The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

  “I am Naeharum Adal. I was King of the North, and now I am the Keeper of Tales. I have been named Sargon. I am taking command of the city. We face the great battle of our time. We will fight to protect this city, our ancient home. Continue to enter the city until it bursts with warriors. I will need you, the leaders, indeed all of you, to work together. We need to share this burden of protecting the Fabled City.”

  My gaze swept the room. This wasn’t like the stories at all. This was more than the stories. In the stories, when Chariis was threatened, three races came together: men, dwarves, and elves. In the stories, the gatherings were called “councils of all races”. But it had never really been that way, had it? Now, there were representatives of griffins and white goblins. This was truly a council of all races. Possibly the first one that had ever happened.

  I continued. “We must all become one blade, for we face a foe greater than any of us have ever dared to dream. The impossible has happened. We saw Garethen die a final time. The Fallen Lord has fallen forever, devoured by the Blue Riders he feared. He will not be resurrected.

  “But now something worse is here, something that turned on the Fallen Lord and prevailed. Garethen has created a villain far eviler than himself. He could corrupt the unwary, it is true, but most of his threats were physical. Now we face something more.

  “The Kaerun are riders wreathed in blue flame. They devour tales. We witnessed it. They eat stories as they are told. We have seen it. And they will even steal the stories from your own hearts so you cannot tell them again. If you hold so closely to the tales that your heart will not yield them up, they will take your heart as well. We have been victims of it.

  “They want to take Chariis. They want to break our hope so they can take all our tales and our lives with them.

  “We must become a single blade, all our races, together. We must commit to this great task, sharing the responsibility. Man and elf and dwarf.” I paused. “And griffin.”

  Kree’Ah nodded. I had his support.

  “And white goblin.”

  Badron stood. “We have pledged our aid. None shall stop us; our promise shall not fade.”

  The dwarves and the Kings of the West muttered. I did not allow them to continue. I looked into every face. “We have much to lose. If Chariis should fall, there will be nothing to stop the fell armies from marching over all our lands. They have gathered here, attacking this jewel first, as the dark forces have for many ages. Yet, we are one now. All of us.” I paused a moment, daring them to say otherwise. None did.

  I turned my gaze outward, toward the city below. “And together we will overcome. Stand together, my brothers. Fight well, my sisters. For when Chariis falls, all the world falls with her. And we shall not let that happen.

  “We shall prevail over the forces arrayed against us, though they are mighty. We shall conquer them, though they are fearsome. And we shall vanquish them, though they fight with a fierceness few of us have ever seen. So let the forces of darkness wash over us. As long as one stands to fight here, we have hope.” I swallowed. “As long as we remember the tales of all the many warriors that went before us, we cannot fail. For here,” I took a deep breath, “all stories are true. So remember all who fought before. Today your own story will be added to their number! Tomorrow our tale will be written, and it will be a great and glorious one!

  “Be ready for battle! We fight for Chariis! Together!”

  I raised my blade in salute. Cheers resounded through all the city. My companions thrust their weapons to the sky. The griffins called out. The kings stood. Even the elven leaders smiled.

  We were as ready as ever we would be.

  Let the forces of darkness come.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The swirls on the floor stopped glowing. Their task was complete. Only those assembled here in the Colonnade would hear me now.

  “I will search the archives here in Chariis, to find what I can of any mention of these Kaerun. Yolian the storyteller will join me. All the other storytellers need to go to the walls and protect us as we organize the rest of our troops. I name Lazul to lead in forming the defense of the city against the dark hordes that are attacking. He has experience with the Blue Riders.” I pointedly looked at Lazul. “He will use all our resources in the plans for the battle.”

  He nodded, though I could see he did not like the idea of using the goblins.

  I heard similar grumblings among some of the others. Badron stepped closer to Galatea, trying to avoid the contemptuous looks around it.

  I had to stop this now. “They have pledged themselves. You know that goblins cannot rescind their promises. We can trust them. We must be a single blade protecting the city. They are part of this blade with us as well.”

  I looked to the others around me, daring them to speak.

  “Very well.” I nodded. “We have our tasks. Protect the city!”

  I turned away and walked out of the Colonnade, taking the familiar stairs that I had walked on just weeks previous.

  I passed the break on the stairs that led to the plain beyond, where the battle raged. I paused to look, to see our men fighting for the Fabled City. I saw the Kaerun, and they looked right at me. They commanded their goblins. “We do no good here. Retreat. We will come on them with force from a direction they least expect. They cannot place storytellers to hold the walls everywhere.”

  They turned their horses and trotted into the darkness, where only their flames lit the branches above. The goblins, the behemoths, they all followed, letting the darkness swallow them. Our soldiers did not pursue.

  I turned down the stairs. Lazul would be directing our armies soon enough. Yolian joined me, and we descended into the city.

  Stories. Now I had to use them to see if there was some way to defeat the Kaerun. Would it do any good? We were out of the stories now. Garethen died the final time; could any story force us into its form? And if we weren’t in any story that could... did that mean Korah died for nothing?

  As I reached the bottom of the stairs, someone shouted behind me. A deep voice that knew laughter but had forgotten it in recent days. I did not turn, feigning deafness. My elven companion glanced at me but said nothing. I did not want this now. I did not want to see the look on his face when I told him what I must tell him. My heart was heavy enough; I did not want to add the weight of my friend’s mourning.

  Jayan shouted my name again. He had reached the bottom of the stairs. I kept walking, finding my way to the Library.

  A third shout and this time an oath. He ran after me. I heard his feet striking the street and the little huffs of breath that escaped his lungs. Finally, a hand on my shoulder. Finally, pressure forcing me to turn. Finally, the face of my friend, my old, dear friend. But now was not yet the time. I did not want it to be the time.

  Yolian continued to the Library, leaving us alone.

  I saw concern in Jayan’s face. He thought of no one but me. I held up a hand and indicated the direction to my hall. He nodded, and we fell into step without a word. He put his arm around me. I took comfort in that.

  Soldiers of all nations rushed past us. Each had a duty to do. The statues were silent witnesses to our passing. The torches seemed dimmer than I remembered, but it could have been the moisture in my eyes blocking some of the light. It was hard to tell.

  All my rage, all my frustrations were suddenly gone, replaced with hollow sorrow. And a knowledge of the confession I would have to make.

  At last we came to the Hall of Katal. It was empty; if any of my men had made it back from the North, they were rushing to fortify the city, as was everyone else. It was good we would have this chance to be alone.

  I sat on the wall around the dry fountain, and Jayan sat beside me. He was silent, awaiting my words.

  Finally, I found my mouth. “Tell me how Naaman is doing.”

  “He fled from the Spires the same day I sent Korah to meet you in Scarletholme.”

  “And then?”

  “We fou
nd Korah a week later. He was… unhappy.” Jayan kept his voice steady.

  “It was not my doing. I promised I would not ask for your son to come with us.”

  “I know. He left me a note. He said it was time for him to go and find his destiny. He said he needed to be on a quest like this if he were ever to be as good a man as I was.” Jayan shook his head. “I never went on any quests.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  We sat a moment without speaking. Jayan broke the silence this time. “I did not see him with your number.” His voice broke.

  “No.”

  “He fell in battle.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he brave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he fight valiantly?”

  “More than any hero I have ever heard of or witnessed.”

  “Tell me.”

  And I told him. My voice shook as I related that night in Habrin, how Korah had fought for us. How he had sacrificed himself so that the rest of us might escape. How I had memorialized him in a story that would remain until the end of time.

  But a story was no substitute for a son. As I spoke, I let all the guilt come to me. All the blame I deserved for all that had happened. I broke, speaking the end of Korah’s tale through sobs. I honored Jayan’s son by not speaking quickly, though I should have.

  Tears streaked down both our beards when the story ended. Jayan sobbed once, twice, and was quiet. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Your son was a great man.”

  “I know.” A pause. “Did you speak the blessings?”

  “I did.”

  “Will you come and speak of him to his mother?”

  “Yes. When the coming battle is complete. I will join you in the Spires before returning home and speak to all your people if you would have me do it. They need to know the man their prince was.” I took a deep breath. Another. “Forgive me.”

  “For my son fleeing? That was his doing, Adal.”

  “No. For trusting the stories.”

  Jayan was silent.

  “It’s their fault. You said it back when this began. ‘Damn the stories.’ You were right.” I closed my eyes, squeezed them shut. “I trusted the very things that murdered your boy.”

  “Adal. Those things out there. Those creatures of blue flame. Those things killed my Naaman.”

  “Only because the stories told them to.”

  “Adal.” He pressed his lips together. “Adal. Listen to me. You told me Naaman died a hero. You told me. Oh, Adal. He wanted this his whole life. To find some way to be a hero. He heard all the stories we tell in the Spires. And he wanted to be like them. It wasn’t the stories that demanded the sacrifice of a prince. It was... it was all the stories that got in his head and made him think he wasn’t worthy. But he was. He was my son.”

  I nodded.

  I wasn’t convinced.

  Soldiers ran by in the street. In the distance men shouted.

  Jayan was quiet a few moments more before speaking. “I should return to the Colonnade. And you, to the Library?”

  “Yes.” I stood.

  “Well, hopefully what you find there won’t put us all to sleep, you old bore,” he jested wanly.

  I returned the smile halfheartedly. I could ask for no better friend.

  He walked away into the early night, leaving me in the courtyard of my ancient hall. Outside the small yard, soldiers bustled past, going where they had been commanded. Somewhere I heard a marching song.

  I looked to the statue that stood in the old, old fountain. He looked so joyful there. He seemed to see that the two of us had stood together, had grown together, and now mourned together. I suspect that he had known, even then, that that is what his people and mine would do. That this was how we would grow so close.

  “Master.” The voice came from behind me. I was surprised it had waited this long to come.

  I turned to look at Badron. Beside it stood Galatea, a hand on its shoulder. “It has something to say.”

  I nodded, motioning for Badron to speak.

  “You need men to fight. I can set this aright. I have family, not far away. They will come; they may save the day.”

  I nodded. The more aid we had, the better it would be. The white goblin scurried away. Even if they were of no direct use, it would be good for the other races to see the white goblins standing beside them. They had been abused for too long because of the second half of an old story.

  Galatea lingered. “The man who chased after you. He looked like Korah.”

  “He is Jayan, the Spireman King. He was Korah’s father. Though you should call him Naaman. That was his name.”

  “He’ll always be Korah to me.” Galatea looked to the ground. “I think I’m going to go meet Jayan. Was he like Korah?”

  “They are both honorable men.”

  “He should know how honorable he was.” She smiled. “Kept insisting on waiting until marriage. I think I might have married him.” She nodded to herself before addressing me. “I hope you find something in the Library.”

  “I hope you bring some peace to Jayan.”

  She embraced me. “You listen well. You make a good father.”

  Oh, but she could not know what she said. She couldn’t know how it hurt, how it honored me, how it pained me. My voice shook. “Thank you.”

  We separated. She turned to retrace the steps to the Colonnade. I walked a different path, to the Library.

  I saw the armored forms of Garrendai soldiers and silken dancers from Parvia. Neither trusted the other, but they were working together. Here and there elves from Fahalla spoke spells to men. Hadrisar elves wandered above the fray, their eyes on something distant as they moved through the men. Dwarves were there as well, from Delodwenar and Jaed. Leathered forms from Cassun cast about as if looking for a fight, and there was a Spireman speaking with one of my own Northern men. They had taken possession of the city together. Maybe not as one army, but now they were together. And they meant to protect this sacred place from the fell armies together.

  Together. It was a strong word. An appropriate word. Together, we would fight this menace, a menace so great it had destroyed our most powerful enemy and destroyed even the ash that remained.

  Together. It was the only way.

  Time to write a new story.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  I approached the Library. Its massive arch seemed to grow naturally from the cliffs. A large courtyard spread before it. In the middle of the square stood a single statue, life-sized, of Kekura, the first storyteller. He did not appear to be any specific race; he could have been a tall dwarf or a short man, with tapered ears, but not so much he would have to have been an elf. Every race claimed him as their own, and each used the same name. None knew the truth of the matter.

  I used to wonder about Kekura. How did he create the idea of a story? How did he tell the first one? How did anyone know what to do with it after he first spoke it?

  But now I had new questions. Darker questions. Would he have told that first story if he had known what would happen? Did he know he was forging chains that would bind us to repeat the forms over and over again? The form of the sacrificial prince, the longing heart, the unlikely hero, broken but still standing?

  Would he have told that first story if he had known the pain he would cause? And if he hadn’t, would Korah still be here? Cerulean? Would I have a daughter?

  Was Kekura the first Keeper of Tales? Did he become a Fallen Lord in the end? Did he forge those chains too?

  Some Cassuni troops were setting up a triage unit in the square and doing their best to aid those who had already been injured. There were no healers here, with all the spellcasters defending the walls. Except, apparently, Yolian.

  I found him healing a dwarf who was quite angry that he had been felled by a single arrow to the calf. Yolian healed the wound, and the dwarf leaped to his feet and struggled to get back to the lines forming around the city.

  When Yolian spotted me, he nodded a
nd joined me.

  As we approached the entrance, Yolian paused to gaze in wonder. The arch opened into the massive library inside; there were no doors. All who wished to look were welcome. Massive shelves ran deep into the cliff on which Chariis was built.

  Here every story was kept. Here every tale that had ever been told was filed away.

  Even in these dire circumstances, so many tales still caused a smile to break onto the elf’s face.

  I glanced at my companion. “I agree. There’s nothing like it.” My heart wasn’t in it, though. Not after Jayan. Not after seeing the destruction all these centuries of stories had wrought.

  After the crisis. After the crisis I would go through and select the stories that should be told forever. The ones that bound us together. The ones that encouraged. The ones that protected. Not the ones that killed.

  Yolian breathed deeply. “This is the center. Everyone seems to think that the world revolves around the Sargon’s Colonnade, but it doesn’t. The world revolves around the Library, where all the stories are. Decisions may be made in the Colonnade, but it’s here that they gain meaning. It’s from here that Chariis draws its power and protection. Because the stories of good triumphing over evil are here, Garethen could never enter uninvited. He couldn’t approach a place where he had been defeated countless times.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “The power of so many stories stood against Garethen that he couldn’t enter. But why can’t the Blue Riders enter?” And would they find a way around it as Garethen had?

  Yolian finally broke his gaze. “I do not know.”

  “Then it’s time we learned the reason and find a way to use it.”

  As we crossed the threshold of the Library, we heard a screeching cry behind us. We turned to see the yellowed griffin glide in and come to a stumbling landing. He moved from paw to paw once he was safe on the ground. “I wish to help. My brothers are circling the city, but I am not great enough to aid them. Here I may be of some service.”