My fingers tingled like they had when we passed some of the stone monuments in the capital city. I knew that it was a tale. It was warm, as a gentle fire feels when a cold body sits before it. I welcomed its touch, and I could sense it speaking to me.
“There is a story here,” I said. “It would be known by us.” The warmth spread up my arm and around my neck. It might have caused me to panic, but somehow I knew the intent was not malicious. Finally, it found my mouth, opened it, and entered.
It exited as words. “This place was carved by Tychicus and Durbus, sons of Kalkus and loyal guardsmen of the Graz. They found a need to halt and decided that with their hands, they would leave a place where others would be welcomed. The two brothers used their picks and their hammers and created a hole in the path’s wall, digging a wide room out of the minerals, the granite, the limestone, all the stones that formed the foundation of the mountain. They used words taught to them by the elves and shaped the rock into a welcoming place, round and firm and dry. They poured their oil into censers and lit the fires.”
I didn’t control the words I spoke. I felt my jaw move, my lips form each syllable, my breath come and go, but I didn’t know what would come next. It was an odd sensation. Still, I felt no malicious intent. This story merely wanted to be told. It seemed to know we were not enemies, yet it would be duty-bound to trigger spells laid in the walls of the room that would kill us if it were not recited. It was protecting us.
The words continued to flow from me. “That night a great troll wandered up from the depths and saw this new room that lay beside the path. It stuck its head in and saw two sleeping dwarves. It snuck into the small cavern. Yet a troll does not sneak with ease, and his stumblings awoke cunning Tychicus. He spoke more words the elves had taught him, and the floor of the cave reached up and held firm to the feet of the troll. The great monstrosity was anchored fast. Durbus woke and took his axe and felled the mighty beast.
“Since that day, the footsteps of the beast are imprinted in the floor.” I found myself pointing to an unlit corner of the room, and for the first time I noticed two large footprints that would dwarf any man’s. “And that is how this place came to be, and one great thing that happened here. This is but one story of the travels of Tychicus and Durbus, sons of Kalkus and loyal guardsmen of the Graz.” The warmth moved from my body and back into the wall. It was content.
Lazul narrowed one eye as he looked at me. “I thought you said you knew no dwarven tales.”
“I know few and did not know that one until it used me!” I explained what had happened. Now that the warm presence was gone, I massaged the back of my neck. It used me.
The story used me.
Yolian was both impressed and concerned. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Surely this could be useful, but not all stories are so good or willing to help people of the light. Could you have fought it?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t even occur to me to try.” And that bothered me. A king must keep his wits about him, and at my age, in theory, I owned much wit. If being the Keeper of Tales left me susceptible to stories, what would they do to me? I had already seen them storm, seen them turn friends against us. I had seen them demand sacrifice.
But this tale was friendly. It kept us safe. “I didn’t want to frighten the fable away. This was a small one, though it’s able to trigger a cave-in.”
Lazul corrected, “I suspect by the tale you told that it would cause the floor to entrap us.”
I nodded. Most tales would only move in ways that were a part of them. Of course, that’s what it would have done.
It used me.
I needed to learn this new ability. I could not be used this way. I needed to maintain control. To use the stories instead.
Like Garethen was learning to use the stories with those Blue Riders of his?
No. Not to manipulate others. To free them. Of course.
We slept that night in the way station, surrounded by light. When we departed, I found myself hard-pressed to leave the fire’s illumination. I was through with being used by the tale here, but the light felt so good. I had known we would be leaving sunlit lands, but I had not expected the darkness to affect me so much. I could feel a melancholy descend as we left the way station behind. I noticed Daragen was quieter than normal. Even Yolian fell into silence. Dwarves were designed to discover the depths, but men and elves were not created to be gone long from the surface of the world.
I asked Lazul, “Is there any place in this passage where natural light flows in?”
“I don’t know the paths of the Graz as well as my own. Usually, though, as we pass below the height of a mountain peak, there will be a shaft to show where we are. In days of old, dwarves would do this to show how mighty they truly were. Young dwarves would prove they were of age when they could climb from the foundation of the mountain all the way to the summit. Some light might filter down there.”
We traveled in darkness for two more days, passing three more checkpoints. Lazul made new friends at each brief stop.
About the third midday, we came to a great circular chamber. The black stone walls had been polished smooth. The floor dipped slightly toward the middle of the room, which fell into a great abyss. A wide column thrust up in the middle of the chasm. Several stone bridges arched from our side to the island in the middle of the darkness. The roof seemed like an upside-down bowl. A wide chimney descended from the ceiling. It opened, and light, natural white light, streamed down.
My heart leaped for joy. The elves and the men around me had similar reactions. Abani loosed a sigh of joy.
Lazul glanced at us. “We’ve come now to the height and depth of the mountain, made one in the tunnel here.” He gestured to the light streaming onto the island.
We crossed a stone bridge and stood on the island, looking up into the tunnel that descended from the ceiling. All of us smiled. Even Lazul appreciated this downpour of radiance.
The island was twenty-five paces across, and the chimney’s opening was twenty paces across. The tunnel above was pitted with many shallow holes that could easily be used for handholds.
Karen Cordolis came out of the pack on the dwarf’s shoulders. “Well, now, this is more of what your dwarven kingdoms need, Lazul! More of these light-chimneys and you might get more visitors!”
“I see that. Look, I think the elves are growing like plants!”
We decided to spend the rest of the day there soaking in the brilliance. We released the horses in the bowl. The island would have been very crowded with both men and mounts.
As evening set in, we lit torches and set them around the island.
I was so cheered that I decided to speak a tale. Not be used by a tale, but speak one that would help us. Not to manipulate my friends, but to encourage. Simply because, even in my new suspicions, even still I loved a tale well told.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Those around me quieted to listen.
“Not long after Dairune and Daeu were married, Daeu found herself with child. They were both filled with such joy they decided to hold a feast in celebration. They sent invitations to surrounding villages and farms. Indeed, the banquet was filled with mirth and feasting and drinking and song. All the land came to rejoice with the happy couple.
“But one came who was not invited. The messengers had not seen her home, mistaking it for a tree, and had passed her by. It was Bedudar, the elven sorceress who had long ago decided she would protect these lands as best she could. She did not often venture forth from her home, and those in surrounding villages had dismissed her as a myth for many generations of men. However, she had heard the commotion and decided to investigate. Seeing it was a banquet to which she had not been invited, her heart filled with a jealous rage.
“The doors of the hall of Dairune and Daeu burst open, and the song ceased. In the door, all beheld a fearsome sight. Bedudar stood clad in a dress of willow leaves that draped about her slender form. Antlers flanked her h
ead. Her skin was ever so pale. Her eyes burned with fire. She stared at the swelling form of Daeu. ‘Ah, the reason for your celebration. You wished for all to bless you before the birth of your child, yet you did not invite me, the guardian of these lands?’
“She walked to Daeu and set her hands on the mother’s rounded stomach. ‘I, too, shall bless your child.’ And her eyes looked down onto the sleeping babe swaddled inside her mother’s body. Bedudar spoke. ‘This child shall never forget the good done to her, nor the evil. She shall repay eye for eye and tooth for tooth.’ And then she looked into Daeu’s eyes. ‘And this child shall cause you a pain greater than childbirth.’
“A sudden wind ripped through the hall, and the elven woman vanished, leaving only a few fluttering willow leaves.”
The words froze in my mouth as my head whipped to the exit from the vast cavern. The others heard it, too: the sound of marching feet and heavy armor.
We all stood and armed ourselves. We dashed across a bridge and set ourselves near the exit so we would be able to ambush whoever was coming. There were two ways in: the way we had come, and this, the way we must leave if we were to exit the lands of the dwarves.
Suddenly Yolian’s gaze shot upward, and my eyes followed. There, entering the cavern from the roof, was a dark, crawling form, slightly smaller than a dwarf. It wore light armor, and its claws dug into the ceiling looking for places to hold. A goblin, probably sent ahead to scout.
Yolian pointed, and Daragen had a dagger in his hand. It whispered through darkness. The goblin fell from the ceiling.
I glanced around. “We cannot stand against an army.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Yolian perched at the entrance to the cavern, his head cocked. “They’re moving quickly.” He paused a moment in thought. “I think they would overtake us before we reached any of the checkpoints we already passed.”
Abani searched the cavern for a defensible position. “The entrance here is too wide. They would storm over us and attack from all sides. The same is true of the way we came.” She looked back to the island.
We retreated across the bridge.
Galatea resisted. “Wait!” she hissed. She took one of the skins she carried and poured a line across the entrance to the cavern, then a second line, and then a third. The sounds of marching grew louder and louder. She uncorked a second skin and again poured the first two lines.
While she worked, we took what provisions we might need off our mounts. Lazul set Karen Cordolis in one of the packs.
Karen protested, “What do you think you’re doing? I’m coming with you!”
“And should you do that you might be sliced to bits.” Lazul’s face was gentle.
“I’m not leaving!”
His face became stone. “Karen Cordolis, you shall go and ride to the nearest checkpoint; your horse will reach it faster without our weight. Tell them what’s coming. This way you’ll be safe, and my heart won’t be weighed down.” He glanced away from her toward the growing noise.
He slapped the horse’s rump without another word, sending it upwards out the other side as fast as it could travel. We did the same with all the horses. It would do us no good to have them on the island with us; they would panic when the goblins started to attack and cause more chaos than good.
Crossing once again to the island, I looked up the chimney leading to the peak of the mountain.
Lazul chuckled as his grip tightened on the axe. “Goblins are natural climbers. That’s no guarantee of escape either.”
Galatea trailed her liquid across the bridge and ended the path. She gasped for breath. “That should give us some little surprise if we need it.”
I drew Northwind. “We won’t be able to stand here. They’ll pick us off at a distance. If we climb, there’s a chance they won’t know we were here.”
Abani pointed to the one slain goblin.
Cerulean spoke a single word. “Climb.”
Yolian nodded. “We need to go!”
I sheathed my blade and grabbed the bottommost of the handholds, just above my head. I hauled myself up. My muscles weren’t accustomed to this, but the knowledge that death awaited gave me strength. Lazul gave Daragen a leg up, and then Abani. Yolian heaved the dwarf up as he and Cerulean began to chant.
Galatea handed the elf a flint. “Strike it on the oil when they start crossing the bridge. The oil burns hot, but not for long. Make it count.”
Cerulean accepted the offering without stopping her chant.
The woman hauled herself up.
Daragen’s strong arms carried him up to my level, and soon he passed me. Abani did the same. Galatea sped by. “Easier than rigging!” she panted. Lazul moved about as quickly as I did.
I saw the cavern below, though my eyes stayed on the wall before me as I sought new handholds.
Torchlight preceded the creatures holding the flames by a moment, and then they poured in on both ceiling and floor. They squealed in delight as they saw the two elves standing on the island. The goblins came in various states of armor; those on the floor seemed to be armored as well as a man might be, while those clawing at the ceiling were nearly naked.
The elves still chanted a language I did not know. The words that flowed from Cerulean wrapped about the entrance to the tunnel we were climbing as if they were bands of thick rope. Yolian’s words formed a mighty shield of brilliant light.
A few goblins let crimson arrows fly. They flew straight and true, and the air whistled through horsehair fletching. The arrows bounced off the light shield that grew to encircle the entire island.
And then I saw back to the city of the Graz. In her cell, Delia laughed. Bells tinkled in her mirth. The white goblins gathered outside her cell, but she paid them no heed. She knew her liberators were coming.
In the cavern below, something a great deal taller than the goblins entered. It stalked in on four limbs, and its shiny black skin seemed to absorb the torchlight around it. Its hands clenched as it stood and arched its back, stretching out to its full height. Its form was vaguely human but much more muscled. Its neck was as thick as its head. The bull’s horns atop the behemoth’s head would have hit the mouth of our tunnel, the beast was so tall. It wore obsidian armor, and at its side a blade hung from a belt of dried human hide. It looked down on the elves.
“Ah, a surprise.” Its voice was as deep as the creature was tall. “I would never have expected elves here. Shall I tell you a story, little things?”
The goblins thrust up their arms in a cheer. Their voices were high and their laughter malicious.
The elves did not stop their spells. Their voices were defiant, speaking over the laughter of goblins. The wall of protection around the island grew ever stronger, and the ropes wrapping around the chimney grew thicker. Cerulean clutched Galatea’s flint.
The behemoth spoke. “Once upon a time, the Fallen Lord conceived a daring new plan to destroy the light lands. Once upon a time, he realized how powerful ‘Once upon a times’ were. And so, he created a new creature. One that could eat the very stories that were woven into all the lands he so wanted under his control. And he fashioned this new thing out of dead and dying stories, giving them new power. Not-stories.”
The dark form gestured, and behind him the tunnel lit flickering blue. I heard the sound of hoofbeats, casually trotting. “He gave one of these new weapons to each of his generals, that they might go forth and weaken the lands and march to the gates of Chariis itself.”
At that moment it appeared. A Blue Rider looked to the dark behemoth that controlled the goblins. “Thesairh. You speak too much.” It was the same whispered voice I’d heard in Habrin.
One of the creatures that had killed Korah.
I stopped climbing for a moment, catching my breath. These things ate stories? Not just destroyed them, but ate them? Were fueled by stories? These riders were stories themselves?
Our enemies were stories.
Below me, Yolian stuttered but continued on, chanting wi
th increased fervor. Cerulean did the same.
The Blue Rider looked to the elves. “Yes. We have encountered these, before I was assigned to you.” Its voice dropped in derision at the last word. It cocked its head, observing the elves. “I shall enjoy stripping the stories from their flesh. After that, you may strip the flesh from their bones.”
The great general of goblins bowed in submission.
The rider’s dark horse stepped to the edge of the wall of words. I heard whispers but could not determine what was being said. Somehow, I knew that the whispers had never been uttered since creation until the birthing of this twisted creature.
The wall of words flickered, as if it was merely a reflection of light in a pool of water. Yolian began to speak faster, but then I saw that he was not doing so willingly. The words were being pulled out of him faster than his lips could move.
The Blue Rider seemed to smile at the elf. “Yes. Give me more food.”
Cerulean raised her hand, and Yolian seemed to understand. He clamped his mouth shut, though I could see words struggling to escape his lips. He leaped up into the chimney and began climbing as fast as his limbs could carry him.
Cerulean spoke one final word, and the many great coils of rope that were around the tunnel tightened.
We had climbed a hundred paces, panting all the way, moving from handhold to handhold. Galatea led the way, followed by Abani and Daragen. Lazul and I brought up the rear. Our hands were already bloody from the rocks, but we did not slow. The chimney itself shook.
Below us, Yolian shouted, “Climb!”
The mouth of the tunnel collapsed. Rocks rained down onto the goblins, flinging many into the dark abyss surrounding the island. Their screams echoed even as the great rumbling continued. Then the roof of the cavern began to fall in great chunks.
Boulders struck one of the bridges to the island, collapsing it. Another great stone crushed three goblins. Thesairh stepped back into the tunnel he had come from, safe from the sudden stone rain. The Blue Rider did not move but continued its soft words. Yolian’s wall faded from view as the words that made it flowed into the mouth of the rider.
The Keeper of Tales Page 19
