Yolian shook his head. “Impossible.”
“I wish it were. Yet, hear me, Yolian. In all the tales that take place before the Deluge, Ydarion is supposed to be the ancient foe. Garethen stood with the forces of light.
“That day, Tor remained behind on the mountain and ordered the forces to climb to safety. And it was Garethen who went out to meet the Fallen Lord Ydarion in single combat. Not to lead the dark armies, but to defeat them.”
“But how could Garethen be the Lord of Darkness now, if then he was Sargon?”
“Because Garethen killed Ydarion in that combat and kept a piece of his ash before it blew away on the wind. Then it was Garethen who caused the Deluge with his own powerful blows. Somehow, he knew that such a combat would release the floodgates and wipe everything clean. And apparently Garethen was willing to pay so high a cost. But the people didn’t agree that their lives were worth wiping everything clean. They were angry after the flood, and Ydarion was no longer there to blame.
“Perhaps Garethen felt that the survivors owed him their allegiance. He had been Sargon and Keeper of Tales before the Deluge, after all. Perhaps seeing them flock to Tor, seeing him as Sargon and Keeper of Tales instead, was too much for him. I don’t know. But the ash did corrupt Garethen. He did become the Fallen Lord.”
There was silence for a few moments. Yolian broke it. “What does this have to do with the Blue Riders now? The Deluge was long ago. And the Fallen Lord of our story is already defeated, his ash gone.”
I looked up at him. “You’re right. But it has to do with stories. The waters wiped away all the old tales. The only ones that survived were the ones that Tor carried with him. The children that survived were too young to know many, and most of the others that the flood water carried were soldiers. Their minds knew fighting, not stories.” My eyes turned to the floor. “Even the stories that survived the Deluge might be corrupted by other tales.”
I looked up. “But I know this. Tor may believe that he is destined to become the new Lord of Darkness now that Garethen is gone. That may be why he left Chariis when he did, before he could cause it harm. I know he believed firmly in the stories, which means he knew that every tale must have a Fallen Lord. So if there was no Fallen Lord, he knew the tales would see to it that one would be created. And he would be the logical candidate. So, he’s gone somewhere beyond their reach, if such a place exists. He’s fled the power of the tales.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
I was an old fool.
I realized at that moment. We had gathered at Chariis because that’s what all the old tales said. If Chariis fell, the entire world fell. As long as Chariis stood, every nation that loved light would stand. We had gathered to protect Chariis with our militaries because that’s what the stories said. We thought the Kaerun gathered here because that’s what the stories said.
But they had gathered here because this was where the stories were. That was their power. They ate stories.
We’d gathered the troops to protect the city. The city didn’t matter.
The Library! That mattered! And if the Kaerun could feast here—
—wouldn’t they just be doing what I wanted to do? To free us from the stories?
No. They wanted to destroy us. I wanted to strengthen us. Two men might have calluses on their hands, one a warrior, but the other a farmer. The Kaerun and I might both want to destroy stories, but for vastly different reasons. I was nothing like them. They would not be selective in their destruction. They would not seek to save or tame some tales. They would spare none.
And that meant, for now at least, we had to protect the Library.
I leaped to my feet, looking at Kae’A and Yolian. “Call everyone. Rally at the Library! The Colonnade doesn’t matter. The city itself doesn’t matter. Everyone converge here!”
Kae’A nodded and raced across the ground before unfurling his wings and soaring into the sky. Yolian raced away without questioning me.
Just as I had once never questioned the wisdom of stories.
I sprinted into the square. Dark forces raced through the streets, a few goblins here, a few there—the ones and twos and threes that had pushed their way through the lines.
The Cassuni at the triage unit saw the dark creatures racing their way. They braced themselves, leaving the unit behind to defend as best they could. And then more goblins flooded the street. Not-men began sprinting toward the Library.
No longer a dribble of forces, it became an all-out charge. The Cassuni formed up, holding knives and blades and other weapons I didn’t bother cataloging at the time. The lines crashed together. There were far too many goblins for this little force. I sprinted to the line, drawing Northwind as I went. I sprang into a hole in the defenses, swinging my blade.
I was new to the battle, but exhaustion already weighed down my arms. The flight had cost me so much. Beyond that, I was an old man and no longer used to fighting. The surge of energy that accompanies any battle, regardless the age of the man, had already come and gone when I witnessed the first stories. My muscles ached.
Every goblin that came at me had a firebrand hanging from its belt. Did all the goblins have one? I had not noticed earlier. Now it was of paramount importance. I shouted as loud as I could over the din, “Keep them back! They mean to burn the Library!”
Those fighting around me surged forward, as if this realization had given them energy. We could not allow the Library to fall.
A goblin attacked. I swung my blade, blocking his. He came at me with a savage bite, and I lunged into the open maw with a dagger. Blade pierced soft palate. I flung the new carcass aside, readying myself for the next challenger. I panted for breath. Pain blossomed in my chest.
From above I heard a griffin’s screech. I did not turn but kept fighting. A new goblin took the place of the old, and my blade bounced off the armor on his shoulder as I attempted a downward slash. He swung a mace at me, and I backstepped, avoiding the weapon’s arc. My feet slipped on ground made slick from blood. I fell to the pavement. The goblin screamed in pleasure. The beast raised its mace high, ready to take my life.
A blur, and a griffin stood above me, slashing out in bursts with his beak. One paw sat on my chest, but its claws were sheathed. The goblin scampered backward. Feet dropped to the ground next to the animal, and hands reached down to help me up. I rose to see Daragen’s grim face.
“We’ve lost the line in the south.” He dodged a goblin that made it past the griffin. I smote it with my blade as Daragen continued. “Battle’s moved building to building, each holding out for the moment. But they’re winning.”
Goblins were not well trained with the use of man’s weapons, but it mattered little when they were more numerous than words in a storyteller’s mouth.
Daragen continued his report. “Yolian’s griffin carried your message to us. The men that can break away will gather here, as you ordered, but I don’t understand why. There’s no strategic importance to this place.”
“Yes, there is.” I grunted out through strained lips as I defended from another attacker. “The Blue Riders.” I paused as I thrust my blade into a goblin and bent to retrieve a fallen blade. “They feed off stories.”
“So why would they destroy such a rich food supply?” Daragen turned to face me, away from the battle. The griffin moved to defend us. More of our soldiers had streamed into the courtyard. The goblins called a momentary retreat.
I panted, “Those who control the stories control the world.”
Daragen’s face was grim. “So, this is about more than destroying the political power of the races.”
“Yes.”
He glanced over me at the arch. “Then we have to protect all the scrolls here. And not just for the stories’ sakes.”
I could suddenly see from above, as if I were on Kree’Ah’s back. Men, elves, and dwarves streamed through the streets of the city. They were being chased by all sorts of darkness. I could see great swooping shapes darting in and out of the clouds
, briefly illuminated by fires below and then dark again. They were all fleeing here.
The courtyard before the arch was littered with corpses, and a great deal of them wore the amethyst of the Archivers. Many Chariisi had died defending this place. Many more of our soldiers had died out there. We had been cursed simply because Chariis had not been built for war. It had been built for peace and with the surety that no force would come against it in numbers, though every story that spoke of this city in peril always had it on the brink of destruction.
It was always this way in stories. Lives were sacrificed, and the city was always ready to fall when a tide of light swept away all the fell things, restoring hope. Come the dawn, all would be made right. Somehow.
But what if you destroyed the stories? What if you destroyed the stories that said light would always prevail? What would happen if the Kaerun devoured every story where the unlikely hero triumphed?
Not every story was evil, was it? Not every story should be culled. What if we lost the protection of the stories?
Damn the stories for chaining us, for making us depend on them. Damn us for relying on the crutch.
Lazul gathered our generals, and soldiers formed up into ranks.
And then it seemed that all the dark forces withdrew from the city. They would return for the next assault soon.
We prepared for them.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Soldiers carried and dragged their wounded to the square before the Library. Soldiers screamed. They cried. The triage unit was overwhelmed. Overturned triage cots were set aright, and makeshift wards established. Those trained to magically knit flesh together moved from wound to wound.
A few other magic users moved through the crowd of soldiers, stopping here and there to speak words of encouragement. They formed webs among the troops. They tied the armies together with their words, tightening bonds and strengthening arms as they went. They could not speak to every soldier, but they could make sure that there were strong men, encouraged in body and spirit, who would lead their brothers. Elves, dwarves, men, all received the same encouragement. Now was the time to regroup.
A shout sounded from above. I looked up the cliff face, past the arched opening of the Library, and saw several heads peering over the edge. From the distance it was hard to ascertain who they were, other than that they were allies. I waved, drawing attention to myself. The shout came again. “Adal! Good to see you made it through!”
The weight on my heart lessened just a bit. I answered, “And you, as well.”
“It’ll take more than a few overgrown vermin to take me out. I’ve got more to live for than this!”
“Of course I had to save him a few times!” A feminine voice called out.
Jayan glanced beside him before bellowing down to me. “What did my son ever see in this liar?”
Galatea punched him in the shoulder.
With a laugh, I called up, “Keep them off our backs, will you?”
“As long as they don’t shoot your face full of arrows!”
He and the others that had been looking down with him vanished. Jayan had moved, concentrating his forces here to protect us. It was comforting to know that an old friend had my back.
A thunderous drumbeat sounded that I felt with my entire being. Oh, that was too fast. We didn’t have enough time to rest. The men around me shifted. The drumbeat sounded again, and a few pebbles fell down the cliff behind me.
“Be ready!” I shouted. Too soon. They were attacking again too soon. I had expected more people to rally here; either they had not received the message and were barricading themselves into various buildings, or too many of us had been slaughtered already. I liked neither alternative.
The drum beat a third time, and an unholy ruckus filled the air. Thousands of goblins screamed. I heard the screeching of what sounded like owls, and the howls of dark beasts. Over it all, I heard the whispered laughter of the Kaerun.
They charged out of the darkness, a great tempest of blades and armor and menacing eyes. They rushed from every street that fed into the square, and we could see them from a long, long way off because of the lit streets. Arrows flew from behind us, showering the enemy. Many fell, but others trampled the dead and dying, flying ever faster toward our blades.
They did not stop screaming.
The spellcasters loosed boulders of flame that engulfed five, ten, twenty goblins at a time, incinerating them. It did not matter. They ran towards us, raising their chorus of shouts.
I made my way to the front of the line. Enough of standing back. Enough of waiting to see what would happen.
Words formed more flames and armor and healing. Arrows hailed onto the onrushing forms. Nothing stopped them. They came over their own dead, not heeding the number fallen. It did not matter.
I held Northwind in a ready stance, drawn up next to my face, ready to be pulled back so it might smite the first foe to come within its reach. I drew in a breath, and then—
They were upon us. My sword bit through the neck of the first goblin and penetrated the armor of the second. Griffins swept above and over me, striking out at goblins below, clearing momentary paths here and there in the melee. The Garrendai beside me struck out with daggers, felling foe after foe. On my other side, a Parvian sword dancer flung her blades about with wild abandon, severing joint and marrow on many a goblin. They began piling up around us.
The whispered voice came to my ears, and those around me heard as well. I didn’t know how, but the voice of the Kaerun had penetrated Chariis. “Do you recall when Zadal, City by the Jaws, fell? Do you know the story? Its people were proud and strong, and they thought they could withstand the siege the goblins had set all around it.”
A breeze started blowing from the same direction the goblins flowed. The wind carried foul words. They looked like leaves that were half-burned in blue fire. The wicked things started settling on the troops around me.
Our troops didn’t stop fighting. In truth, they couldn’t. The goblins still attacked, and it’s against the very nature of a man to give in and allow himself to be slain. Yet already they were slowing, as if a great weight had begun to press itself upon their hearts.
Stories again. They weighed us down. And now they would kill us.
I needed some way to fight back against the story. I needed a way to reach all the soldiers.
Of course. I’d already used it once before. I backed away from the front line, hoping against hope that the way to the summit above the Library was protected. No, I wouldn’t be able to get in that way. Fighting would be intense there.
I called out, “Kree’Ah! I need you!”
The drum sounded again. Suddenly I couldn’t catch my breath, and I fell to one knee. A goblin broke through the lines and hovered over me, about to strike. I lunged with Northwind, but it wasn’t a clean stroke. Luck saved me as the goblin’s blade swung wide. I slashed again, and the beast fell. I flopped onto the ground, trying to catch my breath.
A great shadow passed over me, and strong paws lifted me. “Adal, I have come. Where will I take you?”
“The Colonnade,” I answered. “Quickly.”
The whispering voice continued. “The best and strongest of every race had founded the city to stand against the might of everything evil. They built strong walls and prepared themselves with the best weapons forged of steel and magic. They placed it near the shadow of the Fallen Lord’s power, so that it might call out a challenge to him. They thought they were ready.”
I knew how this story ended. It was not a good ending. In days past, it had been used as a warning to not grow overconfident. It was a good warning story. Used now, it would be disastrous.
Every story twisted. Every tale an enemy.
This is what I had fallen in love with. This is where I had fled when my son…
… When my son had died. Fled from the pain of the real world for the comfort of stories. Because they were always so much better, weren’t they? Of course they were. A prince�
�s sacrifice meant something there. Every advance had a cost, but it was a cost paid well. But when the stories came to life, when I was forced to live the story, when the prince sacrificed was a dear friend… what good were the tales then?
And now. Now they came to destroy us.
And the only thing I could think to counter that story... was a different story. I felt foul even thinking it. But why should I? I’d honored Korah with a story.
Stories were only weapons. All they did was kill. Well, time to use them to kill the Kaerun, then.
But that would still do no good if I couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t I breathe?
The ground fell away beneath me. Kree’Ah’s mighty wings lifted us from the square. Goblins cheered. They began hurtling spears toward the griffin. Why wasn’t he flying faster? I dimly realized that I was making him awkward. He couldn’t fly as well holding me in his paws.
The great form shook once as its wings continued to beat the air.
From the height I saw the words of burning leaves continue to fall onto the battle. The poisonous things clung to soldiers. I looked down onto my own chest and found one of the leaves, blue flames licking my skin. It struggled against me, as if it was trying to lay down roots into my heart.
I reached up to pull the leech-like thing off, but my fingers passed through it. Of course. It was a word and couldn’t be affected by flesh and blood.
The foul voice continued. “The goblin hordes came in the night. They bore torches made of the bones of fallen comrades and dipped in human fat. The watchmen of Zadal could not see the end of the armies.
“The men of Zadal were ready, they thought. They let loose with arrows that filled the sky, more numerous than the stars ten times over. Thousands of goblins fell, but it did not matter. More marched to replace them. More arrows fell upon that battlefield than had ever been gathered in one place before, nor have even been made since, yet the goblins’ numbers were more. Even as they are now.”
The Keeper of Tales Page 35
