Of Liars and Thieves

by Gabriela Lavarello

  “Here we are,” Krete announced as he, Finriel, and Lorian stopped in front of an iron door near the bottom levels of the mountain.

  Their descent to the dungeons had been mostly silent, apart from Krete occasionally offering a fact about an old artifact on display or where a certain corridor led. It seemed that both Finriel and Lorian were as fatigued as he felt. The desire to sleep for days and days seeped into Krete’s bones. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t get that luxury anytime soon, however.

  He had been able to catch a quick nap and lovely bath in his chambers, which Krete had to admit he had missed greatly. He now wore a pair of comfortable grey cotton pants and a loose-fitting mustard yellow tunic, though he hadn’t forgotten his hat, which was now clean atop his head. Lorian and Finriel were both refreshed as well. Lorian’s clothing was much the same as Krete’s, if only slightly too small, and his tunic was the color of a brilliant sunset.

  “Aeden and Tedric aren’t here yet,” Finriel noticed, turning her head back toward the torchlit stairway from which they had just come, her hand picking idly at the hem of the dark brown sleeve of her new dress.

  “Maybe they’ve forgotten,” Lorian suggested. “They might be busy doing other more fun activities.”

  Finriel rolled her eyes at Lorian, who was waggling his brows, and Krete shook his head with a forced smile, partially because he knew that what Lorian said was possible. He could only hope that they weren’t so foolish. Krete was about to turn toward the two guards stationed by the iron door when footsteps sounded from the stone stairway and a very flustered Aeden came to stand next to Finriel. She didn’t smile at any of them, and Krete ran a worried glance over her wild violet hair, now free of its usual braid, along with the wrinkled sky blue dress she wore. She looked wearier now than at any point in their journey.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Aeden huffed, slightly out of breath and looking murderous.

  Even Finriel looked at her with some worry, and the witch asked, “Where’s Tedric?”

  Aeden scoffed and threw her hands in the air, and Krete was worried she might actually yell. Yet she didn’t, and Tedric’s form came into view not ten seconds after Finriel asked. He too looked disgruntled, but Krete found that he was hiding his emotions much better than Aeden was currently managing.

  “Are you two all right?” Krete asked, his worry for Aeden ruling over his previous decision to remain silent about the matter.

  Aeden bit her lip and Tedric merely gave Krete a stony-faced nod.

  “Just fine,” Aeden bit out, and Krete sighed.

  “Okay, then. Let’s meet this storyteller,” Krete said, and motioned for the guards at the door.

  As they walked in, Krete wasn’t surprised to see that the cell was not much of a cell at all, rather only a very small chamber. He had never been allowed near the lower tier of the mountain, as he was still a part of the royal family in name, and any guard was forced to turn him back to the upward levels as a matter of safety. Yet, as he inspected the cell, Krete found himself all the more proud to call himself a gnome. They were not creatures of ill wishing, and still offered the most evil trespasser a comfortable place to rest their head as they awaited their fate.

  The room was very plain in comparison to his own, however that too did not surprise him in the least. A simple cot was pushed to the far corner of the room, adjacent to a small basin and cloths for cleaning. Against the other wall was a small desk, where the storyteller sat balanced upon a very old looking chair that seemed as if it might collapse at any moment. The room smelled of a mingling of earth and human sweat, though not to the point where it was truly bothersome.

  The storyteller himself appeared quite clean, aside from the soot and hole-ridden robe that draped over his thin body. A shock of short white hair had initially indicated to Krete that the man was old, but as he turned his head, Krete’s eyes widened in surprise as he was met with the face of a barely middle-aged man. And it was a man that he had seen before.

  The storyteller’s features were soft and human, and Krete guessed that he seemed to be perhaps five years younger than Krete’s forty years of age. The storyteller’s strange silver eyes flashed as he regarded the companions, seeming to recognize them all at once. Krete had definitely seen this man before, and a sudden realization struck him in the chest.

  “You were the villager who was brought to king Sorren with the pages,” Krete blurted, and the storyteller paused his observation of the companions to look at Krete.

  “Not quite a villager, but yes.” The storyteller spoke softly, a shy smile blooming across his ruggedly handsome face. “Please, call me Egharis.”

  Krete and Aeden exchanged a glance, and he bit his cheek at the obvious rage that flickered behind her green eyes. He let out a shaky breath to calm his nerves before turning back toward the man. Their quest could have been avoided entirely if they’d only known it had been the storyteller that night. And yet a small part of Krete was grateful that they hadn’t known, for he wouldn’t be standing in this cell, surrounded by friends that felt more like family now.

  “Thank you for meeting with us, storyteller—I mean, Egharis,” Krete stuttered, stepping forward. None of his companions seemed to be very inclined to speak, and Krete had to admit neither was he. The storyteller’s gaze lingered on Krete, and to Krete’s surprise, his smile widened.

  “Krete, isn’t it?” the storyteller said. “How do you like your dragon?”

  The ground tilted slightly under Krete’s feet and he sputtered in surprise, the storyteller waited with a smile for Krete to regain his composure.

  “M-my dragon? Do you mean Suzunne?”

  “Ah, so he did end up giving himself a name. How quaint.”

  “Well,” Krete began, “he is quite strange. One of the only reasons that he agreed to bring us here was because he needed to sun his scales apparently.”

  Egharis’s expression turned into one of fondness and he chuckled. “Yes, I would say I am most proud of his creation.” Egharis slid his gaze across the five of them, his attention now seeming to rest on all of them at once. “However, I sense that you have put the beasts back into their pages. All but Suzunne, of course.”

  They all shifted uncomfortably under his knowing stare, all but Finriel, who replied, “It was the task we were given, and I didn’t feel too inclined to keep piecing my friends back together.”

  “Ah, but you are not the kind to take orders,” the storyteller countered. “I think you are all scared of the beasts.”

  At this, Finriel closed her mouth and shot a glare of daggers at the floor. Egharis opened his arms as if to welcome them all into a warm embrace.

  “It is nothing to worry about. I understand that I may have created you five rather questionable creatures. Besides, the time is still just far enough that you can release them before they are needed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aeden countered. “I don’t think any of us are quite sure what you mean when you say you created the creatures for us. We hardly know you.”

  “Ah, well, that is where you are wrong, young fairy. One who weaves stories does not simply do that one thing. We can see into the future if the goddesses truly believe that we are needed to help it change for the better in some way.”

  When no one answered him, Egharis continued more seriously, “I have seen visions of blood and terror. The realm of Raymara laden thick with shadow and bloodshed, the thousand-year peace wiped away in the blink of an eye.”

  “The prophecy,” Finriel breathed, and Egharis smiled.

  “Yes, my dear witch. It is the prophecy I speak of, and a future I would like more than ever to be stopped.”

  “But we thought that was your entire motive,” Krete countered. “To create these terrible creatures in order to bring Raymara back into a state of violence. That’s why we were sent to capture them, and you, to be destroyed.”

  The storyteller looked between them, and his calm expression nearly cracked. The room suddenly felt colder a
nd Krete found himself shivering, from discomfort or actual cold, he was not sure.

  “That is the story that has been twisted around my creations to distract you from the real problem. You five are the keys to Raymara’s survival. I created these beasts as a loophole in the formidable acts I have been employed to commit.”

  “What terrible acts?” Tedric asked. “And who is your employer?”

  The storyteller paused, looking at Tedric with a strange expression that Krete could not quite place. The storyteller opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, a pained groan escaped from Egharis’s throat, and the man doubled over, clutching at his abdomen. Tedric rushed forward and helped righten the storyteller before he fell to the ground, and Krete simply watched in confusion. It would be terrible if the storyteller simply fell over dead before telling them anything useful. Krete cursed himself inwardly. Those sorts of heartless thoughts belonged to Lorian, or other men of his sort.

  “Thank you,” Egharis wheezed after a moment, and pulled away from Tedric’s supporting grip.

  “Are you all right?” Krete asked, and the storyteller nodded.

  “It is a curse I was put under by my employer. I cannot say his name, or anything even close to who he is or where he comes from. I am also not to speak of my exact task, though I would love to help you all very much.”

  “And if you do try?” Finriel asked.

  “What you just witnessed happens, my dear,” Egharis replied with a weak smile. “Blinding pain in my entire body, though I was warned of bones breaking or organs failing if I fight against the curse for too long.”

  “That’s terrible,” Tedric growled. “Can the curse be broken?”

  Egharis shook his head. “I’m afraid not, at least not until I have completed my task.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Lorian asked from where he leaned against the far wall by the cot. “I mean, unless you were forced into working with the man.”

  “My wife and son were taken from me,” Egharis said bitterly. “I do not know where they are, but my employer ensured me their safety, as well as a reunion with them once I have completed my task.”

  “And if you fail?” Lorian asked.

  “He’ll kill them,” Aeden breathed at Krete’s side, answering for the storyteller, who nodded at her sadly.

  Krete reached up and squeezed Aeden’s hand, knowing how close the storyteller’s words must be hitting her. Aeden’s cold fingers squeezed back, though she looked quite ready to run from the room.

  “So you must complete this task, whatever it may be,” Lorian said. “Which I am assuming based upon your abilities has something to do with creating more beasts.”

  “You are smart,” Egharis replied with a more genuine smile at Lorian, who grinned back.

  “It’s my job to be smart,” he replied. “I’m also guessing that this employer of yours is a person with power, or at least has a considerable amount of it.”

  Egharis shook his head. “For fear of my liver or any other organ failing, I cannot confirm or deny what you are saying.”

  Krete bit the inside of his lip, mulling over everything that had just been said. The storyteller was not half bad after all. But who was he working for? And how could they help stop this mysterious employer if they hadn’t the slightest idea as to who they were?

  “Could you simply try to find your family and not complete your task?” Krete asked.

  The storyteller barked a laugh. “Oh, no, I’m afraid not. Even if I wanted to, I could not find them, and I am sure that my employer has found some measure of knowing my whereabouts at all times.”

  “He sounds like an ass,” Lorian said, and the storyteller laughed again.

  “I pray he never hears you say that.” Egharis then turned serious again. “But I am begging you to keep your pages close and never lose them. You must use them when the time is right, for when it seems like all is lost, they can help you.”

  “How do we know you aren’t lying?” Finriel asked. “How can we know you aren’t just trying to trick us into releasing your beasts again so they can go off to destroy more lives?”

  Egharis shot his head up and glared at the witch. “When you found my beasts, were any of them rampaging a village, killing anyone, or even laying a breath of violence against anything around you?”

  “Well, the chimera did try to kill me,” Tedric interjected. “And Lorian was slammed into a tree by the rakshasa.”

  “That was because both of you were being idiots,” Finriel replied under her breath.

  “He has a point,” Lorian interrupted. “We never heard or saw them causing any trouble before we found them. The only thing that could have been their doing was the fire.”

  Egharis inclined his head toward Lorian as if in thanks for his defense. “I can assure you that whatever fire you speak of was not caused by any of my creations,” Egharis said. “They were not created to destroy, but to protect.”

  “What about the first night they were released?” Aeden asked. “Every home was burned to the ground and four citizens died. Even you claimed it was the five beasts who did it.”

  “That was my fault.” Egharis’s silver gaze dipped to his hands. “I was angry when I made them, and creations retain whatever emotion is used as fuel to conjure them, though only for a few hours.”

  Krete looked at his companions, who were all wearing mingled expressions of confusion and interest. Aeden was still pale, and her fingers had gone limp in Krete’s hand. He looked up at her to find her looking between Tedric and the storyteller, her expression mostly blank though he knew that pain lashed her heart.

  “Look,” Egharis said, “I will not attempt to convince you to let your beasts out, just know that you would be wise to keep your respective pages close in the coming days.”

  The gnome guard outside the cell cleared his throat and indicated that their time had passed and they had to leave.

  “Thank you for speaking with us,” Krete said truthfully to the storyteller. Egharis nodded to the five of them, an unreadable expression on his face. They all turned and filed out of the cell, but just as the gnome guard was about to close the door, Krete turned around and looked at the storyteller.

  “Can you truly not tell us what your employer wants?” he asked.

  Egharis met his gaze and took in a deep breath before replying, “The most I can say is that he wishes to change the realm in completion. I fear that if he succeeds, Raymara will return to its prior state of death and darkness.”

  An involuntary shiver went through Krete, but he forced himself to incline his head in thanks and be ushered from the room by the guard. He walked up the steps behind Finriel, his mind whirling from their discussion. Could they even believe a word that Egharis had told them?

  “That was certainly interesting,” Lorian said once they reached the top of the steps and found themselves in another torchlit hall that led to Krete’s chambers.

  “We can’t trust him,” Aeden replied. “He’s clearly lost it, and weaving ludicrous stories is in his nature.”

  “He didn’t seem mad to me,” Lorian remarked. “And he didn’t say anything much about keys, though he did talk about the prophecy.”

  “Which is my exact point,” Aeden snapped. “We simply cannot be the people spoken of in the prophecy, that would be ridiculous.”

  “What if it is us?” Tedric asked, and Aeden failed to meet his gaze.

  “You would love to have a ballad written after you, wouldn’t you?” Lorian said, though Krete noticed that Tedric’s returning smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “It’s too late to talk about this now,” Finriel sighed. “Can we discuss it over breakfast tomorrow? I feel as though I could fall asleep on my feet, however dangerous the storyteller made our future sound.”

  “I agree.” Krete nodded, noticing the dull ache of fatigue beginning to seep back into his joints. “Let’s meet in the morning in the same room where we dined with King Drohan. I can arrange it with the se
rvants.”

  Everyone murmured their agreement, and soon were all heading to their quarters. Krete was more than happy when he fell into his bed minutes later, but found his dreams were accompanied by fire-breathing dragons and images of Creonid Mountain bathed in a waterfall of blood.

  31

  Tedric

  Tedric felt as if he might be sick.

  He wiped his clammy hands upon his pants as he stood before the closed door of Aeden’s chambers, wondering if he should go through with his plan. He was going to talk to her one last time, he had to after what had happened between them. His body felt like a constant electric current was running through it ever since their kiss, and he didn’t think that it was merely the memory of her touch that made him feel this way.

  Tedric needed to know what that shock had been, and why she had pulled away so quickly. He cursed himself inwardly at his selfishness, knowing very well that his mind needed to be focused upon what the storyteller had told them and the future of the realm, but he simply couldn’t.

  “Come on, do it, you coward,” Tedric growled to himself under his breath, and with a lurch of his stomach, he brought his hand up and knocked against the old wooden door three times.

  The seconds it took for Aeden to reach the door felt like torture. Tedric had half a mind to believe that she could be sleeping, and let out a muffled curse at his lack of foresight. Yet soon enough, the door handle turned, and Aeden’s head peaked out from the other side of the room. Electric shocks ran through Tedric’s body as their eyes met. Her hair was wild and she looked like she had just gotten out of a fight with some gnomes. Maybe she had just gotten out of a fight with some gnomes.

  “I need to talk to you,” Tedric said. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think there is anything to talk about,” Aeden replied coolly, and Tedric’s heart felt as though it had just been stung by a thousand hornets.

  “Please, if only so that I can understand,” Tedric pleaded, and Aeden’s cold expression molded into surprise.