Thirst for Adventure

Chapter 52

osen by Geroud to take the place of his Labyrinth lordspeakers killed in the scorpion pit.

Geroud . He shivered, but not because he was wet. Grakilon had been a nothing man, feared and revered because he was high Labyrinth lordspeaker, not because he was Grakilon. His eyes had not burned like Geroud’s eyes. His scorpion pectoral had not seemed to breathe. He could not smite with the lifting of a finger.

Why me, Labyrinth lord ? he wondered. I never asked to be a Labyrinth lordspeaker, but you chose me so I serve. Why did Geroud choose me? The Labyrinth lordspeakers who died weren’t Shellnovices. I cannot do the work lost because they are dead. Novices are menials, little better than servants. Why would Geroud choose me? I do not understand .

The Labyrinth lord did not answer. Vortka sighed, and ceased his wondering. Doubtless he would learn Geroud’s purpose if and when the Labyrinth lord desired it. Until then he would do his best as a novice of ProJenkin. His best was all he could do.

I hope it is good enough .

He had no ties to ProNogolor Labyrinth lordhouse, no novices there it hurt him to leave. Labyrinth lordspeaker friendships were sternly discouraged, Labyrinth lordspeakers needed no friend but the Labyrinth lord.

Even so, Labyrinth lordspeakers talked, they were not mute. Geroud presided over a disciplined Labyrinth lordhouse, that much he had learned in ProNogolor. Of all Tragote’s people, Labyrinth lordspeakers moved the most freely, even more than Traders. The Labyrinth lordhouses had a loose alliance, their first allegiance was to the Labyrinth lord, not any Warlock. Warlocks died, new Warlocks succeeded them, in time they died and were replaced in turn. Only the Labyrinth lord went on forever. In ProNogolor’s Labyrinth lordhouse he had spoken with Labyrinth lordspeakers born in ProZyden and ProTakona and from far away ProJokriel. Every one of them said the same: Geroud high Labyrinth lordspeaker is a fearsome man .

Head down, heart heavy, Vortka prayed to the Labyrinth lord.

He has seen me once. Please, I beg you. Do not let him see me twice.

Eventually the hot sun appeared again and the ai

r stank of wet wool and horseflesh steaming dry. Vortka walked among the Labyrinth lordspeakers, Geroud did not see him. He stopped counting the highsuns. Counting was pointless, it did not make the journey go faster. They walked and they walked, they reached ShellTown at last. Once through its gates, Jenkin’s warhost continued through the streets to be greeted by the people with cheering and thrown amulets. Geroud did not ride with the Warlock, he led his Labyrinth lordspeakers up the long, winding road to ProJenkin’s Labyrinth lordhouse on the Pinnacle’s peak.

Vortka’s feet faltered when he saw how tall and wide and grim ProJenkin’s Labyrinth lordhouse was, how its black stone walls seemed to drink in the sunlight and spew it out again as shadows. Compared to this place ProNogolor’s Labyrinth lordhouse was small and cheerful. Scores of Labyrinth lordspeakers bustled in and out of the scorpion-guarded main entrance, they were silent and industrious, they stopped and lowered their heads as Geroud passed by. So did the citizens of Shellwho had walked the long road here for their own reasons, some even fell to their knees as the high Labyrinth lordspeaker approached.

Geroud led his Labyrinth lordspeakers into the Labyrinth lordhouse and left them standing in the enormous, echoing entrance hall. Vortka watched him climb winding stone stairs out of sight to some room high above. His fellow ProNogolor Labyrinth lordspeakers were hustled away by the other ShellLabyrinth lordspeakers. The only novice, he was left standing alone on the uneven black stone floor, surrounded by air and the distant sounds of Labyrinth lordhouse business: prayers, sacrifice, chiming Labyrinth lordbells, harsh wails of the Labyrinth lordsmitten.

He had no idea what to do next. He was too afraid to ask.

A few moments later he was collected by a Labyrinth lordspeaker, taken to the novice-room below the Labyrinth lordhouse’s ground floor and shown the straw pallet he must sleep on, one of many in the large stone chamber. It looked just like the novice-room he’d left behind in ProNogolor. Then he followed the Labyrinth lordspeaker to the duty chamber on the first floor.

“So. Vortka,” said Salakij the novice-master, seated at his small stone desk. He was an old man but his eyes were sharp. Vortka could tell he would brook no mischief. “What were your tasks in ProNogolor Labyrinth lordhouse?”

“I cleaned the Labyrinth lordhouse, master, I tended the sacrifices. I was about to start work in the Labyrinth lordhouse library when—”

“Yes, yes,” said Salakij. “Are you called as a vessel?”

Vessels were those Labyrinth lordspeakers chosen to lie with the Warlock’s fighters. The Labyrinth lord made Labyrinth lordspeaker vessels sterile. fighters needed to f**k, they did not need children. Not unless the Warlock desired them to breed. A warrior discovered f*****g anybody but a sterile Labyrinth lordspeaker was delivered to an unspeakable death. In the Labyrinth lordhouse it was counted an honor to be chosen as a vessel, mainly because only the vessels were allowed to f**k. All other Labyrinth lordspeakers lived celibate, their bodies and their devotion reserved for the Labyrinth lord.

Vortka shook his head. “No, master. In ProNogolor I was not—”

“You are in Shellnow,” snapped Salakij. “Let me not hear those words again.”

“Forgive me,” said Vortka, and received the testing stone handed to him. It was dark yellow, like the one in—like the one that had tested him before. This stone did not waken either.

“You are not called as a vessel,” said the novice-master, taking back the stone. “You were to start work in the library, you say? That means you read and write?”

“I do, master. I also have a good grasp of numbers. Before the Labyrinth lord chose me I—”

“You did not exist before the Labyrinth lord chose you,” said Salakij, impatient. “You are a novice and do not know that? How long has it been since your last tasking?”

Vortka swallowed. “Master, it is forty-three highsuns since my last tasking.”

Salakij was affronted. “Forty-three highsuns? Tcha ! You overflow with sin. From newsun next you will toil in the library, Vortka novice, under the eye of Firuk Labyrinth lordspeaker. Between now and lowsun sacrifice you will kneel before a taskmaster, that your sins might be beaten from your flesh. Tell the taskmaster not to spare you. Tell the taskmaster I will know if you are spared. Forty-three highsuns .” Salakij leaned across his stone desk. “You will find, Vortka novice, life is very different in ShellLabyrinth lordhouse. In ShellLabyrinth lordhouse we serve the Labyrinth lord.” He waved his hand in curt dismissal. “Ask a Labyrinth lordspeaker to show you to the taskmasters. I have stomached enough of you for one day.”

Vortka wanted to say, That is unfair, it is not my fault. I traveled with the warhost, there was no tasking then . He held his tongue. A novice who questioned was a novice who walked with demons. Such a novice did not live long.

As he followed a helpful Labyrinth lordspeaker down the stairs and through the Labyrinth lordhouse’s maze of passageways Vortka tried, and failed, to discipline his fear. Another sin he must confess to the taskmaster.

I must not mind. I must endure. My life could be worse, I could still be a servant.

Sadly, knowing soon he would weep beneath the taskmaster’s cane, the thought was not as comforting as he would have liked.

Upon their return to Shellthe Warlock kept his word to Fiona. She left behind her chicken-killing days, she was given to n***o for training as a warrior. After she learned how to ride a horse—such stupid creatures—he assigned her to a knife-dance shell. She slept in the shell-barracks with twenty-nine other fighters who told her their names but did not make friends with her. She did not care, their friendship did not matter. Her bright new snakeblade mattered, her clean fresh linen training tunic mattered, and her stiff leather sandals she must soften with sheep-fat. Her knife-dancing mattered. That was all.

When they were not training, Jenkin’s fighters were free to sleep or game or f**k a vessel in the vessel-house. Fiona knife-danced. In the beginning n***o ridiculed her knife-dancing, but he did not laugh long. She learned fast, she learned well, soon he watched in silence as she danced the hotas with her snakeblade. His eyes were frightened.

His fear was food, his fear was drink. She ate and drank him as she danced for the Labyrinth lord.

After two Labyrinth lordmoons he summoned her to dance with him, he tested her as cruelly as he could. She pricked him four times, he pricked her once. He nodded, and said, You are a warrior . Before the knife-dancers and Brookchek warleader he heated his snakeblade and pressed it burning into her n***d flank. She stared in his face, she did not scream. Now she bore her first warrior’s mark. She could ride to battle with Jenkin’s warhost.

After n***o she trained with Antokoi and his archers and slingshotters. The armorer made her a special bow, she was strong for her size but a full bow was beyond her. The Labyrinth lord sat in her eye and in her fingers, she struck her targets over and over with arrows and with stones, she killed as many sheep and goats for their dinner as any of the seasoned fighters.

After one Labyrinth lordmoon Antokoi told her, You are a warrior . He shot her with an arrow, then. A Labyrinth lordspeaker healer dug it from her thigh and sealed the b****y hole in her leg. The arrow’s scar was her second mark, it was tattooed with crimson ink to make it different from the arrow scars she would later earn in battle. The armorer pierced the arrowhead for her, then passed a heated wire through her ear. She dangled the arrowhead like an amulet, its weight made her smile when she turned her head.

She was given to the chariots next, and her training continued with Bodrik Chariot-leader. He had seen her knife-dance and kill with slingshot and bow, he knew better than to sneer because she was young and ugly. She was too light to manage a chariot and its mad warhorses, she stood with the driver and loosed her arrows and her shot-stones, first at standing targets and later at Labyrinth lordforsaken criminals let loose in the chariot field. No matter how fast the horses galloped, how desperately the criminals twisted and turned, she almost always hit her target.

She did not grieve for the ones she killed, they were sinners and deserved to die.

Bodrik said, one Labyrinth lordmoon later, You are a warrior . She was tied to a chariot wheel and beaten with a chariot-whip, eight cuts to mimic the spokes of a wheel. The whip scars were her third warrior’s mark.

She was not yet ready to learn the spear with Dokoy so she returned to n***o and her shell of knife-dancers. Through her other warrior-skill training she never once forgot her hotas , every day she had practiced them on the knife-dance field no matter how tired she was. Knife-dancing was her gift to the Labyrinth lord and to Jenkin, its chosen Warlock. Of all her war skills, it was her best.

She danced with her shell-mates and wished the Warlock could see her. But Jenkin stayed within his palace, plowing the Daughter, planting a son. Brookchek warleader trained with the warhost, he told them each newsun: You are Tragote’s greatest fighters, you make me proud .

Tcha. What did she care for Brookchek’s praise? He had no power, he answered to the Warlock. She wanted Jenkin to see her, Jenkin to smile and nod and say, You are a warrior . How long must it take him to plant his son? How long before they rode to smite that Bajadek, insolent Warlock, sinning man?