The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

  Daragen darted from here to there, slaying any goblin that escaped through the rocky shore of dwarves. He slit throats from behind or appeared out of nowhere to let a goblin race into his outthrust daggers.

  All along the stream it was the same. Soon the generals arrived, causing the dwarves some difficulty, but even these generals fell under the onslaught of so many brave axes. Few dwarves fell, and only a small number of elves. So far.

  Back at the Library, Yolian spoke. “I was shown an old hide.” He paused and looked at me for a moment. I refocused on his words. “It was taken from the kingdom of men that existed before the waters washed the earth clean. It stated, ‘Hrandilir lay decimated, destroyed. We found all the guards dead, though we found no wounds. They appeared dead of cold. Some were even frozen to their spears, standing on the wall in a vigil that would never be broken. Most of the dead seemed to be gathered about the library. All the scrolls were taken, though none of the jewels. The only ones we found alive were children too young to speak.’”

  He looked beyond us, thinking. “I found several reports like this one, up until I reached an account of the Deluge. I can recite more if you’d like, but they’re all the same. I also went deep into the archives since I already knew many of the current tales. I reviewed for myself how a tale dies.” He paused. “These Blue Riders, these Kaerun, have been identified as tales that were turned against their own, so I tried to discover how to destroy a tale. I found many instances of men who tried to get rid of troublesome tales, but the only effective method they found was to make sure no one spoke the story.

  “There’s one instance in the scrolls that we still speak of in Fahalla, about a man who came into power by killing the old king. This man, Wescott, didn’t like the tale of the previous king’s great-grandfather, who had started that particular dynasty. The tale reminded the people of who should be on the throne, so he outlawed speaking it, and his troops enforced the order.

  “The story didn’t like that and lashed out. Any time someone would hail Wescott as king, torches would suddenly spark up or go out; food would go rotten before its time or wine would turn sour. This continued until Wescott was an old man himself and his son was preparing to take the throne. No one had spoken the tale of the previous king’s great-grandfather for nearly fifty-seven harvests. By that time, the story was finally starting to die.

  “As Wescott was drinking some wine, a man hailed him as king. The story lashed out with all it had left, and Wescott choked. He died right there, along with the story he had sought to kill for so long.

  “Interestingly enough, the story had a ‘child’ as it were, as this story about a tale is still told today in the Southern realms, to illustrate how hard it is to kill a story. We use these kinds of tales to comfort our storytellers in training, so they know whatever they say won’t likely harm the one they are trying to strengthen. Or appease.”

  Yolian gave a worried look. “We obviously don’t have that much time, and it appears these Kaerun have moved beyond the need to be told. I did search for other ways that stories might die, but the most often cited cause is the simple forgetfulness of the races of the earth. If we don’t remember the story, it will fade and vanish. It’s not feasible for everyone who’s faced the Blue Riders to simply forget them, though.

  “I could find nothing else that might cause a tale’s demise. I even searched for stories that devour their own, but with no success. These creatures are new to me, as well as everyone else. Something like them may have struck the cities of men before the Deluge. But if those had somehow survived, surely, they would have continued striking out since then. No, these Blue Riders are an unknown enemy. I found no other tale to aid us.”

  “It was a difficult and even confusing search, I agree.” It was my turn. “I found some things that are disturbing if they are true.” I closed my eyes, putting my thoughts back into order. “The Archivers had been searching for anything that might be of use to us since the Kaerun revealed themselves, and I was shown a wealth of material. I fear what that material means once put together.” I sighed, closing my eyes. “What do you know of the Deluge?”

  I could tell by the silence they weren’t sure how to take my question. I decided to continue. “Everything you researched backs up what was discovered for me. I need you to tell me the tale of the Deluge.” More stories. Stories would kill us, but we had to tell them to find a way to defeat them. And I had.

  But the price.

  Finally, Yolian spoke. “Do you want the full tale, or a condensed one?”

  Damn the tales. “Tell it as you would to a young child.”

  “Very well.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Before Yolian spoke a single word, the vision took me yet again.

  In the east, Jayan waited with his Spiremen and a group of brothers from the North. A small form stood among them. She spoke with the Spireman King. Both were ready for the attack when it came.

  “They killed my son, and I will kill them,” Jayan swore.

  Galatea nodded. “If there’s a way to destroy them. You can’t destroy water, though.”

  Jayan glanced down at her. “There’s always a way to conquer the cold of darkness. You just need to find the right fire to fight it.”

  Galatea touched the white fur cloak on her shoulders. “I know the right fire.”

  Jayan’s gaze softened. “It looks proper on you. When our battle is done, come with me. See his home. You will be welcome at the Spires.”

  A smile touched her lips. “I have duties. A mate. I should probably be with him now, actually.”

  Jayan raised an eyebrow. “A mate?” He frowned.

  Galatea shook her head. “Just a mate. Not a husband.”

  Whisperings came on the wind. Jayan and Galatea turned to see what would come, holding the conversation for later. The magical walls fell. The troops braced themselves.

  Here, only the generals charged. They came without any screeching or screaming, barreling out of the darkness toward the line. Jayan threw the first harpoon, striking a general on the brow of his head. The harpoon sunk into his skull, and he fell after this single blow.

  The other men, heartened by such a sudden victory, rained missiles onto the approaching generals.

  Galatea struck flint. Flames shot out, forming a line directly in the path of the racing behemoths. They pushed through the sudden heat. Two more fell from harpoons and heat before they reached the battle line.

  Men from the North work well together, so they moved as single units, harrying with blades and pikes below while raining harpoons from above. It worked well, for a moment.

  And then the generals swung their great blades, and men began to bleed and die. The arms of the generals were too strong, and the line began to break.

  I heard a great flapping of wings and familiar screeching from the sky.

  Jayan cried in wonder when he saw the great allies strike at the generals from above. They slashed out with cat’s claws and eagle’s beak, opening the veins of many of the enemies.

  But the success at the beginning of the battle did not hold.

  Where Abani fought, the goblin tide began to overflow past the immediate defenses. The goblins were frantic, trying to breach the lines.

  Bands of reinforcements leaped from the roofs of the buildings around that street. White goblins bounded down the walls or simply fell into the melee. They wrestled with goblins that had made it past the first line of defense. When their darker cousins saw this new addition to the battle, they began to fight more fiercely.

  The Kaerun made note of these reinforcements as well. “Many years ago, Daviel, the great champion who had helped create the race of white goblins, died. The white goblins stole his body away so it could not be properly buried by the Men of the West. No one knew what they had done, and Parvian, Garrendai, and Cassuni all accused each other of the theft. Soon war broke out among the nations.

  “Eventually it was discovered. The white goblins had betrayed me
n; they had only been sworn to serve Daviel and none other. They took the body to serve the one they were pledged to. The Men of the West knew they could never trust the goblins again. They were crafty and shrewd and would throw off their bonds of loyalty whenever possible.”

  Men’s eyes turned blue. They began to attack goblins, both fell and white, slaying either without regard to race. “They will betray us!” they shouted.

  The white goblins defended themselves from the men but also continued striking down their fell cousins. One Parvian soldier wrapped his hands around the throat of a fallen white goblin. He squeezed, and I saw the joy on the man’s face.

  The white goblin gasped and stuttered a few words: “We remember oaths of old. Your promises to us now uphold.”

  The Parvian recoiled, and it started a chain reaction. I saw something akin to the words used in speaking spells shoot from the man and ricochet among all the troops.

  I had not known: White goblins and goblins did not believe in tales. But they had similar abilities when it came to oaths. As they were bound by what they said, they could bind others. And now, the white goblins were forcing the men to hold their oath.

  Men stopped fighting their allies and turned back to battle their true enemies.

  Meanwhile, at the north end of the city, a new sound split the night. Men were screaming out in the darkness, beyond where the dwarves or the elves could see. Behind enemy lines.

  Lazul paused in his fighting, momentarily allowed to catch his breath. “What?” He peered into the forest, trying to see what was making the sound. “Did they capture some of our men?”

  His answer came on many pounding feet.

  They had been men, their spines warped and bent, their eyes blank, their clothes tatters. They held long jagged blades, much heavier than anything an average man could have been able to carry. Their skin was pale gray. These were not-men, those who had been corrupted and joined Garethen’s foul crusade. And now they served the Blue Riders.

  The screaming wave struck upon the shore of dwarves, and this time the shore broke under the pressure. The dwarves met them with axes and armor, but the not-men fought savagely and with their heads as well as their muscles. First Chrysomen of the Jaed fell, and then his companion in arms, Aesthynine.

  Daragen attempted to get in their way, but they raced past the little man. Only one of them noticed him. The not-man stopped and snarled, “Is it a dwarf or a man? Perhaps he is part goat.”

  Daragen didn’t have time for this. All around the dwarves were battling for their lives. Out of the sudden gap in the line both goblins and not-men poured. He crouched low, his daggers held wide, and let them answer for him.

  The not-man smiled. “Oh, no, little one. I know your tricks. I will not come that close to you. My blade will come as near as I need.” He thrust the jagged thing toward Daragen, who easily parried with one of his knives, pushing the blade up. He rolled under it, standing next to the not-man.

  “No. You don’t know my tricks.” Daragen disemboweled him.

  Lazul shouted while he battled two not-men with great difficulty, “Get back! We must protect the city!”

  The dwarven line began to fall apart as they retreated step after grudging step. Goblins and not-men poured through the breaks in the line.

  The not-men ran toward the city, laughing.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Yolian still looked skeptical but relented. He recited, “Long ago, before Chariis was raised on the earth as a beacon to all races, the Fallen Lord Garethen was betrayed. The great general Ydarion had kept a piece of Garethen’s ash. He was corrupted. Without the ash, Garethen could not reform. Ydarion now led the dark armies and set out to conquer all the world. No one could stand against him, especially now that Garethen could not regenerate.

  “But the forces of light gathered together to stand against them. Dwarves, elves, and men banded together and fought as one under the leadership of a young brenevai named Tor. However, despite the courage of the allied races, the fell armies were too great for them. The forces of light fell back again and again, defeated in battle after battle. Finally, all their armies were on one mountain, clinging together against the onslaught.

  “And so they fought together, men and women, struggling against the forces of darkness, with the last children in the world higher on the mountain they encircled. They stood their ground this way for three days.

  “On dawn of the fourth day, the sun rose as scarlet as the blood that stained the earth. Tor rose to see the ascending orb and turned to his beloved wife. ‘We will fall on this day,’ he said to her through tears.

  “‘Then let us fall together, fighting for all that is right.’ She clasped his hand to her heart, her eyes peering into his. ‘We will not fall to him softly. Let him see how all our races will fight together.’

  “But Tor had formed a plan in the night. He kissed his wife one final time, and she savored it. She knew that this would be the last time she would see her husband. Tor went alone to the field of battle before any of those around him rose. He walked across the bare field until he was halfway between the encampment of darkness and the last encampment of hope. He raised a blade, a long, slender, curved blade that glinted crimson, reflecting the bloody sun.

  “He called out, ‘All hail Ydarion, lord of all the lands! He has conquered all the peoples, even usurping Garethen himself. But now, his destruction is at hand.’

  “At that, Ydarion appeared in armor as dark as his heart, a sealed pendant of Garethen’s ashes hanging at his breast. He sneered. ‘I will not be tricked by such a ploy, son of the brenevai. You have no hope to stand against me. Your death here can only seal my victory.’

  “‘I am not your destruction. It is the Fallen Lord you should fear.’ Tor called.

  “‘I am the Fallen Lord now,’ Ydarion replied. But as he lifted the pendant from his chest, he realized the ash was gone. Somehow, it had been loosed and surely whisked back to Ban Marsatha. ‘You did this!’ he raged at Tor and drew his blade to slay him.

  “Tor smiled. ‘A simple spell to free a pendant. I only had to be close enough to cast it.’

  “‘Usurper!’ Suddenly Garethen stood before them, eyes burning. Fierce rage burned in his heart, and he seized his blade.”

  There were some differences in Yolian’s telling, details that didn’t quite line up with the way we told it in the North. But now I understood the reason for it. Now that I knew the truth.

  Yolian did not know the thoughts of my heart and continued. “Garethen struck with a mighty blow, but at the last minute Ydarion spun away. Tor saw that his purpose had been fulfilled. The battle was joined, and all would see it. So, he turned to flee back to his people. Yet it would not be so.

  “Garethen and Ydarion clashed suddenly and violently, turning all their powers on each other. The second blow shook the earth, and Tor fell to the quaking ground. The third such strike rent the heavens, and suddenly the sky split above them so that clouds raced away, and the stars fled. Mountains shook, and Garethen’s armies began to race for the holes they had hidden in before they had been stirred by their lords.

  “The Fallen Lords closed on each other again, and surely the earth could not endure another clash. At that moment, the evil that the earth had come to was seen from above. As Garethen and Ydarion battled for ownership of a ruined earth, all patience was exhausted. The floodgates of the depths were opened, and the waters poured forth. They raced through the deeps, drowning all the goblins that had been left there to guard hordes of jewels. The waters burst through the ground, spouting geysers into the air.

  “Tor’s wife saw all this, and she alone was brave enough to try to save her beloved. The waters spread quickly, starting with the very spot where the Fallen Lords battled. Garethen was turned to ash, and Ydarion was hurtled far away by the force of the blast. The waters gushed forth. Yet Tor’s wife raced to him.

  “At last she reached him, flinging herself on top of him. She whispered a few last words
into his ear, and suddenly he was borne away on a wind of words from her lips. The waters took her instead of Tor. That is why we know her now as the Beloved, and by no other name.

  “Tor was taken back to the mountain where he ordered his people to race up the sides of the cliffs to escape the waters. The dark forces were destroyed, it seemed. And Garethen, taken back and reformed at Ban Marsatha, his first fortress, raced to protect the lands that were his. Using all his powers, he raised the Jaws of the Demon, Raumioch Beti, in hopes of keeping away the flood waters. It didn’t matter. They swept clean his lands as well, and all perished.

  “Back at the mountain, Tor ordered that trees be cut down and hollowed, to be used as boats to ride upon the waters. In this way, what remained of the nations survived. Their tiny fleet floated above the flood. All below drowned.

  “After some time, the waters receded, and Tor founded Chariis where they landed. Some say it is the true name of the Beloved, others believe it is the name of the world before the Deluge. None that know will tell. But from here, all the races went out to live. And to this day, Chariis stands as a testament that the forces of light will never again suffer the fell armies to grow so strong as to choke out all goodness from the land. Tor was named the Sargon, the keeper of all the lands, the one who would ever look to peace.

  “And so he stays, watching, as the Sargon, the leader, the Lord of Chariis. Here ends the account of the Deluge.” Yolian fell silent.

  After an appropriate moment of quiet, I nodded. “Well said, and as quickly as such a tale may be told.” I paused. “It is lies.”

  The others turned to me, eyes wide.

  “Yes. We have been deceived. The Deluge was meant to wipe the world clean of the fell races. It was caused by the battle between Ydarion and Garethen. But we have been wrong about Garethen all this time. He was not the Fallen Lord before the Deluge. Ydarion was. Garethen was the Sargon.”