At morn we blessed our bread and remounted. Abani sat uneasily in the saddle. I understood. I would prefer a few days without Vendarion beneath me.
The road to Scarletholme was ancient, though we saw no others on our journey. Few traveled to the Fabled City of Chariis. We passed gentle hills and copses of trees. Every night I found game I snared with little difficulty.
Cerulean spoke not a word the entire way. Abani spoke little more. We were quiet riders through the day. I reviewed stories I suspected I might need to recite. I thought of Hadrisar. I knew few stories about the great trees of Cerulean’s homeland. I often lingered on memories of home. Would I be back in time for harvest?
I tried not to think of what the title Keeper of Tales meant. Why had Tor addressed me that way? Stories need no Keeper. I told myself to set the thought aside. It would do little good now.
On the third day, we reached a river. A simple stone bridge spanned its width. A hamlet stretched on the other side. Several boats were tethered to short piers. Barefoot men greeted us and tried to sell mementos of our time in Chariis. We declined their kind offer, though it was good to know we had crossed the border into Garrenda.
Our steeds welcomed the better, more-traveled roads. Other travelers greeted our strange company. We passed vast olive groves and vineyards. I bought olives several times and chewed them as we traveled, spitting out the pits. Neither Abani nor Cerulean were impressed with my manners. I smiled and offered them some of the produce of the land, but they declined.
On the fourth day at sundown, we topped a hill overlooking a lake several leagues long and wide. Below us sprawled Scarletholme, the capital of Garrenda. I smiled. “We’ll find King Padokat here. He’s a businessman first, always looking for gold, but he recognizes that the Fallen Lord is never good for profits. Assuming he received the messenger from Chariis, he’ll help us.”
Abani asked, “Do you know him?”
“I sat with him at council years ago.” I urged Vendarion down into the city.
“Do you trust him?” Abani prodded.
I laughed. “I trust he will provide what we need and send us on our way. He’ll also attempt to sell us some of his wares, of course. Of this much I’m sure!”
Abani muttered, “Garrendai are as trustworthy as sand.”
We went down into the city. We passed warehouses shuttered against the gathering gloom. Several vendors still peddled their wares and attempted to sell us trinkets and fish and wine and olives. I succumbed to an olive seller but resisted the wine.
We secured directions from a barefoot young boy and soon found our way to a large house on the lake. Abani and her horse shied away from the expanse of water.
As we dismounted, Padokat himself exited the door nearest us. He wore a gleaming wine-red spidersilk shirt and dark breeches. His trimmed beard held a broad smile. “Adal, you old carp! Good to see you!” He embraced me. “And who have you brought with you? I take it you’ve come from Chariis. We got the message, and I’m willing to host you until everyone arrives. I’m honored the Sargon would use me to hold you all until you’re ready to go! Come in, come in, we’ve been waiting for you! And what were your companions’ names again? I see a Parvian! Don’t worry, I’ll keep my dagger sheathed around you. You look like a sword dancer! And an elf! We have some fine wine for you, Mistress Elf. Don’t worry, I know the kind your people like! We trade with Fahalla all the time. I just got back from leading a delegation down there!”
My ears rejoiced in hearing another man speak so much after days of quiet.
Padokat led us inside. His home was constructed of a grand dark red wood that had been polished to a great shine. From the entrance hall branched several passages. The Garrendai King clapped once, and several servants entered from each passageway. “A feast!” he roared. “Set a feast for our guests! Take their horses and take care of them! We must show ourselves to be good hosts!”
He turned with a smile. “Now, Adal, I know you. But your friends! You still haven’t introduced your friends!” He waited expectantly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
I gestured as I introduced, “This is Sword Dancer Abani of Parvia. And this is Cerulean of the Hadrisar elves.”
“Hadrisar, you say? I thought you were a bit different than the elves I meet in Fahalla. We trade heavily with them of course. They enjoy our red wine, but their climate isn’t suited for vineyards. Tell me, do you like red wine in Hadrisar?” He tilted his head and waited for a response.
I thought I saw a wrinkle form and vanish on Cerulean’s nose.
“Ah, say no more! We shall not set your place with such filth as we men drink here. Merely indicate your preference, and we will provide it!” Padokat spun and led us down another corridor. “You’ll have time to refresh yourselves before dinner, of course! This way; let me guide you! And take your time. When you’ve all gathered, I’ll introduce you to the two I’m sending with you. As the message said, Garrenda must do its part! You must take care of them, though. I want my people returned in good condition, you hear me, Adal?”
I opened my mouth to reply but got no further.
“Of course you will! A trusted ally like you? I know you’ll do your best. You know, it has been a while since I’ve heard from anyone in the North. Are you planning on sending any envoys this season? I know you like your wine up there, too. And is that olives I smell on your breath? I hope you didn’t buy any from the street vendors. Such rubbish. You’ll get only the best here!”
He stopped at another branching corridor, this one leading to guest chambers. “Before dinner, refresh yourselves. Basins of warm and cool water are being provided. Come join us in the dining hall when you’re ready!” He looked at me again. “Oh, Adal, it is good to see you!” With another embrace he sped around a corner.
Abani muttered, “The man wastes words and water. He would never survive in Parvia.”
I chose not to answer before selecting a room and fleeing. I was looking forward to wasting some water myself.
Chapter Five
King Padokat provided a luxurious dinner. Fresh olives, fresh fish, fresh mushrooms—so many delicacies!
Abani was not impressed. She nibbled at some of the plainer portions of the meal. A bite of bread here, some water there. She didn’t even sample the wine.
Cerulean held her peace, though she participated in neither the meal nor the conversation.
For my part, I savored each bite and gave as many compliments to the chef as I could. Padokat called in the kitchen staff so I had the opportunity to thank them personally. I plucked a tale to which I might favorably compare them. “As Karen Cordolis cooked for the elf-maidens and filled them with good things, you have provided a feast that I could not hope to ever match the rest of my life. Thank you! Many times, thank you!”
The head chef, a man by the name of Thanuel, clasped my hands with a broad smile.
Padokat nearly burst. As he dismissed the staff, he beamed, “Ah, Adal, you know there are many such artists here who use their ingredients in the same way you use words when you tell stories. Oh, don’t be so surprised! News of your tale-telling prowess has reached us even here. There are few who love stories as deeply as you, but these people’s love for food is as great. If you ever have need of them, simply ask.”
I returned the smile. “There would be a simple fee for providing their services, I’m sure.”
“Oh, talk of commerce is below us as kings, Adal! But we would set a fair price.”
Now here was the Padokat I knew. I chose to turn the subject. “We’ve come here for a very special reason. We need to set out again soon, but first we need to fill out our complement. We need someone from Garrenda if we’re to make this journey. And has anyone arrived from the other nations?”
Padokat shook his head. “No, Adal, no one else has arrived. And as far as who I’ve planned to send with you… I think you’ll be pleased!” He clapped his hands.
A woman entered the brightly lit dining hall. Fiery red h
air topped her head, cascading in ringlets around her face. Bright green eyes peered at me with frank curiosity. This young woman had seen perhaps twenty harvests, by my guess. She wore a simple blue-gray blouse over drawstring pants.
Padokat drew his eyebrows together in an unasked question, to which the woman shrugged. The king gestured. “This is Galatea. She was supposed to come with another.”
“Yes,” she answered. “But you went and sent him on a mission, didn’t you?” She crossed her arms. “I suspect he’ll be here right on time. Wait for it.” She held up a hand with five fingers and lowered them one at a time: five, four, three, two, one.
The door Galatea had come through banged open, and a man stumbled through. He was short; perhaps two strides tall. He wore leather pants and a brown leather vest over a white shirt. Two daggers hung from his belt. He had the scruffy beginnings of a beard, as if he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days. He also had a black eye.
Galatea turned. “Right on time.”
Padokat groaned, “Daragen! Have you been visiting the bars?”
He answered with a grin and a shallow bow. “I enjoy my service to the King.”
Padokat gestured to the man. “This is Daragen, the first mate of my ship. When we’re in port, it’s his duty to gather information on how things have been on land.”
Daragen shrugged. “As I said, I enjoy my service to the King.”
Galatea rolled her eyes and gave him a shove.
He looked at her. “Hey now, play fair! You can’t hit an injured man!”
Padokat explained, “Galatea is Daragen’s mate. The two make for a...” He pressed his lips together in thought. “...Lively time.”
The woman looked to her king. “He makes for a lively time. I just clean up after him.”
Daragen tossed her a roguish grin.
Abani muttered at me, “We have no need for buffoons on our journey.”
I looked at her through the corner of my eye. I leaned over and muttered back, “Buffoons make the best spies. I’d wager he’s very good at what he does.”
The Parvian woman did not hide her disdain. “Garethen uses spies. We use honor. We have no need of him. Nor the woman. We cannot bring either of them.”
I raised my voice. “Galatea, I see that we may need you to contain this fine fellow. Do you have any other talents?”
She flashed me a grin. “I like fire.”
Now it was Daragen’s turn to roll his eyes. “You and your fire! Can’t you relax with that? Sure, you sank five enemy ships in one battle. Yes, you can coax flames out of a wet twig in the middle of a squall. Yes, you once lit a man’s beard on fire from across the room, and I still haven’t figured out how. You really don’t need to list your accomplishments again.”
Galatea shrugged. “All right. I won’t.”
The two began bickering. I leaned over to Abani and whispered, “You see? Daragen plays the buffoon, but he sells his wife, telling of all her accomplishments for her. And now they’re bickering so I have the chance to sell them to you. That’s the only reason they’re doing it. As soon as we finish here, they’ll come to some sort of agreement and await our next question.”
I glanced over toward Cerulean. “Lady elf, would you like to add anything to our conversation?”
She looked down at me and shook her stately head just once.
As I straightened in my chair, Daragen spat, “Fine, next time I won’t listen so you can tell me again and again all the good things you do for everyone.”
Galatea stuck out her tongue but said nothing.
Padokat chuckled. “You see? A lively time. Will you take them with you, Adal? Do these two fit what you need for your storied quest?”
I nodded. “I believe they will support us quite well, and many thanks for the use of your first mate. I understand how difficult it is to give up such a well-trained and trusted man.”
“Think nothing of it. What one king needs, another may provide. But we should get back to talking about sending a few of my chefs up north. They’d keep you well supplied in good food!”
Chapter Six
“I’ve never fought a Sword Dancer. Are you sure we can’t spar?”
Abani gritted her teeth at Daragen’s query. “Stop asking me. I don’t draw my blade unless I mean to draw blood. If you’d like me to kill you, I can oblige, but your wife would likely be upset. I would not widow a woman.”
Daragen’s grin grew wider. “Who says I’m married?” He barked a laugh before Abani could respond. “And who says you’d be able to kill me even if you tried?”
I attempted to ignore them. We had been together three days now, and those two bickered more often than Daragen and his mate. Padokat had provided a well-furnished room where we could confer about our planned route. Abani had reported our mission to find Garethen’s secret weapon, whatever it might be, and neutralize it. Daragen was eager to start, and Galatea enjoyed the idea of an adventure. I warned them that this would not be easy, to which both shrugged. Now, as we mapped out our path, Daragen and Abani fell to bickering. Again.
Cerulean watched as I pointed along the map. “We’ll follow the border between Garrenda and Cassun to the west, until we reach the base of the Jazen Mountains. I know the stories that far, at least. Then we should have a dwarf representative with us, who should be able to guide us underground in Graz lands until we reach Garethen’s doorstep.”
And there the battles would start, if they hadn’t before then.
Cerulean pointed a long finger to Raumioch Beti, the imposing mountains that divided Garethen’s kingdom from the lands of men. She raised a single eyebrow as she looked at me.
“The Sword Dancer has pierced them before. She should be able to guide us through.”
The elf shook her head once and pointed from the map to me. Her eyebrow remained raised.
Realization dawned. “No. I don’t know all the stories that guard those passes. Only a few. Those stories aren’t kept in Chariis.” I kept my eyes on the map. “If Abani could get through, though, we should be able to.”
Cerulean’s eyebrow lowered. She looked disappointed.
“I’m sorry. That’s the best we can do.”
Cerulean shook her head again.
Galatea plopped down in a chair near the table. “Got it figured out yet?”
I shrugged. “Until a dwarf arrives, there’s not much more we can do.”
“What makes you think they’re going to come?”
“The Sargon sent messengers to each of the lands. Not just the dwarves, but another elf, too. And the other nations of men should be sending representatives.”
“Yeah. Should.” She shrugged. “Daragen should get into fewer bar fights. Doesn’t stop him from flinging a punch here and there.”
I glanced at Daragen. The short man was hopping around the room, low to the ground, pumping his fists at an unseen enemy. Abani watched, her nose wrinkled. She turned away and joined us at the table.
“We need to move. We have waited too long.”
I sighed. “I know. We should have been the last to arrive here from the other nations, but no one else has come. That doesn’t bode well for our mission.”
Abani balled her fists. “Stories are not as important as honor. We have honor.” She glanced at Daragen. “I have honor. All that is necessary to stand against the darkness is one shining torch.”
I raised a finger. “If all we fought against was the darkness, I would agree with you. You are valiant and honorable. No one here would doubt it. But we will pass through many stories on the way, and they respect things other than honor. They heed those who listen to them. And it would not be wise for us to battle foes we need not battle. If we match ourselves to what the stories believe best, they will speed us on our way.”
“How long do we wait, then?” She jabbed a finger at Sar Idain on the map. “Every day we spend here like a patriarch lolling at an oasis the Patriarch of Lies gathers his armies to move.”
“Is that
what you call Garethen? Patriarch of Lies?” Galatea asked. “I like that. Formal and dismal all at the same time. We call him the Father of Tempests here.”
Abani ignored her question. “King Adal, we must move quickly if we wish to stand against the darkness. If we are a lone torch, we do not have much time. A torch will burn itself out; all the darkness has to do is wait.”
I sighed, frustrated. I glanced at Daragen. “How are our supplies coming?”
“Everything was here within a day of your request.”
“So there’s no reason to wait if we don’t expect anyone else to meet us here?”
“Pretty much.” He fell into a chair and leaned it back on two legs. “And just between us, I get the feeling the other nations aren’t coming. I won’t pretend to speak for elves or dwarves, but the other nations of men are wrapped up in themselves. If Garrenda called for help, Parvia wouldn’t come, and neither would Cassun or anyone else. Why should they come now? Just because the Fabled City calls?”
I couldn’t answer. Finally, I found words. “Weren’t you ever taught the stories? Weren’t you told about how important Chariis is?”
“Was, you mean. I mean, sure, I still respect it. But it’s old and pretty much forgotten. Only the elves ever go there now, and even then, not many. I don’t think the kings really pay more attention to it than they have to.”
Again, words escaped me. I knew that blackbeards rarely paid attention to the ramblings of whitebeards. That’s how it was in the North; why should it be different here? Still, here, where stories came closer together, I thought that perhaps more wisdom pervaded. I was wrong: Wisdom still came with age, not geography.
Or Daragen was playing the buffoon, and I had fallen for it.
I gave up the argument, deciding to believe that this was some ruse on his part. “Two more days. We wait two more days.”
The elf leaned over the map and spread her hands. “We have been here three days.” Her liquid tone carried words that stung me.
The Keeper of Tales Page 4
