Behind me I heard the guard shout. As I ran, I could see what was happening at the gate. I shook my head, but the vision would not clear.
The lead rider looked up at the guard that had been with me. “Don’t you know the stories?” The whisper reminded me of the sound a serpent makes as it moves through grass. “A town welcomed back a hero who had left long ago. Yet, while he had been gone, Garethen had seduced him.”
I ran harder. I knew this story. I could see the words leaving the bony mouth, as if massing through the jaws of a demon. They were gathering around the guard. The other riders opened their mouths. Though they did not speak, words left their mouths and gathered around other guards.
The whisper continued. “He returned to his town as a servant of the Fallen Lord. He spoke words of comfort to his people, and they celebrated with him. They all grew drunk in the celebration. And then, while they were sleeping, he slit their throats and opened the gates to let the goblins in. Tell me, will you let this story repeat itself here tonight?”
All the words coalesced onto the guards, every syllable rushing into their hearts and minds. The men turned as one, sounding the alarm bell just as I reached the base of the stone stairs leading to the great hall. I collapsed onto them, my hands cushioning my fall. People began crowding out of the hall. Confused shouts rang out, and then people were passing me on their way to the walls. Anxious words and the sound of weapons being drawn filled the air. Even the women had blades.
My companions gathered about me as the crowd departed from the stairs. I looked up at them, catching my breath. “Get the horses. We must ride. Now.”
Korah and Abani ran to the nearby stables. Yolian helped me to my feet, but I could see that Lazul’s eyes were straining toward the gate. “They’re here, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
Daragen drew his dagger. “We can’t flee. We have to protect the city.”
Cerulean turned to me, her eyes wide. She spoke. “What do they want?”
“They told the story of the traitorous son.”
Daragen repeated, “We must protect the city!” He did not understand the import of our words.
The two elves exchanged glances. Then Yolian turned to Lazul. “Defensive stance. Very soon the townspeople will be here, and they will want to kill us all, especially Daragen.”
The Habrini warrior appeared stricken. “What are you talking about?”
Lazul looked at him, startled, but moved between me and the gate. A roar went up from ahead of us near the blue glow. There was the sound of booted feet on stone stairs and people rushing back to the hall. Odenias led the way.
Galatea looked from the crowd to Daragen. The mate that had betrayed. The mate that had not told her the truth.
She slipped leather gloves from her pockets and tugged them on. She put herself between the crowd and her mate.
Cerulean shouted over the noise, “Hear me, good people! Remember the tale of Jakovan the host!” I, too, knew the tale and spoke it in my heart. Yolian muttered behind me. I hoped it was the same story, so that he could add his voice to Cerulean’s.
Daragen stepped forward, shouting to the townspeople, “Back to the gates! We must protect the city!”
Galatea kept herself between the oncoming crowd and Daragen.
The elf continued. “Do you recall what happened? Jakovan was an innkeeper, and most gracious! He gave freely and never cheated anyone out of what they paid for.”
The people reached the stairs. They were all armed, and rage flashed in their eyes. One shouted for Daragen’s blood. Odenias’s face wrinkled in disgust. “You are no son of mine!” Many of them no longer had black in their pupils, but the same flickering blue of the riders.
They paused as they drew close and did not attack. The shining orbs of Cerulean’s words formed a wall between us and them. Sweat beaded on her brow.
She continued. “Then one day Barbil the Barterer came to town. He argued every price Jakovan set before him, bringing him so low that Jakovan lost money on every drink, on every dish, and even on the room for the night. Jakovan did not much appreciate being taken advantage of.”
The mob was simply staring at us now. They were seething, awaiting the moment they might seize us. I knew this was not the way they were.
My eyes went to the gate. Guards raced along it. “No.” My voice was hushed and anxious. I could see the spell falter for just a moment as Cerulean spotted what I saw. The guards were unbarring the gate.
At that moment, Korah and Abani rounded the corner with horses. Cerulean raised her voice to keep the attention toward her. “Barbil left the next day, screaming outrage at the prices that Jakovan had set before him. He promised to bring authorities to the little inn, thinking himself robbed. The innkeeper was not worried about anyone arresting him for robbery. He knew that he had not charged much, but he was greatly disturbed that anyone might leave his tavern feeling wronged.”
I pointed to the gate. They saw what was happening and mounted to ride through the town. Cerulean redirected her words to form a path.
By now Daragen had also seen what was happening at the gate. “No! You can’t let them in!” He grabbed one of the mounts the others had brought, pulling himself onto it. He shoved past Galatea’s protecting hand, leaving her behind.
“That night, Barbil returned.” Cerulean’s words pushed people aside. Korah rode through first, then Abani. Daragen was the last to ride through. At that moment, Odenias saw what they were attempting to do.
“Stop them!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. The men swarmed around Daragen’s horse, shoving aside constraining words and pulling him off his mount by sheer numbers.
Cerulean redoubled her efforts, and Yolian no longer merely muttered the ancient tongue. “Barbil complained all the longer, straining the patience of the innkeeper. That night, Jakovan devised a method to make sure the barterer would complain no longer.”
The elf was skipping parts of the story. I was not sure if the tale would be as strong without those parts, but I also knew that she needed to hurry. Her words had certainly formed a barrier around us, protecting us. She could not have formed the words quickly enough to protect all of us, though. It was time to finish the story and see if her words would be stronger than the Blue Riders’.
I could see what happened at the gate.
The guards were raising the bar, their eyes a fiery blue. Korah reached them first, and he leaped off his mount onto the two guards attempting to raise the bar. They fell into a tangled mass, struggling against each other and wrestling. Korah was able to take out his harpoon and used it as a staff, beating the guards with either end.
Abani reached the gate just after, as four more guards raced to help their comrades. She guided her horse to gallop into two of the approaching men, hopefully trampling them. Meanwhile, she rolled off the back of her mount, her long, curved blade leaping into her hands. The guards rushed her, but she stepped aside onto one foot. As they passed, she raised the sword and swung so the blade hit one of their backs. I heard metal shear through leather armor, touch skin, and pull back again.
I could still see the glow of blue flames outside the gate.
Before me, the mob reached for Daragen. They shouted, “Traitor!”
“Gareth-spawn!”
“Not-man!”
They all struggled with each other; all wanted to strike at the little man. Daragen, meanwhile, had rolled into a ball when he hit the ground. He bounced up, his hands in a defensive gesture. He threw the first man who reached for him over his shoulder, directly into two more attackers. He repeated the throw a few more times, but then he was overwhelmed. First a fist took him unawares in a shoulder and then in an eye. Someone snagged one of his legs, and he fell to the hard-packed earth.
Behind me I heard Galatea gasp.
“And so Jakovan killed Barbil! He felt great satisfaction at first, but then he remembered! Barbil had been his guest! He felt such guilt he hanged himself!” Cerulean skip
ped over large chunks of the tale. There was no art to it, but the story was done. Hopefully it would be enough.
The glittering orbs fell on the mob, soaking them with the words the elf had spoken. The edges of the crowd suddenly grew quiet, and the effect formed a wave that flowed through the group. Finally, the ones striking Daragen stopped. The blue faded from their eyes. The short man suffered one last blow from a woman who did not appear very strong, but it was that blow that hurt him more than all the others combined.
At the gate, the story had no effect. In my vision, Korah still fought. He had separated from his two opponents. His harpoon was before him, the point towards the larger of the guards. The attackers charged as one. Korah speared the larger of the two through the chest, anchoring the base of the harpoon on the ground. He spun, keeping the body of the larger guard between him and the remaining attacker. As he did, he unsheathed his sword and brought it down on the smaller guard’s head. I could hear a deep crack from under the helmet. It had happened so fast; the smaller guard had not had time to react.
Abani danced with her foes, causing few wounds but keeping the upper hand, sidestepping their attacks and stabbing small blows under their defenses. The two guards Abani’s horse had plowed into now joined the attack. Abani spun quickly, her sword out. Somehow the blade reached beyond the defenses of all four, slitting every throat. All four guards fell as one.
I finally stepped off the stone stair. “Come. We must escape.” I rushed to grab Vendarion’s reins and pushed past the mob. They were acting as if they had just awakened from a long slumber and did not know where they were. I paused to give Daragen a hand up and then mounted. We raced down the street to the gate. When I reached it, I surveyed the scene.
Six dead guards. Six souls we were responsible for. These were people. Their stories were cut short because of a tale spun through lying lips. I felt a rage kindle inside me.
Stories should not be used to harm. No man should die because of a lie.
I dismounted and raced up the stone steps to the top of the wall. Abani already stood there, looking down at our foes. The riders waited before the gate. One of their horses stamped impatiently. They gazed up at me. The others joined us a moment later.
Lazul growled, “Yes. Those are the ones. The ones who killed my brothers in arms.”
The grass beneath the hooves of their horses wilted, covered in frost. The raspy whisper returned, and even sounded like a laugh now. “Did you like our story, Adal?”
“I never liked it from the first moment I heard it.”
“We liked it. It was one of the first we devoured, my companions and I.”
Devoured?
Not just attacked. Not just destroyed. These things ate stories? What did that even mean? My lip curled in disgust, my nose wrinkling. Beside me the dwarf looked ready to spring onto them from above. “Get away from this gate. We will never let you in.”
“We have outlived stories, Keeper of Tales. Do you think that our patience is so thin that we could not wait here until you are long dead?”
Would they lay siege to this town? I did not know if we would survive long here. Cerulean’s spell had certainly shaken the inhabitants out of killing us, but I could not be sure the story’s effects would stay with them. I knew nothing of this strange magic, to say nothing of devouring tales as the riders claimed. I looked to the elves for guidance.
Yolian raised his voice. “What is it you want?”
“We want the Keeper of Tales. Give us Naeharum Adal, and he will fill us with so many stories that we will never bother another.” The voice lingered on my new title, savoring it.
The others all looked to me. I did not know what to say, nor what to do. I had never seen such creatures, nor did I know what they were. What would they want with me? I still did not even know what that title meant.
Korah stepped forward. “These are creatures of the cold. I’ve faced the worst ice storms to ever strike the Spires. I can slay them.” He looked at Galatea. “At the least, I can purchase enough time for the rest of you to escape.”
Grief passed before my eyes before I could speak. “I am not ordering you to sacrifice yourself for us.”
“Come, King Adal. Even I know how this tale goes. In every great story a prince must sacrifice himself for the good of all. And even if I don’t believe the stories like you do, it’s true now. I must do this so you can escape.”
The others’ eyes shot to him, but I already knew. “You do your father, King Jayan of the Spires, a great honor. You will make him proud even as he weeps for your loss. You will cause both my nation and yours much mourning, Naaman.”
There. His real name. The name he had hidden so that no one would guess who he was. So that I wouldn’t know who he was.
But I had known from the beginning.
He closed his eyes briefly. “To your mounts. I’ll attempt to bring them to one side. Go straight out and across the plain. I doubt they will bother the people here once you’re all gone.”
Lazul fought. “No. This is mine to avenge. You go.” The handle of his axe seemed to creak, so tightly did he hold it in his fists.
Korah responded for me. “No. You will be needed to guide the way through dwarven tunnels.”
Lazul was about to protest, but Karen Cordolis peeked out of his bag. “Lazul, we must leave. It’s no good to sacrifice two when one will do.” The dwarf gritted his teeth, but turned to go down the stairs. Most of us followed.
Galatea remained behind. “Korah, no. Please.”
“You’ve already survived a lost husband. You know you’ll live after I’m gone. Just don’t forget me.” He unclasped his white fur cloak. “Keep warm.”
They embraced, and she reached up to give him a passionate kiss.
Daragen looked away from their farewell.
As I descended the stairs, I glanced back at the Blue Riders. They waited patiently for the gate to open. I was not certain that this would work. Tor’s words came back to me: May the stories tell your path true.
Korah, the son Jayan had named Naaman, the prince who had hidden as a simple Spireman, waited above.
We mounted and faced the gate. Daragen removed the bar from the massive doors. “I’ll be able to grab the reins of my horse and mount it when it passes.” He looked to a Habrini soldier who had approached. “Paud, close and bar the gates after we leave. Let no unknown man enter.”
Korah looked down on what would be his death. He breathed deeply once, twice. He brandished his harpoon and leaped off the edge of the wall and into the midst of the Blue Riders.
I could see his battle in another vision.
The harpoon swung wide, passing through ghostly shapes that vanished as mist and reformed just as quickly. He swung another wide circle, tearing through three of the riders. They seemed unfazed. All turned to him. He dashed away from the gate. One hacked at him with a ghostly blade. It did not sever skin but left a frost mark on him. He stumbled but used the opportunity to plant his harpoon and used that in turn to support him as he pivoted, drawing his blade. He bellowed as they fell upon him.
Daragen flung open the gate. We raced out. The Blue Riders began to turn to face us, but Korah screamed, “You shall know that Spiremen will not fall to mere cold!” He raged, swinging his sword through ghostly forms. They turned back to him, reaching with icy hands.
They tore into him.
The harpoon passed through one misty form after another. They paid it no heed. They reached forward, their jaws open. First one mark of frost flowered on Korah’s furs, and then another. Korah’s sweat froze on his brow. One Blue Rider reached through his furs and into his flesh. The Spireman stumbled in pain. He fell onto his knees. I heard the rasping laughs of the ghostly riders. They reached again.
Korah struggled to his feet, his sword shining in the ghostly blue light. His eyes were wide in rage. Again, the riders reached past his sword and touched him, this time tapping his heart.
As we galloped away into the night, I saw
his lips open in a last scream. The inside of his mouth froze. The heat of rage in his eyes turned to the cool of death.
Korah fell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We raced north. The half-moon lit our way as we galloped over grassy hills until we found the edge of the forest. We turned west. The only sounds were hooves striking the earth.
My tears kept me company.
It was the way it had to be, I told myself. A prince must sacrifice himself. And the only one of the kings who had a son the right age was Jayan. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t offered him up. I didn’t want to.
But I always wanted to have some part in a story. What else did I think would happen?
I could have sent him away. I should have. I knew who he was as soon as he arrived. Of course the prince would run away to join us. Korah—Naaman—was too much like his father. Jayan had begged to come on this adventure; why wouldn’t his son? And I’d heard about Jayan’s son finding and killing a frost bear. Who in the north hadn’t heard of that grand adventure? No one else would wear a hide like that.
I could have sent him away. At what cost, though? We needed to face Garethen. This was how it happened.
No. The stories had to let us pass with only one dwarf instead of three. They’d let us pass missing an archer and a Cassuni and with one elf less than we should have had. We didn’t need the prince. They could have granted us success without him.
But now the stories had demanded their sacrifice anyway, hadn’t they? They wanted their prince, even if we didn’t have all the other members we should have had.
Damn the stories.
And damn me for trusting them.
I was the Keeper of Tales? What good was that title if it was the tales that kept me? If they enslaved us to their pattern? If they took someone’s child?
But that’s what stories did. It was more important to be able to tell a thrilling story later on, wasn’t it? It was more important to make the listener weep, to have some fallen hero to honor.
Well, fine, then. I would make sure that they honor Korah.
The Keeper of Tales Page 12
