The goblins surged forward. Our line was buckling. The words fell thicker. People were moving more slowly, even sluggishly. They were falling more easily than they should have.
Kree’Ah lowered me onto the floor of the Colonnade. I coughed and struggled for breath.
Words. I needed words of my own. I’d been given a weapon. I needed to use the blade for good. Use the tales.
The Colonnade was no good without words. My mind grew dark. My breath came in pained gasps, and the edges of my vision grew dim. I could see the foul thing on my chest digging deeper and deeper. I was surprised I didn’t see blood welling up.
Blood welling up. A scream. A cry.
My mind moved in a way that minds sometimes do. It took one fact, holding on to just that, and found something else that fit.
A cry.
I remembered the birth of my son. Gayala had a terribly difficult labor. She’d been screaming in pain for so long. All the scars I’d received in battle up to that point didn’t pain me as much as her face did that entire time. Yet, at the end, there was a cry, and it was not hers.
He’d been born healthy. A boy. Braden.
I remember what had happened to the world then. Suddenly, there was more. I wanted the world to be better because of him. Suddenly, I had hope, not because the world was better, not because anything out there had changed. It was because I needed a reason for this little one to have hope.
Hope.
“A child’s cry.” My rough voice wheezed out the words. I saw them fly from my lips and strike the blue flame on my chest. The pressure about my heart lessened. “We fight not for ourselves, but for our children.” The words, again, moved down to the thing that had paralyzed me. “A story is only a weapon. It can harm, or it can protect. And the stories that protected me…” I closed my eyes. “The stories that protected me shall protect our children. And their children. And their children!”
Did I believe it? Were stories that good? Would we tell the tales to those who came after? Could I tell stories when I knew what danger they held?
My doubts didn’t matter. The words became a burning sword that struck the leaf, shattering it to ash.
The pressure was gone. But my words had been too quiet, spoken only for me. The whispered tale of the Kaerun still gathered power.
I had missed some of the story when I collapsed. It didn’t matter. I closed my ears as best I could and shouted into the breeze. I held Northwind before me and strode to the center of the Colonade. The ancient engravings on the columns and floor sprang to life.
“Some stories end in tragedy, yes, but we fight on! We have a fire no fell creature will ever understand. We fight for a crying child!” The words formed hawks that swooped and dove down to the square. They hunted the burning leaves of the Kaerun, diving through them, shattering them into ash. Others glided among the soldiers, pecking at words that clung to them.
“In a child’s cry there are so many stories untold, and we fight for that! Every child born into this world has a story to tell, and we will not let you alter their story for your own will! We will not let you steal their stories, nor the stories of their ancestors! We will tell the tales we have known from of old and let these children tell them again!”
No, it was not a story I told. It was a tale about stories. About what we fought for. About the stories yet to come.
A drumbeat, again. The glowing hawks of my tale faltered.
“Continue, Adal!” Kree’Ah encouraged.
Use the blade. Use the weapon. Use the stories. “In ancient days there was a tale of a darkness that threatened to engulf the world. Yet men of good heart stood against it, with blade and bow and magic incantation. They lined the fields and faced an army much greater than theirs. They stood, and the sun rose before them, showing all the dark hosts that they were not afraid. Not one drop of blood was spilled that day because the dark armies fled. They knew that no matter their numbers, no matter their tricks, as long as men stood courageous and firm, darkness would fail as easily as the last ashes in the fire.”
As I finished the tale, my words combined into one majestic bird of light. It flew straight and true into the wind, scattering all the lies of the enemy. I lost sight of it, but what had been in the background, the story of the Blue Riders, suddenly cut short.
I panted from my effort, but I knew I had to rejoin the battle in a physical way. “Kree’Ah, take me back down.” I turned to face the griffin and started.
Red stained his white feathers. A spear still hung from his flank. His golden eyes turned to me. “I am sorry, Keeper of Tales.” He panted. “I have been matched to you. I will carry you again. Yet, know this. It will be my last flight.”
He picked me up in his mighty paws and glided down to the square. He placed me amid allies and leaped again. He soared above the dangerous horde. I would never see him again.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Our line surged forward. Dried and withered words fell off soldiers. They forced the goblins back.
Then, once more the drum beat, low and hollow, and the goblins were rabid in their attempts to break our line. Before they had been a strong force, attacking savagely, but now they were running into us with wild abandon. I paused, squinting into the darkness until I saw him.
Thesairh.
He strode high above the line of the attacking goblins. I saw him from far off and knew in an instant that this was no other general. This was the beast that we had faced down in the lands of the Graz, the one who had laughed as Cerulean died. The one who had sent his wife, Delia, to shatter the Graz before he even arrived. My heart leaped, and a cold story ignited again.
The general strolled, his great blade not even in his hands. He looked like he had not a care in the world. He smiled.
I slashed viciously at the next goblin to stand before me, and I stepped out beyond our line. I raced, turning and twisting, striking and lunging, trying to reach the monster. I wanted him dead. More and more goblins stepped into my path. They seemed thickest between me and my quarry. It was not good for them to be there.
I suddenly saw, from eyes much closer to the general than I was. Somehow Yolian had waded through the fell tide and stood in a clearing before Thesairh. He had no blade in his hands, though his robes were soaked in blood. His face was calm, but his hands twitched.
The dark, horned face looked down on the first enemy to face him. “You are familiar, small one. Ah, yes. You are Yolian, noble elf that ran from me. Such bravery you exhibited.” The dark face broke into a smile. “I have learned so much about you.” Carelessly, a gigantic hand reached into a pouch that hung from his belt. Thesairh’s eyes did not leave Yolian’s.
The hand returned bearing a small object. He held it out for Yolian to see.
Karen Cordolis lay in the palm of his hand. Her eyes were closed, but I did not trust that she was merely sleeping.
His great voice rumbled. “She was particularly useful to us. She would not keep quiet about anything. She kept informing us how we would all be slain in short work by her valiant friends. She told us all about you. My wife wanted her dead, of course, but I’m glad I kept her alive. Once the city is ours, I’ll give this little one to her. She has such plans. She’s gathered many recipes to use her.” Thesairh’s laugh sounded like two boulders grinding together. “And now that my commanders are not present, I can slay you without having to worry about them harvesting your stories.
“Oh, do you want this little woman? She is yours, if you defeat me.” He plunged his hand back into the pouch, depositing Karen Cordolis. She had not stirred once.
Yolian still bore no weapon, but he stood his ground. The area around them stayed clear, though goblins streamed past to get to the front lines.
The elf smiled. “Do you know the legend of the behemoth who walked the streets of Chariis, so long ago?”
Thesairh drew his long blade. He struck faster than any being that large should be able to move. The blade thrust forward, toward Yolian’s ribs.
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The elf spun and kicked at the flat of the blade, sending it off the opposite direction. The behemoth used his forward momentum to try to tackle the elf. Yolian leaped upwards, stepping lightly on the beast’s back, and off again as Thesairh moved past him.
“You see, he thought he was clever. He walked into Chariis without his army. He knew the legends, that no force could ever overrun the Fabled City. So, he did not try to overrun the city. He simply walked in, past the Sentinel at the stream, past the memorials, and approached the stairs to the Sargon’s Colonnade.”
Thesairh turned, his teeth gritted.
I couldn’t see Yolian’s words. He wasn’t weaving a spell.
The dark general’s arm struck out to the side, grabbing one of his goblins by the throat. The huge brute threw the smaller soldier towards Yolian. At the same time, he swiped out with his blade.
Yolian dodged beneath the goblin that flew through the air. He saw the blade skimming toward him as he crouched on the ground. He spoke three quick words. “But he forgot.”
I saw words appear in midair. These were not words from Yolian’s mouth. They were drawn from the atmosphere around him. The words caught the blade’s tip and held it fast, scant handbreadths from Yolian’s face.
The elf continued. “Chariis needed no protectors. The stories that dwelled in the Fabled City protected it. Many were forgotten, of course, and could do little to aid the fight. But for those who knew the words, they rallied.”
Oh, Yolian.
He knew the weapons. He knew how to use the stories. Of course. I was not the only one.
The sword started to glow. Thesairh recoiled from the hilt. The blade clattered as it struck the ground. I smelled burnt flesh.
“The behemoth thought he was so clever, but he didn’t realize that the stories gathered to protect their own. And the stairs to the Colonnade were so near the Library. And there the stories congregated and did all they could to make sure their own were never destroyed.”
Words moved now and started gathering about the dark general’s body. The words didn’t match, as if they had been told by different mouths or even belonged to different tales. Here, an angular word that looked as if it would cut the mouth that spoke it, slashed at Thesairh’s skin. There, a softer word that looked as if it had been whispered soaked into the armor at a hinge and weakened it.
The beast felt the words working at him, though he could not see them. He spun, his mind suddenly off the elf, looking for what was attacking him. His gaze flashed back to Yolian, his eyes narrowing. “You will stop speaking.” The voice was barely more than a growl.
Yolian’s eyes sparkled. He was nearing the end of his tale. “The behemoth was attacked by all the numerous stories there, the tales of battle cutting at his skin.”
Thesairh’s head jerked back. A word gashed the flesh over his left eye. Blood flowed down. His hands twitched, grasping, as if already holding the elf between his fingers.
“The endings of tragic stories wrapped their fingers about his chest so he couldn’t breathe.”
Slithering words squeezed around his chest. The armor creaked. Thesairh took a step forward, his one good eye intent on the elf.
“The stories of joyful births filled his ears with laughter that frustrated him.”
Bright, pulsating words flew into his ears. His hands flew up, but it was too late. He ducked down, trying to cradle his head, but only for a moment. Thesairh knew what was happening. He stepped forward again. He was only a few paces from Yolian, but the elf did not retreat a step. Yolian’s eyes were intent on his foe, his mouth continued speaking the story that called forth the aid of the tales that resided here.
“And finally, the fables that told of the defeats evil has suffered, hammered down from above, crushing the skull—”
A roar shattered the gathering words, scattering them every direction in the wind. The dark bands encircling Thesairh crumbled, and his chest expanded. Both the behemoth and the elf looked to the side.
Lazul held an axe in each hand. They dripped blood, and dead goblins littered the ground behind him. His eyes were wide and very, very white. He bared his teeth and pointed one axe toward the dark general. “Beast. I will put you down,” he growled. The axe he pointed shook, but not from fear.
The behemoth had faced off against words that nearly killed him without blinking, but now he took a step backwards. That was all that was needed.
Lazul spun where he stood, releasing a roar that came from far below the roots of any mountain. He hurled an axe. It spun through the air and struck Thesairh in the chest. He fell back another step. Dark blood spurted from the wound.
Lazul continued his roar. He charged, second axe ready.
He couldn’t reach the general’s head to decapitate him, so he took out the behemoth’s legs. His axe hewed through muscle and bone, chopping off one foot. Thesairh toppled to the ground.
The dwarf leaped onto the general’s chest and brought the axe to his throat. “Where is she, Gareth-Spawn?” Lazul’s eyes were still wide, and his chest was heaving.
Thesairh took one breath, and then a second. “She is in my pack. She sleeps.”
“Take her out and give her to me. Slowly.”
Yolian had watched the exchange, but he had not been idle. He gathered words to himself, slowly but surely. It was the same story as before. But this time as words appeared in the air, he held them back.
One monstrous black hand went to Thesairh’s pack and withdrew a small object. He held it up as plainly as he could. The other hand reached out across the ground. It found the hilt of the blade he had dropped.
Lazul kept his axe at the general’s throat. He spied the still form of the potato woman. He stretched out one hand, straining to reach.
Thesairh rolled, flinging Lazul to the ground. The massive blade swung down hard on the dwarven form. Yolian released the words. They crushed the general, smashing his skull. The dark form fell to the side as Yolian rushed to Lazul.
The dwarf sat up, and tears rolled down his face. A leg was no longer attached to his body, and blood spurted from the sever point, just above the knee. Yet, the dwarf did not clutch the stump. He held his hands to his chest, cradling a small object.
He looked up as Yolian approached. “She’s safe,” he whispered. “She’s safe.” He opened his hands. Karen Cordolis nestled there within his grasp. Her chest slowly rose and fell. Lazul’s eyes fell from the elf’s face to the small woman. “I saved her. She’s safe.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
I came back to myself. I stood in the midst of the battle, somehow unhurt. The smell of blood on the slick pavement was overwhelming. My hand ached from clutching Northwind.
I sidestepped a screaming goblin and spun so my blade bit into the back of its neck. It fell easily. Time to get back to the battle lines. My friends didn’t need my aid. The stories had protected us again. They’d stepped in to crush Thesairh.
Something gold caught at the corner of my eye. I blinked, trying to focus on it. I stumbled. I gasped. The stories wove threads around us. Around me.
A goblin charged. Words wrapped around its ankles. It tripped. Threads of stories led goblins into the waiting blades of sword dancers. They wafted arrows toward their fell targets.
It wasn’t just here, was it? My vision shifted. I saw us fleeing Habrin. The stories formed a wall, shielding us from view of the Kaerun. In Graz, the stories protected me from the jezebel’s spell. They kept me on Kree’Ah’s back as we sped back to Chariis.
They’d protected us, me, this entire journey.
I had to make sure the Library did not fall. I smiled as I realized: It was our arsenal. These stories. As long as I kept them from the Kaerun, we could be safe. Not every story protected, no, but maybe they weren’t the threat I thought they were. Maybe.
I took stock of the battle as I made my way back to the line. It appeared that goblins were flooding into the square before the Library, but greater beasts no longer raced our direc
tion. Our line seemed to be holding strong for the moment. No goblin archer had broken through the lines above to pick us off. In the skies, Eh’Kanah made his way to Lazul and Yolian.
I was allowed to pass through our line to the relative safety beyond. And then, again, a vision assailed me.
I was above on the cliff, standing beside Jayan. The white fur he wore was stained red in several spots, and a few arrows grew from those same locations. They did not seem to affect him.
Galatea fought beside him, flinging bulbs of oil and using her flint to light goblins on fire. She laughed at them.
The other soldiers dodged and thrust and spun to set up another strike. Some bore spears, a few blades, but most held two harpoons as their king did. They held the line, never flinching, never failing.
Until the Blue Rider appeared.
The Kaerun trotted into view but kept its distance. It watched the battle with seeming disinterest. Then I heard a whisper, though I could not determine what was said.
Jayan could. His eyes darted to the new addition to the field. “A fifth of my lands to the man who slays that beast!” he roared. “And if I get to him first, a fifth of all your lands to me!”
A cry went up among the Spiremen. Their line surged forward. The goblins seemed to thin out, allowing them to move faster. The Kaerun continued its whispers. It backed up, a step at a time. A single bony hand extended, tongues of fire touching it here and there. A single finger gestured, egging the Spiremen on. And over it all, the whispering I could not understand.
Galatea kept beside Jayan, supporting him with her flames. Her eyes locked on the Kaerun. She chuckled under her breath. “You made me run. You took the man I chose. You’re not going to get away from me.”
They approached the border of Chariis, where the Blue Rider could attack them with abandon.
One step forward, another, a third. The men advanced on the goblins, cutting them down with ease. The first man stepped over the invisible border. A second reached beyond the protection of Chariis. Two more. Jayan himself, and Galatea beside him.
The Keeper of Tales Page 36
