyrinth that he saw in the gem, but after passing through several such impossible places, and finding they behaved exactly as he saw in the gem’s map, he came to accept that the impossible must be real. He gave up trying to understand the map, and simply followed it through the Labyrinth.

  Some areas were dimly lit by lamps, though the lamps did not flicker with flame. He had seen this before. These lights were the same as those in the necromancer’s tower. He hoped the monks and nuns were not so addicted to human sacrifice. As he approached some rooms the intensity of light in their lanterns seemed to increase, so he carefully avoided them, relying on the map in the gem to lead him around them. He quickly lost count of the corners he had turned, of the stairways he had climbed or descended, the ramps he had walked up or down, the passages he had traversed. He tried to keep a sense of direction, but with the illogic of the Labyrinth it was impossible. He wondered if he was going to emerge through the very door by which he had left the collapsed room, so little sense did he have of his loca
tion. This was a strange experience for someone who usually had such an excellent sense of direction. Blindfold him and drop him in the middle of a strange part of the city, and he would find his way out in short order. But here, every turn, every step, only increased his disorientation. He tried to focus on the gem, and the walls seemed different when he looked up. Had he walked without knowing while looking into those depths, or had the Labyrinth actually changed around him? He couldn’t tell. He would shake his head, look into the gem again, get his bearings, and move towards his goal. Occasionally he would hear voices, and he could not be sure whether monks or nuns were nearby, or whether he was hearing ancient echoes. Was that a crack of timbers easing, or a floor collapsing into the lake, or just an idea in his head? Sometimes he would stray closer to the voices, against his thieving instincts, but the voices seemed to move away from him as he walked towards them. Other times he would try to avoid them, and they would come closer with every step he took away. He was sure he was going mad, and wondered whether he would ever get out of there.

  He heard voices again, and in despair he turned away from them. As he fled they came closer, then he stepped into a darkened room, and beyond he could see figures around a lantern. Doubtful of his senses he stepped towards them, but this time they didn’t recede. Space behaved reasonably. He snuck up close to the open door, keeping to the shadows, desperate for human contact, but wary of the urge to run in and greet them. The Labyrinth was certainly enchanted, and its fey magic made this thief want to reveal himself. He repressed the urge but edged closer. The room was octagonal, with three doors, and shelves on the blind sides. A ladder rested against one of the shelves. All of the shelves were filled with books and scrolls, and in the centre of the room was a table, on which were piled more books and scrolls. On the floors beside the shelves were more piles of books, some of which reached all the way to the ceiling, which was unusually high. There were some lower piles too, which in the distance he had mistaken for human figures.