The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

  But I looked around at my companions, each on their own griffin, flying toward Ban Maraseth, toward the Dark Lord’s fortress.

  Galatea gazed down at the armies below. She said something to her griffin, though I couldn’t hear over the wind. The fiery woman was ready to fight. Good.

  Her mate, Daragen, though, buried his face in his griffin’s feathers. He was made for seas and storms, not clouds. Our dwarf, Lazul, also buried his face. Though he was a mighty warrior, he feared being so far from his beloved ground. Both, however, braved the sky to speed us on our way, and for that I was thankful.

  Yolian rode a sickly griffin who was not yet named, though he would be soon enough. The elf was telling a story of some kind; I could spot the golden strands that were his words. Abani continued practicing aerial maneuvers with her griffin, flying through the sky and being caught by her mount.

  And seated before me: Badron, the white goblin who had bound itself to me. Just as stories bound the hearts of men, promises bound the hearts of goblins.

  We all came from different nations, but we were of one heart, one mission now, as the stories say. Together we had faced much. We had sacrificed much. We had lost companions. One I carried with me now. The story of Cerulean the elf resided in my heart, waiting to aid us still. The other... the other I carried with me, too, his memory heavy with sorrow.

  I had lost the son of a dear, dear friend. I could almost picture him riding the skies with us astride a great griffin. But he was gone.

  I still didn’t know what I would say to Jayan. He had known the risk. That’s why he’d denied sending his son. And why I’d promised not to ask for him. But Korah had come anyway. And I didn’t send him home, either. I tried to convince myself that Korah’s death wasn’t my fault. It was the stories. The tales themselves demanded a prince. I had no prince of my own to send. Not anymore.

  But I knew better. I was merely trying to shift the blame. Like a child. But I knew. The older the man, the more guilt he carried. And now I shared the guilt of the stories.

  I had so loved the stories, so trusted them. I was a fool for following them so blindly. I’d accepted them, fit myself to their forms like a good hero. Like a hero willing to pay any cost.

  As if I’d paid any cost for Korah’s death. As if I was the one who would be wounded so deeply. No, I had allowed the stories to murder my friend’s son. Because I trusted the stories.

  No more.

  I felt my hands tighten on the feathers before me.

  No more. These Blue Riders would threaten us all because of our reliance on old tales.

  We gave up too much to the stories. When we returned, I would change that. No more stories without action. No more relying on how the tales were supposed to work.

  Keeper of Tales? If that was my new position, if that was my duty, then I would keep them as a warden. I would tame them. And if they thought they could tame us... perhaps I could find some way to control them. I’d said it before when Korah died, but I said it again now.

  Yes. I would go and review all the stories back in the Library in Chariis, and I would tame them so they could not tame us. If our reliance on the tales was the crutch which Garethen used to destroy us... it was time to strengthen our legs to no longer rely on the crutch.

  Our mounts reflected my dark mood. They called no more joyous screeches. Instead, they scanned the skies for any flying enemies. We encountered none.

  The heat continued to grow as the sun ascended. I was grateful our speed produced a cooling wind.

  Before us, a great edifice exalted itself over the land. It rose out of dry, sandy ground. The entirety of a great mountain had been carved into a palace, a regal fortress that served as home to the Fallen Lord himself. We knew nothing of Ban Maraseth except what was told in tales.

  Except what was told in tales. And could we trust them?

  Even at this distance, I saw towers on every wall. They could not help but notice our approach.

  I leaned forward over Badron to speak with the griffin. “How will we get in?”

  The griffin answered, “We attack from above. We shall set down in the midst of the den, and you shall dismount. As soon as you are off, we shall leap into the air and avoid what we can of the den’s defenses. Call when you have need, and if we can, we will rescue you.”

  “How will you hear my call?” I shouted over the wind.

  Kree’Ah seemed to chuckle. “I have very good hearing.” He screeched our plan to his clutchmates.

  Another hour passed. Ban Maraseth loomed ever closer. The entire edifice was as black as the sands it stood upon. The sides were terraced, and every level was a fortress within a fortress. At every corner, great towers stood. I saw blazes burning in some of the towers and guards along the ramparts. The pinnacle of the great mountain was a palace with a flat roof. I was glad we would not have to go through all those defenses from the ground up to reach it.

  I shook my head and shouted, “If we can’t escape, will you fly back to Chariis and tell them of the armies? Warn them?”

  “Will this free us of our obligation to you if we carry your information in your stead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. It will be as you say.”

  At last we flew over the carved mountain.

  Kree’Ah warned, “Hold tight!” He turned on his wing and dove.

  The wind tore at my face and hands. Badron screamed. My eyes teared. The black roof loomed closer. Closer. My knees ached as I clutched at Kree’Ah. We shot past the four inmost towers. Still Kree’Ah descended, like an arrow shot from a height. My knuckles screamed out in pain as I held on tighter still. Badron’s weight pushed against me.

  The griffin unfurled his wings. I slammed up against his neck, crushing Badron. Kree’Ah’s claws scraped at the roof. He called, “Jump!”

  I flung myself from his back and rolled. As I stood, I drew Northwind. Badron stood at my side. We both labored for breath.

  Kree’Ah raced on and leaped from the edge of the roof. He took to the skies again.

  The first arrow struck the polished roof less than a pace away. I barely dodged the second. A hail of arrows fell from the four towers surrounding the roof. One bounced off my shoulder. Hard leather armor was useful. Another arrow cut my cheek on the way down.

  The other griffins dove at the towers. They flew away, goblins in their claws. Soon a rain of goblins replaced the hail of arrows.

  One by one, the five other griffins skidded across the roof. One by one my companions rolled off feathered backs and stood beside me, weapons drawn. The griffins circled high above. We stood upon the home of our deadliest enemy, King of Lies, Lord of Deceit: Garethen Talespinner.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Lazul growled as his eyes darted across the polished black roof. “How do we get in?”

  The roof trembled. A long pathway of the obsidian material slid aside, revealing a dark stairway. Not-men poured from it. They wielded jagged blades and dull metal shields. Plain metal helmets protected gray, hairless heads. They came against us in force.

  We answered in kind.

  Yolian’s blade of words flashed. Lazul’s axe crashed through shields. Daragen rolled beneath attacks and sunk his daggers from behind. Without oil, Galatea had only her gauntleted fists, though she seemed to be able to keep herself safe. Badron scurried to defend me. Abani danced.

  Northwind sang around me. In my old age, I’d learned that I couldn’t depend on my strength. I needed finesse now. I spun and dodged, redirecting blows rather than blocking them.

  These were not goblins. They were men who had betrayed their race. They belonged to Garethen now. They were stronger and smarter than the goblins we had faced before. At least we now faced only not-men. These were those who had been merely turned, not yet twisted.

  I spoke too soon. The not-men cleared away from me to reveal a man in black leather armor. He stood a head taller than I, yet was impossibly thin. “I’m hungry,” he rasped. His mouth stretched all
the way to his ears as he spoke. He placed a hand to his chest and slid an impossibly long sharpened rib out of his own body, then another. Soon he held two curved bone blades.

  “Paranai, you will eat no flesh today,” I vowed.

  “I will feast on yours,” he answered. He struck out with one curved blade. I knocked it aside with my own blade even as he spun in with the other. I ducked beneath the slice and thrust Northwind up toward his chest. The paranai dodged.

  I was outmatched. I could take a goblin. I could slay a not-man. One who had been twisted into a paranai, though, was beyond my ability. I continued fending off his advances, but only barely.

  A not-man struck at me from behind. Badron whimpered an apology for not protecting me. I ignored it and stepped out of the not-man’s way. His blade glanced off my armor.

  The paranai screamed, “It is my meal!” He struck the head off the not-man, and then grinned his gruesome smile back at me. He sliced at my feet. I jumped back, tripped, and fell to the ground. He loomed over me, licking his lips. One bone blade pulled back and sliced forward. I raised Northwind to block, and the bone slid off. Badron, meanwhile, struggled with a not-man. It could not protect me.

  The paranai thrust with his second blade. I could not parry in time.

  So, this was how my story would end.

  Bitter. I thought in the stories, the unlikely hero only died at the deciding moment. Maybe I wasn’t the unlikely hero after all.

  And then the paranai’s head fell off his shoulders. The body tottered a moment before dropping. Daragen stood behind him, a dripping sword in his hand. He focused on my surprised expression. “A paranai killed my captain. You think I’m going to let one get you?”

  Of course. The unlikely hero saved by a companion. I should have known better.

  I nodded thanks before scrambling to my feet. “When did you get a sword?”

  Daragen raced to my side. “There’s plenty lying around. We can’t last long up here!”

  “Agreed. We need to get inside to Garethen himself.”

  “I’ll help as best I can. We might be able to gather up enough of us to get there.”

  I spied Lazul through the fray. He hacked through forests of not-men, his axe sprinkling blood with every slice. A hagri, a dwarf twisted into a hunched, hairy beast, stalked him from behind. I dashed and struck it with my blade. It turned and slashed out at me with long claws. As I fell back, Lazul turned to see me.

  “Hey!” He struck down at the beast’s head, cleaving it in two. “Fine. Try and take my kill.”

  I answered, “We need to get to the stair.”

  “I’ll get you there.”

  Daragen, Lazul, and I continued hacking our way to the stairs. Badron joined us seconds later. More and more creatures took to the roof. I spotted more hagri and paranai among the not-men. Yolian came to our sides, and Abani danced her way over. I’d never seen her smile so much. Galatea struggled to get to us.

  We kept our little circle, making our way to the stairs. Finally, we stood at the precipice. No beast or not-man ascended, but we were still surrounded by attackers.

  Yolian pulled me to the first step, and the ranks closed around us. “Adal, get in. Find out what we need to know from Garethen. I suspect he will talk to you; in the stories he always reveals his plan to the unlikely hero. But be careful; he will tell you things that are true. These are the greatest deceits. Beware them. May the stories tell your path true.”

  I nodded.

  Truths. He would tell me truths. Would he tell me he created these Blue Riders because stories didn’t serve the good of the world?

  Would he be right?

  “We will protect your way here,” Yolian said.

  Abani spun in her dance, slaying another foe. “You will not go alone. I have the most experience fighting these creatures.”

  I was glad of her company. We descended.

  The darkness chilled me. I paused a moment to wipe the sweat from my hands. Abani’s face glistened, but she didn’t seem winded. “We need to keep moving,” she told me. “Do not wait for the viper to bite if your hand is in her nest.”

  I nodded, and we descended into the coolness. Down, down. I listened for anyone on the stairs above or below. No one hindered us.

  At last, the stairs opened into a vast hallway. An obsidian floor reflected bright torches. Alcoves housed towering stone statues. One showed a paranai holding two bone blades. Another depicted a hagri, seeming to snarl. A third portrayed a jezebel, perfect in every way.

  The hallway stretched far into the distance either direction. Abani frowned. “I expected more filth to stand against us here.”

  I nodded. “They will come.” I glanced back and forth down the hall. “Which way?”

  “Evil surrounds us. Pick a direction.”

  I chose to turn right. We stalked down the hall, ready for attack at any moment. We watched the statues, the arching ceiling, the guttering torches. I glanced to the reflective floor. I saw a third person walking with us there. It was the same person who had danced with Abani atop the teeth. She did not notice him.

  He stopped and pointed. My eyes followed his gesture. There. A grand doorway, flanked on either side by behemoths with scimitars. The dark forms were identical to Thesairh. They awaited our approach.

  Abani smiled. “King Adal, I will dance. You will go through those doors to face whatever awaits you.” She tapped the ground twice with her foot, finding her beat, and then raced forward, her curved blade in her hand. She dropped and slid between the behemoths. They crashed down with their scimitars but missed.

  Abani laughed at them.

  She spun and avoided another slashing attack from the towering monstrosities. She dodged within the arms of the one on the right, flicking her blade up as she did. A line of blood followed on the beast’s chest.

  He roared in anger.

  The second beast moved in, ready with his own scimitar.

  I saw my chance. I raced behind him, as fast as I could. My chest ached with exertion already, but there was no time to waste. I had to move.

  Abani struck out at the behemoth, thrusting and dodging as I sprinted behind him and through the doors. They slammed shut behind me as soon as I entered the room.

  The room was made of dark onyx. Torches hung on the walls, filling the room with a glimmering light. A fireplace burned bright in the center of each wall, yet the room was cool. I searched for exits and noted several richly carved sets of double doors. A long, dark wooden table sat in the middle of the room, with intricately carved chairs around it. Both chairs and table were lacquered to a high shine.

  Someone sat in one of the high-backed chairs facing away from me. He had dark hair and wore a dark cloak, but besides that I could not determine much about him.

  I circled the table at a distance, Northwind at the ready. As I stepped around, I beheld the face of evil.

  In every story I had read, Garethen appeared as wicked as he truly was, warts and scars often greatly featured. That was not what met my eyes. His hair and eyes were as dark as a dwarf’s skin, his skin as white as a dwarf’s eyes. His face was a young man’s. It was smooth and fair and beautiful. He wore black silken robes, much in the style of Abani’s, though simpler. He calmly sipped from a simple stone cup.

  He spoke. “If you have had your fill of gaping, perhaps you could join me for a meal.” His voice was a young man’s, but had the confidence of age and power.

  And so I met Garethen Talespinner.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Garethen smirked. Black words with gold edges escaped his lips and flew to the doors of the room. “As Garethen spoke, doors opened on all sides of his great reception hall, and goblins entered bearing covered platters.”

  Goblins entered just as he said, carrying covered silver trays. “They set the trays upon the table. As soon as the table was set and drinks were poured, they returned to the kitchens.”

  As he spoke, it was. I stood, watching every goblin, waiting f
or an attack, holding my sword in a guarded stance. The vermin didn’t even glance my way. Soon we were alone again.

  Garethen stood. “Now, please, join me. I give you my word: No harm shall befall you while you are my guest. And you are my guest.” He offered a smile. It was the most honest smile I’d ever seen. Almost a relieved smile. It unnerved me.

  The fires crackled as silence stretched.

  The dark figure stepped out from behind the table and strode toward me. “You’re contemplating attempting to kill me. Could you do it? What would happen if you did?” He sighed. “You could, I’m sure. I haven’t practiced swordplay in so many years. There just isn’t much point, you see. I have my generals to go out and conquer the world. And if you happen to kill me, my ash will fly to my seat here, and I will be reborn. I will be angry, of course. Death is never pleasant, even if you are eternally reborn. An annoyance at best. Often much worse.”

  He paused, as if considering. “I have died several times recently. I’m honestly tired of it. But let’s say you kill me. Let’s say you slay the great, evil Garethen. Even then, we will only find ourselves back here, where we started.” He gestured. “So, come. Sit. We will talk. You still have hope, you know. I’m sure my generals haven’t reached Chariis yet. Well, perhaps Thesairh has. He got a head start. He always was impetuous.” He smiled, just outside the reach of one good thrust. “All I ask is that you come and dine with me, King Naeharum Adal. For, indeed, you are the center of everything now.”

  He held out his hand in that inviting gesture. Again, the silence. Again, the waiting.

  This was the chance. This was what the stories were guiding us to. This was my opportunity to learn his plan. If he killed me, the stories wouldn’t be satisfied. Did I trust the stories to keep me safe?

  Then again, there were many ways the Fallen Lord could delay me without killing me. He was clever. I could not match his cleverness.