“The pale goblin used its strong, long arms to begin pulling itself out of the pit, but Daviel reached forth a hand to stay the beast. ‘Why do they treat you so?’
“‘Because I of all creatures in Garethen’s service am lowest.’” I paused. The goblins in the story did not use the same metered speech, the near-rhymes and the pacing in which I had heard Badron speak. Another discrepancy. Curious.
I continued. “‘Then why do you serve him?’ asked the brave hero.
“‘Because I am bound. When one goblin binds itself, all its race are bound. When its word is given, every goblin must submit to it.’
“Daviel paused at this and considered, staring into the creature’s yellow eyes. Could he somehow use this creature to escape? ‘What if you would bind yourself to me? Would that bind all goblins to me?’
“‘No. Once one word is given, it must be obeyed. My race has been sworn to Garethen. No one goblin may break that vow.’
“And the two discussed things long into the night. No one in the enemy camp seemed to notice. The albino goblin was not missed, and the prisoner was well secured.
“Garethen returned to the pit at dawn, storm clouds overhead. His black eyes scoured the dark pit, searching for his prey, yet he found no man. He roared. The Master of Betrayal had been betrayed. He swore vengeance upon both renegade and escaped prisoner. Yet even the Lord of All Treachery did not know who had aided Daviel.
“With the white goblin’s assistance, Daviel had been able to flee and join what remained of his army. All the generals greeted his arrival and assumed the white goblin was a prisoner to be interrogated. Yet when they met in council that night, Daviel revealed his clever plan. His new companion scampered off to rejoin its own kind.
“And so, dawn came the day after, and the armies drew up yet again for battle. The men feared, and the dwarves raged. The elves stood ever silent. And across a vast plain, a great multitude of fangs and talons and claws glistened. The dwarves began the charge, their axes shaking in the sun as they ran. The men came close behind, spear and sword and shield at the ready.
“Garethen looked on them from the tower he had demanded be constructed overnight. He smiled at their folly. The races that would not bow to him were vastly outnumbered now. They would be slaughtered… or so he thought.
“Suddenly, a knife sunk into his back, and he stumbled against his high window. He turned in time to see a white goblin standing before him, another dagger in its hand. Blood spattered from the Fallen Lord’s lips as he spoke. ‘But… but your kind has sworn allegiance to me…’
“‘No.’ The white goblin stood as tall as it could, readying itself to strike another blow. ‘I am a white goblin, a race apart. I stand with men.’ And it raised the dagger and brought it down upon the Fallen Lord, who had never suspected that such a small creature could do so much harm to him. He fell backwards out of his tower, his body shattering to ash as it struck the ground and scattering to the winds.
“The fell creatures saw their lord fall and turned to cowardice and ran. Daviel’s armies pursued them all the way to the borders of Garethen’s lands, to the very foot of Raumioch Beti, and many of them were slain.
“From that day, men recognized white goblins as a race set apart and honored them for their aid that day. In time they learned that there were many of that kind, and they all fled from the dark lands, seeking asylum and finding it. A new race was born, as one white goblin swore its allegiance to men.”
My voice fell silent. Our horses trod on, ever faithful.
Lazul spoke, “You forgot the other half. Where the white goblins betrayed us.”
I turned back to him. “My throat is dry. I will speak another story when I am ready.”
If the Blue Riders had taken all his stories, why could he remember that one?
No. They hadn’t taken all his stories. They left him the stories that taught suspicion, that taught fear. These riders didn’t just destroy stories. They selected which stories to devour. By selecting what stories to leave behind, they had rewritten Lazul’s heart.
And if they could do that to a dwarf… Was that what they meant when they said they devoured tales? Were they trying to rewrite the world?
Chapter Twenty-Six
The sky grew overcast as we continued on. Mountains loomed in the distance, blue and clear. There we would enter dwarven lands and in quick succession pass through their three kingdoms before emerging on the Black Sands.
Soon Lazul would have to take the lead.
I said, “Chief Lazul, I see the first passage into Graz. I must confess I know few stories of the dwarves. Will you be able to guide us through safely?”
He snorted, “At the entrance of the mines, there will be a guard. They will know what tales must be told.” After a pause, he continued, “And has your voice healed enough to finish your tale? I would be reminded of the white goblins’ betrayal.”
“It’s curious that you don’t remember tales of travel or kinship, but you do remember this tale that causes so much pain.”
“Perhaps I remember because it’s important to know to never trust any goblin race.”
Very well. The Blue Riders could rewrite Lazul by removing his stories. I would rewrite him by replacing them again.
“Then I know what tales to dwell on.” And I told more, as many as I could as we rode. All tales that taught trust, alliance and hope. I had time for the forging of the Western nations after the Deluge, when all the founding men gathered together and became brothers in blood, pledging assistance if darkness should threaten any of their lands. I told also of dwarves digging so far below that they threatened to release floodwaters upon the earth again, and how the elves came to assist, speaking their magic. It was from this that the magic-smithies of Chariis were opened to dwarves.
As we bedded down in a dip in the land, Yolian took first watch. Far to the north we saw a single stand of trees, and to the west the Jazen Mountains, the home of Delos of Graz, whom we had buried.
The next five days were filled with tales. When my voice would no longer make sound, Yolian would pick up where I had left off. We told only tales of friendship and the importance of trust. We spoke of light things, good things, as well as the vanquishings of Garethen. We bound each other together with these tales, tighter and tighter as we went.
At one point, Lazul asked, “How can he die again? We’ve heard so many times of Garethen turning to ash and being blown apart by the wind.”
I responded, “It’s true. Garethen has died many times. Yet he still lives. His mortal forms wither with time. When they die, they are turned to ash. The winds carry his ash back to Ban Maraseth, and his body is reformed on his throne, bringing him youth again. And every time, he is darker and eviler than before. So speak the tales.”
Lazul bristled. “So he can never be defeated?”
“No one knows how to keep the ash from reforming. Once, a brave hero kept a piece of ash as a souvenir of his victory. The darkness seeped into his very soul. His name was Ydarion, the only one who ever threatened to supplant the Fallen Lord. They battled each other so fiercely that they released the floodgates of the earth, piercing the depths where the waters were held back. Ydarion perished in the maelstrom, but Garethen survived.”
Lazul asked no more questions. From there I continued where I had been interrupted.
For me the days passed both quickly and slowly. Quickly, because I could linger in stories I had not told to any but children. Slowly, because Lazul did not accept all the tales. And always the mountains loomed closer.
Soon we found ourselves in the shadows of the high hills leading to the mountains. The terrain became rockier and trees rarer and rarer. Brush covered the ground, but even that became sparser as we went farther into the hills. The skies overhead remained overcast, and we saw less of the sun as it became hidden more quickly behind the mountains. The lack of light cast a pall over me that only the tales kept at bay.
Lazul, on the other hand, became mor
e and more bright. “They will welcome us. It’s true that the Graz dwarves are not nearly as welcoming as my own people, but a poor dwarven welcome is twice a grand human welcome!”
Daragen laughed. “Ha! You think the dwarves are that much more welcoming than my own people? Did you see the feast that they threw you in Habrin before those infernal riders appeared?”
“This is true. It was a good meal. But do you recall how we were held prisoner until we told them our purposes in being there?”
“Prisoner? Never! Honored guests, more like!”
And the argument continued, breaking the story Yolian had been telling. He let the strands he had been weaving fall. He knew it would be useless to try and continue the tale without them paying attention. Even Abani was drawn into the animated discussion, rushing to defend man and yet agreeing with the dwarf that the reception in Habrin had been a poor example of man’s kindness to guests.
The more they talked about Habrin, the farther behind the group Galatea fell. I urged Yolian and Lazul to take the lead as I allowed the others to pass me. Finally, Vendarion trotted beside Galatea. I rode silently beside her.
After some time, she spat, “He’s not a story. He was a man.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you turn him into a story?”
“I wanted to honor him. This way he will be remembered.”
Her eyes were wet. “You know, I was married before.”
I waited for her to continue.
“And it was good. And then it was done. He died slaying one of Garethen’s monsters, and I got to say goodbye to him. And I moved on. Water always flows downhill. I simply kept moving. But now I don’t feel like I’m flowing anywhere. And it’s because you stopped him from flowing. He should have been able to go. So I could go, too.”
“I didn’t capture him. Korah has moved on. We just have a story about him now.”
Galatea sniffed. “Was he really a prince?”
“He was.”
“He never told me.”
“He didn’t tell anyone.” I didn’t tell anyone, I added silently. I looked away from her as our horses crested a small rise. The others were far ahead of us.
“So you must be happy. That we had a prince after all.”
“No. I’m not happy.”
Her hands tightened around her reins. “It’s as stupid as drowning in an olive grove. I knew him less than my husband, but I hurt more.”
“Sometimes a tale half-told leaves more pain because you don’t know the ending. You know how your husband’s story ended. He died in battle, and his enemy died with him. Korah’s enemies are still out there.” I looked her in the eyes. “And we will find them.”
Galatea nodded. “And they’ll end up the same way the paranai who killed my husband did.”
“That’s the story I plan on telling my nieces and nephews when I return home.”
The redhead grinned. “What? Shouldn’t you save a story like this for your grandchildren?”
I took a deep breath and answered with a tight, forced smile, “I will never have grandchildren. Better for my nieces and nephews to have the story.” I changed the subject quickly before I could dwell on that truth.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On our fifth day in the hills, Lazul took the lead. “These are not the paths of my youth, but I can guide better than an old man or an elf here.” He led his horse along the bottom of gullies, tracing dry streambeds and sharp valleys. We saw no vegetation for two full days, and then it was before us.
Carved into the mountainside itself loomed a massive, yawning gate. It stood a full fifteen paces high, by my estimate, and wide enough we could ride four abreast without feeling crowded. The gateposts, made from the rock of the mountain, held no doors. Unlike Chariis which had been grown from the rocks themselves, this was very obviously carved. The craftsmanship was superb. Along the posts stood runes in many tongues, all bidding welcome to friends and warnings to foes. There appeared to be a golden vein running throughout the posts, but upon closer inspection it was nothing more than a cleverly carved portion of rock that caught the light just so it would reflect this bright amber hue.
The cave within was unlit.
Lazul reined in his mount as we came to stand before the gates. He glanced at the runes a moment, an odd look passed over his face, before turning back to us with a grin. “Ah, to see the workmanship of my cousins is a glorious thing. I see my own people are twice as skilled, but anything dwarven is a good thing to rest my eyes upon after this long in human lands. Come. I expect we will be greeted after a day’s journey below. Travel through the mountains will take mere days this way, rather than weeks to go over.” He urged his horse forward. The animal obeyed, though I sensed some hesitation. Horses were not made to live beneath the earth.
Galatea and Daragen lingered in the back of the group. I waited until the others had passed. “Are you coming?”
The two glanced at each other before Daragen answered, “We’re coming. We just don’t like the idea of having earth over us. I’m a very good swimmer, but there’s no way to swim through rock.”
Galatea punched him on the shoulder. “You couldn’t swim a pond on a calm day. That’s why they mated me to you, to catch you every time you fell overboard.” She neither smiled nor rolled her eyes.
Daragen stuck out his tongue. “You only saved me once.”
“Twice.”
The shorter man answered by putting his leg to his horse and moving under the shadow of the gate.
We followed into the dark. A few paces beyond the gate, Yolian and Cerulean whispered into their hands to form glowing orbs to guide our way. Yolian took the second position, letting Lazul lead. Cerulean once again took the rear.
“I suppose you up-dwellers need the light to see by.” Lazul did not sound happy about this, but he accepted it. His white eyes seemed to glow in the relative darkness as he rode apart from us. He sighed. “It is good, though, for you to see this. Then, when you visit my lands, you will know the greater talent that I cultivate in my own people.”
What the light revealed awed me. I had heard much of the workmanship of the dwarves, but there are some things that stories cannot accurately or fully convey. The birth of a child is one. The welcome of your hearth after a long winter storm is a second. And the craftsmanship of dwarves is a third.
We stood on a broad boulevard. The smooth floor fairly sparkled in the light. Lining the sides of the street stood countless dwarven warriors, stone statues that appeared very lifelike, silent sentinels that watched our way. Each held an ace in a comfortable stance, the handle resting on the floor, the axe head before them. They leaned gently on the weapons, ready to pick them up at any moment. Each had a different face, different armor. Behind them, smooth walls were carved into the façade of a city. I could not see the roof above us; the light did not travel far enough.
We passed the day under the silent watchfulness of stone eyes. I made note of many of them. Here we passed by a dwarf whose beard was so long it covered his axe head. There I saw an axe that was actually taller than the dwarf who wielded it. I asked Lazul the purpose of all these statues.
“Oh! They aren’t just statues. They’re monuments to heroes. Perhaps once a generation another is added to their number. They guard and watch.” His grin was brighter than his eyes.
Yolian didn’t hide his feelings. “This is a mighty place. Nothing rivals it in the kingdoms I have seen.”
“Of course not!” came the reply.
Even Karen Cordolis was awed. “Never in my travels have I seen dwarven lands. I mostly stayed up with the humans. Figured that dwarves are more like men than even men are, and that could never be a good thing. But my! You have done some good work here. Your people, anyway. I suppose you just order them about, telling them what to carve. Wait! You make the women do all the work, don’t you?”
Lazul let out a laugh. “Don’t let any of the Graz hear you say that! No, to become chief of my people, I had
to carve a thing that had never been seen in dwarven lands, to such a degree that no one could question what it was meant to be. It is true that the dwarven women sometimes carve, but they are usually busy with other matters.”
Abani asked, “What did you carve?”
Lazul looked at her with a twinkle in his eye but would not answer.
We continued for a few more hours, and then Lazul reined in his horse. “There are the first marks of the Graz kingdom proper. We should make camp here and wait for a sentry to contact us.”
I was anxious to continue moving. Already the lack of sunlight was beginning to affect me. I missed seeing the sky. “How long will it be?”
“Oh, they already know we’re here, I’m sure. They’ll make themselves known when they feel the time is right. Perhaps tomorrow morning or in the middle of the night. I know in my kingdom visitors are usually greeted after a full day, so we may see how they act amongst one another. It’s good to know those you welcome into the heart of your kingdom.”
We found a break in the ranks of stone dwarves. Here was a censer, filled with a fragrant oil, made to be lit by guests. We struck flint over it, and the street we traveled on lit brightly. The light shimmered along the walls and continued up over our heads. I gasped as it reached the roof of the cave. There, a thousand glittering lights of every color reflected the flames, as if they were stars. We also found depressions along the side of the road filled with earth rather than stone.
Lazul gestured. “I see the Graz try to make guests comfortable, providing a normal sleeping place for you and a sky overhead. Now what think you of the friendliness of the dwarves?”
We all greatly appreciated what had been provided. We blessed our food and ate in good spirits, knowing we were entering a kingdom that made allowances for those of us who dwelled above.
That night we slept lightly. Lazul volunteered to take both watches, but we insisted he get at least some sleep.
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