I could feel it shaking, ever so slightly, as if it might blow away in the slightest wisp of breeze. It seemed familiar, though I didn’t know why. This story didn’t want to be told. I tried to find some way to communicate. I opened my heart, and that seemed to be enough.
I now knew I held Cerulean. Her story seemed to speak into my heart, and I knew what it wanted me to know.
Cerulean had been falling to her death down the chasm. Above, rocks still fell. Goblins still screamed. Then the whistling wind of the fall had overtaken all her hearing. She clung to the Blue Rider she had taken with her. It reached for the elf’s heart to grab her story, but her last whisperings were effective at that very moment. Cerulean loosed her story from her body, and it flew upward, away from the danger. It had been searching for me ever since, and had finally found me.
And now Cerulean sat beside me on the couch. I could see through her form, yet she appeared solid. She turned to look at me, and I could see her pupils were milky white. “I am not Cerulean. I am her story. She sent me to you to be kept.”
“How is this possible? I thought a person and her story were one.”
“No. The story is merely the history of the person: all she has seen and lived and done, all she has heard and taken into her heart. Oftentimes a person will become so attached to certain aspects of her own story that she is inseparable from it. But this is not true of trained elves; they learn to not become their own story but to be able to set it aside. This is what she has done with me.”
Its voice was detached, as if merely describing something that did not affect it. And though this looked like Cerulean, though it felt like her, it clearly wasn’t. This story talked too much. “So Cerulean is dead?”
“When she sent me away, she had fallen nearly to the Floodgates. Both she and the Blue Rider are likely no more.”
“I’m supposed to keep you?”
“I will stay in your heart, if you will let me. I will come and speak to you whenever you wish it and tell you whatever you need to know, of whatever Cerulean knew.”
I did not know what to do with this. The shade looked at me. “Cerulean knew you were the Keeper of Tales. You are the only one who can do this. Only you can keep this memory alive, of who Cerulean was. Through me, she may yet be able to aid your travels. Through her experience, through her knowledge.”
“Why do people keep calling me that? Keeper of Tales?”
“That is what you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“You keep the tales. You remember us and tell us.”
Did I even want that anymore? I used to savor telling them, but now I soured. Why would I keep telling tales if they meant the death of those I loved?
Yet how could I not keep telling them if they were the only way to defeat the Fallen Lord? How could I not keep this one, if it were all that remained of my companion?
I closed my eyes for a long time, struggling. Then I looked up at Cerulean’s shade. “What does that even mean? What does it mean they eat stories?”
“They take the stories into themselves. It strengthens them, and as they grow stronger, other stories and the world those stories tell get weaker.”
“So the Blue Riders could have devoured you?”
“If they had caught me.”
“And you said that most people, most beings, are so caught up in their own stories they cannot live without them.”
“This is also true.”
“So, the Blue Riders could kill anyone if they devoured the stories that person held most dear.”
“Yes.”
The room grew colder. The shade still looked at me.
I didn’t know what to do. “What are you waiting for?”
“I need your permission to enter your heart and live there. I pledge I will not interfere with your own story unless asked.”
Keeper of Tales, eh? Keeper of this tale. Of the elf who had traveled with us and her knowledge. It would be useful. But to carry the story of another... not even a story about another, but her actual story, all that resided within her? How could I? How could Cerulean trust me this way?
There was another brief silence until I answered. “Very well.”
The shade turned to mist, and I found myself breathing it in until the apparition had vanished.
I did not sleep again that night but stared into the fire, murmuring to myself. There was much in my heart already, and now a dead companion had entered it. I did not know what to do with this.
A new pain stabbed at me. We were in a place that could send birds out with communications. Could they reach the Spires? I should send a letter to Jayan telling him what had happened to his son. He deserved to know the truth, that his son had died honorably, protecting us. Korah had been a brave and true warrior.
That night, I allowed myself to weep. For Korah. For Cerulean. For all our fallen companions. No one woke or stirred as tears filled my eyes and poured out onto my beard. My head shook silently as the fire crackled.
Outside, the wind howled.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
We passed the next day resting. Abani spent some time with the guards, and I heard laughter from the room near ours where they conversed. We all took the opportunity to oil our weapons and mend anything broken. We also visited the larder of the Tower, filling up on provisions. We had been forced to abandon nearly everything but what we carried on us, so we needed much.
That evening, all gathered and Athusi blessed us with much of the blue wine that they favored here.
A man came and whispered in our host’s ear. “Excuse me,” he said, rising. “It appears we have another visitor, but again we have received no word of a new prisoner. I must greet this one at the entrance hall. Stay here, and eat without me. I shall not be long.” He vanished into a stairway.
A few moments later he reappeared. “King Adal, you have a visitor who is requesting your presence.”
I glanced to the others. They looked as worried as I was. The last time an unexpected visitor had requested to see me was back at Habrin, when we first encountered the Blue Riders. Should we flee now?
Athusi raised a hand. “This is an unusual visitor, but I do not think you need to be worried. Come.”
With no small amount of trepidation, I followed his lead down the steps to the entrance hall.
Crouching on the floor, shivering, was a white goblin. It saw me and leaped. Landing, it groveled on the floor. “Mighty master, humble servant, reunited in a frozen land. Humble servant, mighty master, take this poor one’s hand.” It held out a shaking hand. I saw snowflakes still not melted on its skin. It looked a poor and wretched being.
Master? Servant?
Badron?
I went to it and took its hand in mine. I looked to Athusi. “This is the first I’ve heard of a white goblin in such cold climes. I didn’t think it possible for it to survive out there,” he said.
I turned to the white goblin. “Badron? Is it you? What are you doing here?”
“I have followed from fields and caves, to be at your side, mighty master brave.”
“I’m not your master!”
“I am in your debt. I am in your service. We are together. Nothing is now amiss.”
I could not read the creature’s eyes, alien as they were. Had it truly followed me, even going through a goblin army to get here? Impossible. There was no way it could have gotten through unnoticed, much less have penetrated the tunnel Cerulean had collapsed. I looked to one of the guards. “Did it follow the stair?”
“No. It came over the ridge, there.” He pointed. Though I could not see outside, I knew where he indicated. Badron had drawn a straight line and followed us over the top of the mountain while we went through.
“How did you know to find us here?”
“We are bound, you and I. We are bound, until we die.”
I did not know if I could trust this white goblin. I decided if it were determined to follow us, I would bind it to us tightly. “Make a vow f
or yourself.”
Its head swiveled to focus on me. “I shall serve you, master. I shall serve those you call friends. I shall never harm you, master. I shall be with you until the end.” It bowed so low its head struck the stone floor.
I addressed it, “Then you will stay in this room, for now. When we move on, we’ll inform you, and you’ll accompany us.”
“Yes.”
After a moment to make sure the guards would treat him kindly, Athusi and I ascended the stairs.
Our host asked, “How did you get involved with a white goblin?”
“Accidentally.”
We entered the room, and I told my companions what we had met below. At first they were relieved, but then they had mixed reactions.
Lazul was the first to cry out. “Kill the evil spawn!”
Yolian was more measured in his response. “Perhaps we were wrong. This creature has bound himself to you. We might as well use its services.”
Daragen did not know what to think, and Abani was silent. Galatea clearly wanted to help the creature but did not speak up. She grabbed a blanket and left, though, returning soon enough without it.
For myself, I thought having such a servant might be useful. “Once we have reached the Fallen Lord’s lands, if this goblin is truly faithful, it could be a very useful spy. Garethen has been capturing white goblins and using them as slaves for years. Badron might be able to move about unnoticed where we would have to use far greater stealth.”
Daragen rubbed his chin. “This is true.”
“So, it will come with us?” Yolian raised his eyebrows.
“For now, at least. Yes. It has made a strong vow to serve me and my companions.”
Athusi seemed distressed at this. “There is one small problem, then.” He paused. “I have arranged a speedy conveyance to take you off this mountain and perhaps beyond. I am not sure this, ah, conveyance would be so eager to transport a goblin, white or otherwise.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A conveyance?”
“You will see tomorrow, when they arrive. A certain group owes those of us in this Tower a small debt. I calculated this would be a good repayment. Transporting you, I mean.” He wrung his hands. “I had hoped to save it as a surprise.”
“What conveyance could possibly move over a mountain?”
He looked me evenly in the eye. “Griffins.”
The reaction around the room was disbelief. Yolian was the first to re-find his lips. “Griffins don’t carry passengers on their backs. It’s below them.”
“The mother of this brood died in an avalanche protecting her young. We raised them here in stables we built for them. We released them into the wild when they were old enough, of course. You can’t tame a griffin, no matter how much they might owe you! But they do still owe us their lives. I contacted them by raven, and they will be here tomorrow. I believe they will deign to carry you if you treat them with respect. But I am not so sure about carrying that goblin.”
I answered automatically, “A white goblin is a gentlegob. Its race deserves as much respect as any of ours.”
Athusi nodded. “Of course. I learned as much in Chariis. Of course. But they still bear watching and cannot be fully trusted. You know that as well.”
Yolian was deep in thought. “Griffins usually keep to the frigid heights above human habitation, correct?”
Our host nodded. “As best as I know.”
I understood what Yolian was getting at. “And goblins hate the cold weather. Unless driven to a snowy place, they will not enter it willingly.”
“Also true,” Athusi agreed.
“So, what do griffins know of white goblins?” Yolian asked.
“I cannot say. They may know nothing. Or just legends.”
Yolian was still thinking. “But even if they know nothing of white goblins, can we fool a griffin? Is it right to?”
Lazul lost patience. “If we must bring him with us, just bundle him up in a blanket so he won’t make too much of a racket!”
And that is how we formulated our plan for the griffins to carry the newest addition to our group, a white goblin named Badron.
Chapter Forty
At dawn we gathered. The sun peeked over the distant horizon behind us, but we looked to the west where all was still shadow. Lazul held an extra bedroll which seemed to be shaking a bit. He shook it back, and it was still. The dwarf scowled.
Galatea punched him. “Be nice!” she commanded.
Lazul harrumphed.
I chewed on my lip. I knew how this kind of situation worked in stories. We would face a test, but what would the story want? Honesty or cleverness? We stood on a dwarven mountain. They valued honesty and hard work. Their stories would want us to be honest. But we also stood on a Parvian prison; they would also value honesty, but not if it meant an inability to strike at Garethen. And griffin stories? Did they even tell stories?
And no matter what the stories wanted, did I want to play their game?
Yes, if we conformed ourselves to their pattern, we would be sped on our way. We would discover the secret to defeating Garethen this time, but at what cost? What cost would the stories demand in exchange for the safety of the Fabled Lands? What would happen if we broke the story? What would happen if we weren’t bound by them? If every story fled? If they were powerless? If they were devoured by the Blue Riders?
I stopped short, reminded of what had happened in Habrin. No, I didn’t want a world like that. Truly.
I sighed.
All right. None of that mattered right now at this moment. Right now, what mattered was if we went with cleverness or with honesty. And we had chosen cleverness. And if we were wrong...
...well, a griffin could drop us a long way. I prayed the stories didn’t let that happen.
The wind howled at us. We stood atop the Tower, above the room we had spent much of the past days in. The stone had been built up into a sort of natural shield, protecting us from the worst of the wind but still allowing us to see around.
Yolian spotted them first, pointing far below and to the west. Abani let out a sigh of awe. Galatea joined in that sigh. Even Lazul was amazed. Soon, I also followed their flight. All my thoughts of stories stopped. This was more amazing than anything I could imagine.
All we could see at this distance were white forms, bright in the dark shadow of the mountains. They were winged creatures not unlike great cats. We could not hear the sound of their wings, but I imagined they were like great eagles in flight.
They swooped, diving and then climbing in the air, rising to our level slowly, taking their time. They seemed to play, trying to outdo each other. One would swoop over a low spot in a valley and seem to grab at something. It would rise to its companions, smooth and graceful, and something would drop out of a claw. Then another would try, but this time dive into a narrower valley, its wings seeming to touch the stone walls around it. A third dove between even narrower crags, bending his wings and shooting out the other side of the crack before unfurling them.
Finally, one swooped to the very base of the Tower, narrowly avoiding it as it angled its wings and suddenly shot upward. It finished its smooth upward arc at the roof upon which we stood, dropping gently onto four massive white paws.
And now I saw it clearly. My breath stilled in my throat.
The griffin had the head of a great eagle, sharp eyes and menacing beak, with tufts of feathers where an eagle would hide its ears. This faded down into white, feathered wings. Under the folded wings was the body of a great white tiger. His forepaws seemed to have claws a bit longer and stronger than most cats. The entire creature was slightly larger than a horse.
He looked at me with a haughty expression. “I do not like their scent. They have a smell of death, not distant in the past, nor in the future.” He narrowed an eye at me. “And you, you have the scent of a dead one. Yet you live.”
I bowed. “Forgive me. I carry the memory of one recently dead.” I ransacked my memory, reviewing stories. How qui
ckly I fell back to the stories, even now with all my doubts about them.
In some tales a hero would gain the favor of a griffin by saving its life. Beyond that, little was ever said. What use were the stories if they didn’t offer up the information that was needed in occasions like this? I hadn’t saved any griffin’s life!
The great white head cocked at me. The voice sounded as if an eagle’s tongue had been twisted into human speech. “You wish passage to the plains below.”
I nodded and answered, since the griffin seemed to be focusing on me. “We do. We would like passage as far as you are willing to take us.”
“And what is your ultimate destination?”
Suddenly, two more griffins shot past the edge of the roof skyward. They let their arcs fail, and they plummeted past us and out of sight again. As they passed, great cries of joy rent the air. The griffin before me didn’t seem to notice.
I answered, “We wish to reach Garethen’s home itself and then back to Chariis to report what we find there.”
The great form stalked a step toward me. His paws made no sound on the stone roof; he had retracted his massive claws. Those around me stepped away as the griffin looked at me with one eye. “You wish to enter the den of the Black Serpent?”
It was an old title, one that I had not heard used for many, many years, except in stories. “We wish to enter and escape Garethen’s home.”
“You are either brave or foolish, and likely both.” He changed his focus to Athusi. “These are the ones you would have us ferry to repay our debt? I do not think they are worthy to mount us.” He shook his head and turned back to preen feathers upon his wing.
Athusi smiled. “By your reckoning, no human, no being, is worthy to mount you.”
“This is true. Yet we owe you a great debt and would see it settled.” He turned back to me. “I would know your name, bearer of death.”
“Naeharum Adal, King of the Men of the North.”
“I care not for the titles of men. I am Kree’Ah, first hatch of my clutch. I will bear you. May the winds smile upon our journey and the sun not burn the feathers of my wings while you are under my protection.” He lowered his head in a kind of bow.
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