SongWeaver

by Derek Moreland

  But one question was still nagging him.

  “We're still singing Lath'shian,” he said.

  “Indeed we are,” X'on replied. “Just out of curiosity, how is mine holding up?”

  “It’s note perfect,” Ven said, after a moment's hesitation. “It’s very… odd, though. I’ve never heard StoneLyric from anyone not of my kind. It sounds weird coming from you. Your pitch is different. It’s not off or anything, it’s just… different. But how are you even managing that? No one teaches outsiders StoneLyric, you'd lose status for even attempting it.”

  “And that, my friend, brings us full circle.” X'on lifted the covering of the scaled satchel at his side, and pulled out a colossal book, bound in what appeared to be blood red leather. It thumped softly against the table as he sat it down, its weight belying its size. The thing was huge, even in comparison to X'on, though it looked like he traveled with it tucked to his side, like a scroll carrier. Ven figured he himself would have to tout the thing on his back if he had to lug it around. The cover bore no markings, no insignia or inscription. The pages poked out rough and yellowed through the binding.

  “This is your answer, Ven,” X'on said, so quiet the gargoyle almost didn't hear him. “This book. I call it the Book of Words. Hardly original, I know, but I'm just a scholar, after all. It contains the written and spoken language of every species in existence. Go ahead, open it if you like.”

  Ven's talons were on the cover before the invitation had left X'on's lips. He pulled it open to a random page--it's like lifting a feather, how can something so large be so light?--and glanced inside.

  The first page he opened to was full of what looked like pictographs; nothing Ven could pick out as something that could be read, much less speak. He flipped a few more pages until silvery, scribbled letters caught his attention. They looked full and flowery, and seemed to be moving, like the words themselves weren't happy to be read. It wasn't a language he was familiar with either, and he said so.

  “Vampiric Latin,” X'on said. “The language of the dead.”

  “How could you know that?” Ven asked. “Have you been that far east?” Could he be crazy enough to have traveled that far? Ven wondered. I may be in more trouble than I realized followed on its heels.

  “Speaking the words of the Dead doesn't summon them, Ven,” X'on said, though there was a touch of mirth to his voice. “Forget your superstitions. And while you're at it, you might actually listen to what you're saying.”

  “What do you mean, I haven't said anything spe...” Ven's voice trailed off as he realized what X'on had meant. His voice had lost all trace of emotion, all inflection, all life, without him even realizing it. And the words he'd been saying hadn't come out in Elvish Common, hadn't even been sung in Lath'shian… he pointed a quivering, accusing finger at X'on and croaked, “What have you done to me? Ack!” He gripped his beak between talons, trying to stifle the sounds before any more escaped. I'm speaking Vampiric. I'm speaking the words of the Dead. SHIT.

  X'on, on the other hand, was shaking. Ven realized after a moment it was because he was trying to stifle laughter.

  “You landed on a bad section to start with,” he chuckled. “Here. This should be easier.” He flipped a dozen more pages or so, and then turned the book around again. Ven immediately recognized Gloobeec; it was easy enough, considering it was the language his contracts were printed in.

  “What, are you trying to distract me with business now?” He could hear it before he finished speaking. He'd struggled with Gloobeec for years before getting a passing, casual grip on it for employment purposes; sitting here, it sounded as though he'd been raised in Goruth Dal itself. It was a little disconcerting, but he thought he was getting the hang of it.

  “Funny you should mention 'business', Ven,” X'on said. The laughter that had edged his voice moments ago faded away. He shut the book with a gentle hand, and continued. “Business is actually why I came to be here with you today.”

  “You weren't looking at StoneLyric when you were sitting across from me,” Ven said suddenly. “That's a nice trick with the book and all, but you haven't answered my question.”

  “Very perceptive, Ven,” X'on said. “I would expect nothing less from someone with your experience.” He slid the book back into the satchel he wore. “I’ve found that if the Book is in close proximity to me--say, closed in the palm of my hand, or even hanging from my belt--I can usually fall into the native tongue of whatever species I intend to talk too. I'm not exactly sure how the magic works, but it hasn't failed me. Not yet, anyway.”

  Ven started. “Say that last part again.”

  X'on smiled. “Magic, Ven. The Book is magic.”

  Chapter 4

  Ven sat, open-beaked and unmoving, for almost a full minute. Then he barked out a harsh laugh. “Oh wow,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. With an effort, he switched back to Elvish Common. He was tired of his mystery guest's games. “Nice try, SongWeaver. You almost had me.” He reached for his mug of ale, all but forgotten during this odd encounter. “Seriously, I don't know what you're selling, but you almost had me there. Really.”

  X'on laid his hand on Ven's forearm as he reached for the drink. It was an amiable gesture, but Ven could feel the power behind it. He clenched up, readying his body for a fight against a bigger opponent. Even from his less defensible position, he could handle himself; the mug in his hand would do in a pinch for a weapon. Splash what's left in his face, then break it on the hand holding me down….

  “Ven.” X’on’s voice had not changed all evening. Even now, with Ven's arm in his grip, that tone was an ocean of serenity, a leaf on the wind. Ven didn't unclench, but he didn't move, either. “I am not a liar, nor a storyteller. I implore you, please, stay seated and let me explain.”

  Ven made himself relax. The grip on his arm, firm but not painful, eased. He reached for the pitcher and poured himself another glass. He downed it, slowly, enjoying the golden, fruity burn of the beer, letting the moment linger. Finally, he sat down his glass and looked X’on in his good eye.

  “Magic doesn't exist,” Ven's own tone was flat. “I mean, okay, so the Elves have glamour, and maybe the dwarfs use some in techcraft. Maybe. No one's sure, and it's not like they're telling. But magic like you're talking about? Magic like enchanted treasures, stuff that actually harbors magical potentiality fields? Real magic? It’s gone. It disappeared centuries ago.”

  “When the dragons left the earth,” X'on said. “Do you know the stories, Ven? Do you know the fate of the dragons?”

  “Not really.” Okay, where is this going?

  “You should. It's a part of your history.” He released Ven's arm. Ven massaged it without thinking; X'on's grip had never become so intense as to hurt him, but his touch was… unnatural? That wasn't the right word, but it was the only one Ven could think to apply. X’on’s flesh hadn't felt like flesh.

  But he decided to hear out the giant--half-giant, Ven corrected himself--if for no other reason than when X'on made his offer, Ven could refuse and be about his way. He didn't like where this conversation appeared to be heading.

  Be on his way….

  Wasn't I worried about something a minute ago?

  “Once, long ago,” X’on began, his voice hushed, “almost six hundred years ago, to be exact, there was another race of creatures on this planet. What do you know of the race of Man, Ven?”

  “Hugh-mans?” Ven rolled his eyes. “Small hairless bipeds, if I remember my lessons right. Bloodthirsty little creatures, lived in large stone huts, would eat just about anything, few natural predators?”

  “Close enough,” X'on said. “I'm sure your historians left out that Man was the dominant species on this planet at that time?”

  That actually caught Ven’s attention. “What? What about the Elves?”

  X'on appeared to ignored the question. “Man, however, was a right lot of bastards, from what the histories say. Man had taken to dominating most of this hemisphere by that p
oint, pushing all other creatures to the fringe of extinction. They took over the land by guile, cruelty, and weapons from which no other creature could mount a defense.” X'on paused. “But even that paled in comparison to what they did next.”

  X’on actually stopped to take a breath, as though this part of the story pained him. “They began slaughtering dragons, Ven. For sport. For greed. To plunder the hoards, to impress their weak Man females, they murdered the World-Shapers by the dozens. For years, nearly a decade, this merciless, irredeemable genocide continued. Until the oldest of the Great Beasts, the great golden Drakor Nobilis, decided that he had seen enough.

  “And he killed them. All of the Men, one by one, a hundred gross for every one of his brethren taken. He razed their homes to cinders. He tore them apart with teeth and talon. He devoured their children from the bellies of their Man females. He killed and killed until the humans were no more. Then he, along with the remnants of his kind, disappeared. No one knew where, and none have been seen since.”

  The corner of X’on’s mouth quirked up, a stark contrast to the grim tone his voice had taken moments before. “Of course, there are legends. One has it that the Nobilis made a promise to one day return. To inspect the world, to see if it had fallen into the same trap of greed and gluttony that doomed the race of Man.” X'on chuckled. “That, of course, is pure fiction. Most of the documents we have from that time indicate that dragons couldn't even speak, at least not on any level that a mere mortal would be aware of. But it's a nice story to soften the horrors of antiquity.”

  The pair sat in silence for a while. Neither seemed sure of what to say next. Ven considered pouring another round, decided against it. Finally, bereft of any other thought, he asked, “Why are you telling me this? What does this have to do with me?”

  X'on's good eye gleamed. “This book... ” he placed a hand on its cover with reverence, “this magical book, is a remnant of the Nobilis' lost hoard. I bought it from a very old, very senile half-elf in a library just outside of Taal'anquor, not a few kilometers from here. I couldn't believe what I'd found. I don't think the old duffer himself even knew what it really was.”

  X'on paused, taking in a deep breath. “There was a map, folded inside. I believe, I know, it leads to the rest of the hoard. And I want to hire your services, Ven. Help me recover the hoard, and you can claim whatever half of it you desire as your own.”

  At first, Ven couldn't find the words to respond. Whatever half? If even just a non-zero percentage of the stories of dragon hoards were true, that was more money than he’d ever considered, more money than he’d seen in all his life. And if it wasn't, just one magic artifact would be enough to afford him the cushy retirement he’d dreamed about. But this felt too easy. No one just offers a stranger that kind of incentive unless they're hiding something. He decided to be direct about it. “But why me? Why are you even asking for my help? What could I even do for you?”

  X'on sighed. “As I said before, I'm just a scholar. You're a hunter, a tracker. One of the best, according to all the reports. And a very good fighter, it’s been said. I've got size, and strength, but my power comes from the words I've read, and the knowledge I've gained. I need your help, your skills. Believe me, I didn't come to this decision quickly. I studied the Goblin's employee files for nearly two months before choosing you.”

  “They keep files on us?” Ven bluffed aloud. They let you access our files? he thought.

  “I am surprised you didn't know. They're very extensive.” X'on began ticking off facts on his fingers. “You were a Guild member in good standing for the better part of a decade. You spent most of your formative years in Gedeva. Arrested twice for fraud and once for assault, though you never went to trial thanks to your Guild backing and the fact that you were a minor. Your contract completion rate was well above Guild average, and you rarely passed on an assignment. Then, for reasons unknown, you crossed the channel and spent the last four years in Taal'anquor. Working for the Elves?”

  “Freelancing,” Ven said. “Never signed a formal contract. But they paid well, and I needed a change of scenery.” And how the molten hell did you find out about my arrests? The Guild sealed those records almost before they were entered.

  “And now?” X’on continued. “You left Elvish employment some months ago, and appear to be taking random Guild assignments in Ayladii. Can I ask why?”

  Ven shrugged. “There are some lines even I don't like to cross. So the Guild House just let you read all of this?” he pressed. “That's unusual. I'm not used to having my resume repeated back to me.”

  “Let's just say I greased a few of the right palms.” X'on grinned again. It seemed as though his face were naturally inclined to that position. “You really are one of the best in your field. And I need the best. Think of the history that lies tucked away in those caverns! Think what we could learn, what we could discover!”

  “You say you need a hunter, but you tracked me down,” Ven pointed out.

  “You filed a Statement of Intent to Collect Bounty with this area's handler a fortnight ago,” X'on said. “The documentation is on file in the main office. It wasn't exactly Mountain Science.”

  Ven rolled his eyes and made one last attempt to dissuade the half-giant. Something about this whole thing smelled funny. “Look, I appreciate what you're saying. I do. But I'm not sure I'm the one you need for this. And look, I'm not that great, I didn't even finish my last contra....” he choked off the last bit as he heard what he was saying. How long have I been sitting here tonight?!? Too late, he realized how still and empty the bar had become; suddenly, he noticed how sickeningly red the air around him smelled, how could he have missed that, how could he have been so distracted....

  There was a resounding crash behind him, and a high-pitched scream. Ven turned to look just in time to catch a bar stool with his face.

  Chapter 5

  Cold, white pain exploded through Ven's skull. His eyebrow ridges felt like they had been shattered, and were starting to swell; he coughed and gagged as he tried to breathe through his mouth, his beak an atonal symphony of agony. He pushed himself out of the booth, only to feel himself being picked up and heaved bodily across the barroom. He hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked from his lungs by the impact.

  “Ven!” it was a deep, roaring bellow, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't from his attacker. He squinted up through his tears to see a bleary, stained-glass distortion of X'on leap up, only to be knocked back into the row of booths by the shaggy, bulging arm of the were-shifted ogre. X'on flew into the tables, crushing them beneath his weight, knocking the booths askew.

  The creature lurched forward, preternaturally fast, found Ven's neck, and twisted it in a grip of iron. Jagged nails, gnawed to razors, scraped the flesh of his throat as they curled and pressed in. The stench from the beast's boiled, ragged snout made Ven wretch even further. Its fangs curled up in a nasty underbite that ran slick with saliva and gave every impression that the teeth would gore him without effort. Distantly, some clinical part of himself noticed that even the thing's ears were red and caked with congealed gore.

  “First you bleed,” it hissed, lifting Ven to his feet via his larynx and pinning him against the wall. Hot spittle flecked Ven's beak, mingling with the tears that seeped from his eyes. “Then I feast. Then you die.”

  Ven groaned. “Can we… maybe try… that last one first?” he coughed out. “Just for giggles?”

  The monster slammed him into the cobblestone wall again, and Ven felt his left arm snap clean at the joint. He howled. His good talon clawed fruitlessly at the restraining arm, his legs and tail thrashing, searching for a free target, bone, balls, anything to break the hold. How could I have left everything in the room, how did I leave my silver, how could I have been so stupid? He'd come straight here to blow off some steam, hadn't stopped by the room, had let his anger trump his instincts. He gagged, desperate for air. Blood pounded in his ears, his throat, as his vision dim
med perilously.

  Then, inexplicably, relief. He fell to the floor a second time, the paw restraining him torn from his throat as X'on tackled the shifted ogre, body-slamming him to the ground, bouncing its head off the hearthstones nearby.

  “Ven!” X'on screamed again, pounding the thing's cranium into the stones a second time for good measure. Then he fell upon it and used his weight to pin it beneath him. “I cannot keep this up!” He took a solid right hook to the jaw and rolled with it, desperately grabbing at the thing's arm and forcing it to the ground. He was trying to hold it off, to use his natural mass and strength to keep it down. He was failing. The ogre twisted in X'on's grip, kicking deep grooves into the wooden floor and snapping at X'on's exposed neck as it tried to work its wrists free of the half-giant's grasp.

  “Do something!” X’on bellowed.

  Sucking down a violent breath, a wave of hot, angry adrenaline burning his veins, Ven groped blindly among the detritus of the fight for something, anything, that could prove itself a weapon. Cutlery's worthless, he thought. Glass would just piss it off. The bar stools are busted.

  The bar stools.

  They probably weren't yew, but they would have to do.

  Ven snapped the leg from a broken seat, twisting as he pulled so that it would shape itself into a spike. Looking up, he saw X'on losing his struggle, the malformed ogre gaining the upper hand. It now sat on him like a perversion of a lover, throttling him, its caustic saliva dripping into his eyes. With an incoherent yell, Ven lunged, plunging the makeshift stake just below the creature's shoulder blade, aiming for the heart and missing by a hair.

  The beast bawled out a din of surprise and pain, and threw its arms back, reaching for the source of its irritation with lengthened, exaggerated fingers. Moving with deft speed, Ven slipped beneath its grasp, pulled the stake from its backside, and rolled across the splintering, cracking wood of the slatted floor. Taking advantage of the beast's pain and confusion, X'on double fisted a blow up and across the beast's muzzle, knocking it further off balance; with a shove, X'on managed to disentangle himself from the hairy behemoth. His future client now clear, Ven leapt. The ogre let loose a thunderous howl as Ven's makeshift stake stabbed deep into its neck. With an effort, Ven pushed the tip until it broke all the way through, skewering the meat of its throat.