Cerulean nodded but kept chanting. Korah and I lifted the form over to the blaze. I grunted with the effort; he was heavier than I would have expected.
By the light of the fire, I saw skin the color of obsidian and dark, dark hair. His beard and hair were both long and bound in several metal bands. He wore an ornate metal breastplate, etched in silver swirls. “This is Lazul, Chief of the Jaed dwarves.”
“Are you sure?” Korah asked.
“I met him several times in council. You don’t forget a dwarf.” I looked to the dead. This one was Delos, Chief of the Graz. White frost crystals covered his open eyes. This one was Gwelodar, Chief of the Delodwenar. His frozen hands gripped his double-headed axe.
Cerulean stood. “He will live.”
I unclenched my jaw. At least some good news tonight. I bent over Delos and began singing the blessing for the dead the dwarves preferred.
Korah set his hand on my shoulder. “Allow me.” I looked up to find a softness in his eyes. “Please.”
I nodded and stood aside. Korah knelt beside the still form of Delos, Chief of the Graz dwarves, and sang. He used their language: a guttural, ugly tongue.
Before I could express my surprise at Korah’s ability to speak Dwarven, Abani approached. “We need to stamp out the fire and move from here quickly. Whatever fell creature did this may return.”
“I agree. We can’t move until the dwarf is better, though.”
Abani gazed out into the night. “I thought these hills were treeless.”
“It’s mostly just grass and hills, yes. Plenty of bushes, but few trees.”
“I don’t remember seeing that stand of trees when we first got to this hill. I checked around for enemies. I would recall something like that. It would give cover.” She pointed.
Lurking in the gloom two hills over, I just made out a familiar grove. “Abani, walk with me. We need to investigate this thicket.” I called behind us, “Abani and I are scouting. Stay prepared in case whatever attacked the dwarves returns.”
A few voiced arguments against my going, but Abani stood in my defense. “Adal will keep a level head, and my blades are quicker than any of yours. We will return.”
They grumbled assent, and Abani and I set out. I drew my blade, but Abani’s hands remained free.
Down into a valley, we wrapped our way around the intervening hill and up to the summit of the second one. Closer, I saw that the trees were not all dead, though their tops were bare. I spotted a natural tunnel, perhaps a game trail, leading into the heart of it. All was darkness. I pointed to the tunnel, and Abani nodded. We crouched through the passage.
Suddenly the moon lit the thicket’s floor. I looked up and saw no leaves blocking the sky, nor any clouds. Bare branches stood between us and the stars. Brown evergreens surrounded us.
The cool of the evening turned suddenly cold. I could see my breath. Frost crept up my blade. I turned quickly, surveying all around me. Abani did the same, keeping her back to mine.
I spotted a shadow in the trees. I held my ground, raising my sword quickly to a defensive stance. Abani caught my movement and spun to face the shadow, a curved blade appearing in her hand. After a moment, we noticed the form was not moving. I took a few paces toward it, keeping my guard up. My breath came in brief pants.
It was the carcass of a large silvertip bear. It hung from the branches of the tree, badly mangled. It was missing a forepaw, and its head sat at an odd angle.
I gasped. “We need to report this to the others. Quickly. Whatever lives here is gone for now.”
Abani answered, “Agreed. We will return here in the day. Until then, we watch, ready for an attack.”
We rushed with silent feet to the camp. Our eyes surveyed the area, careful and ready. The fire beckoned from the nearby hilltop like a beacon. When we arrived at the camp, the others were waiting expectantly for our report. Cerulean was the only one who did not look with eager eyes at our arrival. She chanted by the fallen dwarf’s side.
Korah watched the darkness the way we had come, his harpoon ready. “We need to attack its lair now. Burn it down.” He turned and looked back at Galatea, who still tended the fire.
Galatea shook her head. “I have oils that make bursts of flame and heat. Used well, they can start a fire like this one. Burn down a grove of trees, though? It might be possible, but more likely the flames would sputter and die out quickly unless I used all I had.”
Cerulean kept her hand on the dwarf’s chest and stopped her chanting. “I believe it will be the remainder of the night before this one awakens.”
I sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“Yes.” She returned to her chanting.
I suggested we sleep in shifts, and the others agreed. Sleep would take none of us that night, though. Korah and I, restless, buried the dead dwarves. As we worked together to break the ground with improvised shovels, I asked, “How do you know dwarven songs for the dead?”
“At the Spires, we’ve grown close to our neighbors. I’ve met Gwelodar before and counted him as a friend.” Korah looked down at the dwarf we were burying.
I resisted answering. How could a simple warrior know a dwarven chief?
The dwarf had the same obsidian skin as all dwarves. His full plate armor had no ornate designs. His long double-braided beard was black with a few streaks of white.
Korah gestured. “He hated decorations. He just wanted good strong armor. ‘And no fancy stuff,’ he’d say. ‘What do you think we are, a bunch of elves?’”
“You did him honor by singing him safely to the halls of the dead.”
He bent down to retrieve a ring from Gwelodar’s finger. “I’ll return this to his family. They’ll want it.”
We watched the unmoving form a few minutes more before finishing the burial. As we wiped our foreheads, I said, “King Jayan must trust you to introduce you to a dwarven chief.”
Korah chose not to answer. Instead, he started digging a second grave. He retrieved a ring from Delos’s hand as well.
The rest of the night passed in relative silence, except for Cerulean’s ever-present chant. Galatea brought her water. The elf nodded at the offer, but did not drink.
I chewed on dark thoughts. Something had attacked these brave warriors, but apparently their deaths had not been the goal, else we would have returned to a camp bereft of all life. Whatever attacked wasn’t after supplies or gold. All that was still here. It wasn’t after the Chariisi summons, either. Abani had uncovered that.
I ransacked my memory, searching tales and histories and rumors for anything that could attack with cold such as this. All such stories were rooted in the far North, where cold was so often an enemy that stole life. Nothing that could survive this far south came to mind.
The dawn did not come swiftly, but it did at last arrive. The clouds had mostly cleared as the night had passed. Sunlight touched the tops of the pillars before inching down to reach us.
Lazul regained consciousness as the sunlight struck his body. He gasped and searched about for a weapon, his eyes wide with fright.
“Be still, Lazul! You’re safe. You’re alive.” I put my hand to his chest, laying him back down.
His breathing slowed, and his eyes finally saw us. His brow furrowed. “King Adal? How did you know to find us here? Did you slay all those men?”
Galatea questioned him before I had the opportunity to open my mouth. “What men attacked you?”
Lazul looked at her in confusion before shaking his head. “Their horses were swift as the wind, and twice as cold as the depths. They came at us from the darkness like a cave-in. They had dark blades that flashed as blue as a sapphire. And they smelled—they smelled like a raven’s feast. And blue flames…” His eyes still darted.
I spoke, “We found you, cold and left for dead.”
“The others?” Lazul’s hands balled into thick fists.
“Dead. We buried them with honor.”
Lazul’s eyes lost focus. “But w
hy would they attack and not kill me?” His voice rumbled with anger.
“I do not know, my friend. Sleep now and recover your strength. We will keep watch until you can travel.”
“No.” His voice was granite. “I will stand. We will go and find this enemy that attacked us.” He struggled, and finally he found his feet. In the bright dawn sunlight, I saw I had been wrong last night. His beard was not black, but a dark, dark red. “Where did they flee to?” His eyes searched the surrounding hills.
I knew better than to argue with a dwarf. I turned to point to the grove, two hills away.
In the morning light all that stood atop the hill were a few pillars. The trees were gone.
Chapter Ten
As we gathered our supplies, Lazul knelt over the graves of his fallen companions, muttering to himself and them. Korah stood near the dwarf, keeping watch with him.
When the Chief stood, he turned to me. “Show me the grove. Tell me everything.”
We all went to the nearby hill, weaving our way through the pillars. I explained as best I could. As Lazul began stomping around the summit of the hill, I concluded, “Whatever it was, it was strong enough to fling an adult silvertip bear to hang from a tree.”
He motioned. “And you say it was here? A grove of trees?”
Abani bristled. “You question the word of a king?”
“No. No. Of course not.” The dwarf waved away the accusation. “Sometimes kings exaggerate their claims. Trying to make a story seem bigger. Nothing done out of spite.” He crouched to the ground, feeling the earth with his fingers. He muttered, “No mechanisms I can determine. No hollow spots. Nowhere for a tree to go.” He stood again. “And you’re certain there’s no sort of migratory tree in these parts?”
“I’m sure,” I answered, stifling a grin.
“Hm.” Lazul folded his arms. “How big is a silvertip bear again?”
“About the size of a hagri.”
“So these things that attacked us have great strength and great cold.” He looked over to Abani. “Do you think this could be Garethen’s new secret weapon?”
The Parvian continued to bristle. “I do not claim to know the Patriarch of Lies well enough to determine that.”
Lazul punched one of the nearby pillars. “Well. I guess I’m with you, then. When I got the summons to go out and slay some of Garethen’s creatures, I knew I was the only one to do it, or the other chiefs would never let me live it down. All three of us set out together to join you in Scarletholme. And if I’m going to have a chance to kill the things that killed my friends…” He grunted. “Are we going? I’ll need to ride with someone.”
Korah gladly took him, and soon we traveled among the Pillars of the Hills. The sun set that night, and we camped. Lazul insisted on taking a double watch.
The next day I reminded our group of the necessity of heeding the tale should I start telling one. This story was jealous, after all, and it was best not to add foes when we had already gathered a mysterious assailant.
Korah took to jesting with Lazul, attempting to fill the empty space that dwarves leave when they pass. “You know we’ll have to deal with goblins on this journey,” Korah started. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Protect me!” Lazul protested. “I’ll have you know I’ve slain more goblins in the last year than you will in the rest of your life!”
Daragen rode up next to Korah and Lazul. “I think he’s too short to slay that many goblins. Maybe if you stood on my shoulders, you’d be tall enough.”
“You’d be one to talk! Look at you, riding such a tall horse! What do you have to make up for?” Lazul roared.
Galatea burst out in peals of laughter.
Abani shot her a disgusted look. She joined the fray in a serious tone, “My dance will cut off more goblins than the rest of you. I have fought to the gates of Sar Idain itself. I know how to slay a goblin.”
“Abani, you couldn’t take ten goblins if I slew nine of them myself and then gave you my axe!” Lazul took aim at the slender, silk-clad woman.
“My Lord Lazul, I could not heft your axe if I was as strong as the Spireman here. No, my blade is good enough, and can move more quickly and with more grace than all of your people could muster together!”
I called back from my place at the head of the column. “You’re all mistaken. I will take more goblin heads than all of you combined!” It was a useless boast, I knew, but I wanted them to know that I would not be discounted. Plus, more laughter is good for any journey.
A roar went up, and Daragen spoke. “We don’t mean disrespect to your age, whitebeard, but I do not think many goblins will honor you enough to sit still and listen to your tales while you slay them!” More laughter burst forth. I smiled, too, and glanced back. Even Cerulean offered a closed-mouth smile.
Then I saw the first sign. One of the stone fingers had a small house atop it, sized as if for a girl’s doll. I spoke loudly to hush the laughter. “Look, my friends! The home of Karen Cordolis, the smallest of women! Let us be quiet as we pass, and after we have left her abode behind, I will tell her tale.”
Thankfully, all had their wits about them and were quiet as we rode past. I knew most would be looking up inquiringly, as I myself was. Perhaps the story was lonely or needed to be reminded of what it had been. Perhaps it knew we were traveling by and so chose to come to us. It did not matter. Now the tale was present and would have to be told.
After we passed, I began. “Old woman Janica was a widow, left with no children. The men of the village would tut their tongues as she passed. ‘Poor, poor Janica. She is left with no hope because her husband died before they had children, and now there are none to take care of her.’
“She hated their pity, and she prayed to all the gods that they might send her a friend. She knew asking for a husband would be too great a thing for her, and having a child without a husband—and at her age!—would only cause distress in her small village. So, she prayed simply for a friend. Often warm tears were her only companions for days on end.
“The gods are often cunning, though, and they granted her request in a way that none could have predicted.
“As Janica worked in her garden the next day, she found a potato that looked like a small child. She plucked it from the dirt and washed it off. ‘I will set it at the table tonight and talk to it, as one would to a daughter,’ she decided. She called her creation Karen Cordolis, which means ‘potato child’ in the old language of the Men of the West.”
We hit a rise, and I turned to look back at the tiny cottage atop the stone finger. Suddenly the door swung open, and out stepped an incredibly short old woman. She waved at us. “Hey! You’re telling my story! Get back here and tell the rest, and I’ll give you some good soup!”
Chapter Eleven
Korah jumped, and Lazul had his axe in hand before the woman had reached her third word. I couldn’t answer her call. Characters in stories did not come alive, and they did not greet you as you passed. They were stories and not real in the way people were. The others looked to me, but I was perplexed.
She hailed us again, “Hey, you jackanapes! Do you want some warm soup or not?”
I glanced to the men. I opened my mouth and closed it. I looked to her and back again. I had not been this confused since my first year of marriage. “This is not part of the telling.” I scratched my beard, reviewing what I knew of stories about people offering food. “But it’s never wise to pass by food offered, as long as we are careful. And besides, it’s best not to give reason for strange creatures to hold a grudge against us.”
Despite nervous expressions, they assented. We turned our mounts back toward the house.
I reached the tall stone pillar first and looked up to the tiny home. The small form bent over to see me. “Well, will you have some soup?”
I answered, straining my neck, “Good lady, we have no way to come into your home, nor of even climbing this pillar. Perhaps if you came down to us…?”
“Men don’t change from age to age, do they? Always want the woman to do the work.” She spied Abani. “I suppose you have her do all your hunting as well, then, don’t you?” She harrumphed.
The men glanced at each other, clearly trying to decide how much they should be offended. Galatea smirked.
“Listen, finish telling my story. I love hearing it! While you do that, I’ll prepare some bowls of soup. Good soup! Lots of carrots and beef broth. Is that good for all of you? Do you still eat that out there in the world of men?”
“Yes, my lady, and I shall do as you wish.” I turned to face the others, gesturing for them to dismount. “We might as well while we’re waiting here.”
After stretching out my back, I continued. “Janica took her discovery into her house and set it on the table. She found old clothing that she trimmed to the size of the potato and dressed the small form. She was quite content with her companion and spoke to her all night long of all the things in the village.
“The old woman slept in her bed that night, alone and cold, but she did not have tears for companions. The potato was left upon the table in its new clothes.
“Come the dawn, Janica arose to gather eggs for market, which is how she made her living. Then she came to the table to have some cold carrot mush and found that it was already prepared for her! In fact, it was even topped with brown sugar, which she was too poor to own. The old woman simply accepted it as a gift, from whom she knew not, but she credited her new friend. ‘Thank you, Karen Cordolis. I will see you when I return from market.’
“The old woman later returned for a noon meal before toiling in her garden. There, on her table, she found another bowl of carrot mush, prepared exactly to her taste. Again, she knew not how the bowl found its way there, but she accepted it and thanked the potato. And so it was after her toils in the garden that she returned to her home to find a supper prepared! Once more she thanked her odd friend.”
Above, pots and pans rattled against each other. “Odd! Always they use that word! Always! Humble? No. Sweet? No. Odd!” The woman continued muttering.
The Keeper of Tales Page 6