The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

  Her amber eyes bore into mine. “You shall never speak of it. What burden I bear is mine, and I will have no other know of it.”

  We looked at each other for a while, neither speaking. I knew I could not promise this. If Abani should fall and her story take me with its telling, I could not know what would flow from my lips. Raising a single empty hand, I spoke, “Abani, I will never speak your story where it may harm you. I wish only to help.”

  “Your help is in telling other stories. Make us a way through this wilderness. My tales are my own. Go. You will need your sleep, old man.”

  I ignored her attempted insult. She had spoken truth; I was an old man. Turning slowly, I walked deliberately to my bed roll and laid down. Sleep still would not come willingly, but I chose to lie still. Eventually my eyes closed and did not reopen until morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Abani ignored me as we mounted. I chose to not let it bother me. Young ones believe that they alone must bear whatever weight they have put upon themselves, not realizing that they created it. Abani chose to carry this shame, and she would not release it. There was nothing I could do now, having already offered. It was best not to dwell on it.

  At least, that’s what I told myself. Sometimes we whitebeards are not as wise as we wish we were.

  Daragen was about to mount his steed when he paused, reaching for his belt. “My dagger’s gone.”

  Galatea looked at him, her voice flat. “Maybe you dropped it last night. Look around.”

  Daragen caught her eye. “Do you know something about this?”

  His mate shook her head.

  The Habrini circled our campsite on foot, taking a visual survey of the ground. Eventually he came to the natural well and looked down it. He swore. “There’s a white goblin down there. And it has my knife.”

  A high-pitched voice rasped out of the pit. It spoke quickly and with an odd meter. “Well I have your dagger, Man of the West, and would you want it back, words of kindness work the best.”

  All the companions dismounted, many readying weapons. Daragen remained at the edge of the pit, looking down into it. I peered over the edge and saw a white form. Its pallid torso was visible above the water line, the lower extremities hidden by murky water. Its sinewy arms clutched the walls of the well, and it peered up at us. Barely a bump of a nose with two slits nestled under eyes too large for a human head. Not a single hair appeared on its body. It wore no clothing I could see.

  Its pale, yellow eyes met mine. It had slits instead of pupils. Its mouth opened again, revealing tiny pointed teeth. “Man of the North, away from me go. Your trickery’s unloved and your tongue a woe.”

  Recalling tales, I minced no words. “Tell us your name.”

  Its tiny nose wrinkled on one side. Its snarl became an answer. “Badronikipodora, son of Ukirtabadronyi, son of Gadobadrontikri. Ask me no more questions.”

  I ignored its command. “How did you get my companion’s knife?”

  “It fell upon my head as I slept in my home, far below in murk, in my grime all alone.”

  “Show it to me.”

  The goblin glared at me and slipped below the surface of the water. I glanced behind me. The others still had weapons ready, but they had stayed out of sight. Lazul, with his axe poised to strike, muttered a proverb: “Never look a goblin in the eye. Strike him down lest he trap you in a lie.”

  My eyes flickered to Yolian, who was not bothering to hide his smile. He knew as well as I did that goblins, much less white goblins, held no magical power. They were tricksters, certainly, and warranted caution, but certainly nothing so extreme as the avoidance of eye contact.

  Galatea snuck to the side of the pit, peeking over its edge. “It’s trapped down there?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently.”

  “For how long?”

  “Goblins can go a long time without food. It could have been down there months. Maybe longer.”

  “That’s terrible! No wonder it’s in a mood. I would be, too, if I hadn’t eaten in that long.” She hugged herself and backed away from the edge.

  Small bubbles preceded the pale form’s return to the surface, but this time just its head and shoulders emerged. It grinned up at Daragen and then raised a dagger into the air. It was a plain dagger with a simple hilt, unadorned by anything of monetary value.

  Daragen nodded. “Aye. That’s the one.”

  “Wish it back, you Son of Man? Do you wish this knife in my hand?”

  The short man crouched on one knee by the edge of the pit. The goblin lurked far below him, seemingly not a threat. I was about to gesture Daragen back, but he spoke before I could move. “I do.”

  The knife flew from the goblin’s hand. Daragen threw himself back, the blade missing his head by scant inches. Below, a rasping laughter echoed. The dagger fell to the ground next to the Habrini.

  I raised my voice over the cackling. “Do the white goblins so quickly forget their allegiances?”

  The form squirmed around the pit and looked up at me. Its laughter quickly cut off into a snarl. “Men forgot me in this pit. They left me behind. They laughed. They canceled what was writ.”

  And then I understood what had happened. “We shall renew the contract, then. You are once more in mortal danger, and we can save you.”

  Yolian grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

  I gestured behind me. “I think you can see quite plainly. This creature is in need of aid. And old promises must be kept. The races not held under the sway of Garethen pledged to aid the white goblins whenever they needed it. We are their children; we must keep their word.”

  Abani looked incensed, as did Daragen. They spoke over the top of one another.

  “It is in no danger!”

  “It tried to kill me!”

  “We need to help it!” Galatea’s addition to the argument surprised me.

  I looked to each of them. Lazul still stood at a short distance, his axe ready to hack. Cerulean looked away into the distance in the direction we had traveled from. Galatea stood near her mate, breathing hard. She whispered something at him I could not hear.

  I addressed Daragen first. “It did as you asked. It returned your dagger. Be thankful; a goblin is very fast. Either the one down there did not want you dead or is very malnourished; I expect both. Perhaps it knows that killing you would consign it to that pit for even longer than it’s been down there, which I suspect is a very long time.”

  Daragen waved his hand, dismissing both my words and Galatea’s. “Bah.”

  “And if men did this to it, left it here, men must undo the damage. Only in this way can we keep our pledge of old.”

  Neither Yolian nor Lazul liked this course of action, but they allowed it must be done. Lazul looked at me with eyes I could not read. “Know you this: bind it before you raise it up. Otherwise it might follow and then attack us in our sleep, moving so quickly no sentry would be able to give warning.”

  I nodded. Lazul was correct to say as much. I looked over the edge of the pit again. The white goblin was still there. “Do you pledge to keep the old promises? To refrain from all harm and aid us however you may?”

  I suspect the goblin wanted to writhe. It did not seem to appreciate my restating the ancient contract. “You have my word; you have my blood. Should I betray you, my fate the sword.”

  I glanced at the others. “Satisfied?” When I heard no dissent, I searched Vendarion’s saddlebags for a rope. When I found it, I returned and lowered one end into the pit.

  The scrawny thing scrabbled up so quickly I don’t think the end of the rope even touched the water before the goblin was there on dry ground. It dripped stagnant water. The creature stood even shorter than Lazul and wore nothing but a loincloth of some sort of weed. I could count its ribs. As with most goblins, its arms and legs appeared too long for its body, and its fingers and toes too long for hands and feet.

  It bowed to me. “My life is now in your debt. Let me serve you how I may. I shall
harm yours none, no matter what they say.” Its slitted eyes seemed to shift briefly to Lazul, who still had his axe ready to sever goblin head from neck.

  I spoke, “Goblin, your name is hard on human lips. Tell us what we may call you that will not hurt our mouths.”

  The thing before us narrowed its eyes. It considered a moment before speaking, “Badron.”

  “Badron, we have kept the ancient vow. We have aided you in your need. Now, begone from us. Go, find your way.”

  Suddenly the thing’s eyes were wide, its mouth agape, revealing three rows of sharp teeth. It pointed at Lazul. “He has no stories. Kill him!” it screamed hysterically. I looked to Yolian. He didn’t know what to make of this. Cerulean, though, stepped forward.

  “Gentle goblin white, flee this place.”

  Badron turned, leapt over the mouth of the pit and disappeared over the edge of the stone table. Cerulean turned back to us and motioned to the mounts. The others climbed onto their horses. I hesitated a moment, my gaze lingering on where the goblin had disappeared from view. Then I followed the others’ example.

  As had become custom, Yolian and I took the lead of the group, Cerulean the rear. I looked at the elf beside me, knowing it would be safe to discuss my misgivings with him. However, he spoke first.

  “How is it possible for a dwarf to have no stories, and still be a dwarf?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “It was the Blue Riders that attacked the dwarves earlier. We heard how they tried ripping the stories out of Karen Cordolis’s heart. Could they have stolen the stories from the dwarves?”

  Yolian considered. “If that is possible, we are in great danger. Those without stories have no anchor; Garethen can turn them to not-men so easily. And now our only dwarf, the one who would lead us through underground nations, right into the heart of Garethen’s power, has no such anchor.”

  I shut my eyes a moment before answering. “We need to talk to Lazul. I don’t know how that white goblin could see he has no stories. We need to find out if its claim is even true.” I paused but could think of no reason for the creature to lie to us. “And if it is true, we need to find a solution to that problem.”

  “That’s not the only problem for us to consider.” Yolian paused, chewing on a thought. “Adal, I do not believe it was wise for you to release the white goblin.”

  I considered Yolian’s words. True, goblins were often tricky creatures. However, one lone white goblin would not likely be a threat, and these plains should be devoid of anything it could stir up against us. Besides, it now owed us its life. I said as much to Yolian.

  He countered, “He owes us nothing. He already gave us payment. He gave us Daragen’s knife.”

  He was right. The goblin would consider that a fair trade; one knife for one life. I had forgotten, or I had viewed it as men do. The knife had appeared stolen; looking back now I saw that Daragen had likely dropped it into the pit accidentally, although that seemed much more careless than Daragen ought to be. What I had thought to be the simple return of a stolen knife was in fact the bartering tool the goblin had used to bring us to lift him out of his pit.

  I answered, “We are to protect the white goblins. We were doing just that. They are a young race and often do not know what is good for them. It is up to us to show them the way.”

  Yolian’s lips formed a tight grin. “Yes. Because our races always know so much better, don’t we?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We rode quietly for a short period. Yolian broke the silence. “What you did was right. What is right and what is wise are not always the same thing, though.”

  I turned to face the elf, my voice quiet. “I’ve heard that before recently. But you should know the stories. Rightness and wisdom are interwoven. One is never far from the other.”

  “And you should recognize that stories are not truth away from Chariis. Even Karen Cordolis recognizes that her story is no longer about her, but about someone like her. Stories are pictures of what should be,” he paused. “Not what is.”

  My mind returned again to Korah, as it had many times these past few days. Would his story, the story I created, grow to be like that? About someone merely like Korah but no longer really the Korah we had known?

  No. I had told Korah’s story true. There was nothing more I could do. His was the story of the fallen prince, for that was the price demanded. There was always a price to triumph over darkness.

  I forced myself to shake off such thoughts. I knew all this already. I was not young. My beard was no longer dark. I should know better. I told myself I was just mourning. I was just grieving for my friend. It would pass.

  I dug my heels into the flanks of my steed, urging him beyond Yolian. I rode alone for a time, my eyes scanning the barren horizon.

  After a time, Lazul rode up beside me. Karen Cordolis sat before him in his saddle. It appeared she had made the two legs to fit, though they seemed crude compared to what had been. She winked at me as she saw where my eyes were. “The rest of me will make them better over time. They’ll grow to be just like my last pair.”

  Lazul looked heavily at me. “Do not listen to that goblin. I will not be made a not-dwarf. Never.”

  I regarded him. “I trust you would never willingly fall to Garethen’s sway, mighty Lazul. Yet I fear his trickery is above the cunning of a single dwarf.”

  “Then it is you who must guide us. You are the taleteller. So, tell us tales. Rebuild what I’ve lost.”

  “So the goblin spoke truly? Your tales were taken from you?”

  Lazul merely looked at his saddlehorn in response, but it was enough.

  I considered. There were so many tales to choose from. And so many I would not choose. Tales like those that made Korah give himself up. Tales that doomed members of our little group to fall for the greater good. I would not tell those tales.

  But there were others, plenty of other tales. Tales that would bind us together.

  I looked down and then out to the horizon. It should be safe to tell tales here; there were no stories nearby to hear. Some fables were jealous and could not stand to hear another of their kind. Here, though, I could speak freely. I glanced back at the others, running through any number of chronicles. Which to tell? The answer quickly came.

  I spoke loudly over my shoulder to all the companions. “Lazul here has suggested to me that I tell stories to rebuild what some of us have lost. I also see this will bolster the rest of us, reminding us of where we came from. And so, I will speak a tale, unless any of you object.”

  They all looked up at me expectantly.

  “Very well. I shall begin my story.”

  I pulled out my canteen, swallowing a few drops of water to wet my throat. “Garethen waged war on the Men of the West. The men could not stand before Garethen’s onslaughts, so great were his armies, swollen with creatures fell and men fallen. The Men of the West called upon their friends, elves and dwarves and Men of the North. All heeded the call, sending armies so great in number that the earth trembled under their footsteps.

  “All the peoples gathered together in a vast valley between Gretna’s Height and Pedamna’s Mount. They were like pine needles upon a forest floor, too numerous to count or number. The generals met there and made a daring plan.

  “The battle was intense. Goblins and Jezebels attacked as one, rending flesh from bone and even turning men in battle. Soon men battled men, dwarves fought dwarves, and even elves could not resist the lure of the Fallen Lord. All became chaos. Many men fought and died, giving up their lives so that their families might live free. But their armies were falling before the Fallen Lord’s onslaught.

  “Then, the horns called the charge. And so brave Daviel, general of the Cassuni, sped his mount into the fray, trying to spearhead a wedge into the dark forces.

  “He had forgotten in the heat of battle, though, that his steed was Paladin, the Lord of all Horses, the swiftest of all mounts. Paladin did as his master directed and flew into the center of Garethen
’s forces. And Daviel found himself trapped in the midst of the ranks of fell beasts.

  “He swung his great blade, and it swung true. Many fell before him. When the sword shattered upon the shell of Hrathmir, horned servant of the Fallen Lord, he drew forth his mace and smashed its head. The mace crumbled in the spell of Sanie, jezebel wife of Hrathmir, so Daviel brought forth his mighty bow and slew her. And when even that failed against the armor of the Drought Master, Garethen himself, Daviel flung himself off his mount, who still bit and trampled the many foes about him. The hero brought forth his final weapon, a decanter of water blessed by the kings of every land not held by darkness. He flung it at Garethen, but the glass shattered upon black armor.

  “Garethen was unaffected and ordered Daviel be taken prisoner. He wanted the pleasure of turning the great general himself.

  “Daviel was thrown into a pit. The first thing Garethen did was slay brave Paladin, Lord of all Horses. That is why to this day no horse will allow Garethen or those who serve him to ride upon their back. Garethen gathered the blood and threw it down onto Daviel so he was covered in the lifeblood of his dearest friend. ‘Tomorrow,’ the Fallen Lord promised, ‘tomorrow we shall see how long you can resist me.’”

  Hm. But the Blue Riders certainly had mounts. Has it been so long that horses had forgotten Paladin? Or is something else happening? Something to consider as we rode. For now, there was more tale to tell.

  “The night was long for Daviel. He saw many terrible things in the camp of the Fallen Lord. He saw how each group, each fell race, abused the others. They all hated each other and wished to prove how they were better than any other. However, he noticed an albino goblin who wore not the normal gray-green skin but one pallid and white. This one creature all abused, striking it whenever they could. Even its fellow goblins treated it badly. At one point they threw it into the same pit that held Daviel.