The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

One looked straight at me then, its yellow eyes squinted. Mere moments later, a white arm flung itself over the ledge, and a pallid body hauled itself up. Somehow, I knew this was not the same creature we had released earlier, though its appearance was no less startling.

  “Why do you come here, Master of Men?” Its voice was not as high as Badron’s and seemed to move at a more leisurely pace, but it still had the odd lilt of rhythm.

  “I am a guest of the dwarves above and wandered in here. I have no reason.”

  The thing stayed crouched, close to the ground, almost in a bow. It blinked once. I could hear the hissing of its breath. “Should you need aid, call to my brothers below. We serve the dwarves here and shall not let a call for aid go.” And with that it turned and scurried down the wall. Again, I was alone on the ledge.

  I turned to the left and began my walk around the pit. The ledge was lined with doors made of iron bars. The first door I came to was open. I glanced within and saw a straw pallet. There was a hole in the wall which seemed to be where food was presented. Other than that, I could detect only the faint sound of dripping water, dust, and deep shadows that swallowed the back of the cell. The room was a wholly dismal place. To be a prisoner of the Graz for any length of time must sap all longing for life.

  A decomposing dwarven figure leaned out through the bars of the next cell. I gingerly stepped past. The next two rooms were similarly occupied. The third held the jezebel.

  She had not put on another form. She wept as she sat on her pallet, her knees drawn up to her unremarkable chest.

  I approached and took two of the bars in my hands. “Hello.”

  Her head snapped up. She sniffed but did not bring up a hand to wipe away her tears.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Delia.” Her voice was husky from her crying. No one would be entrapped by such a voice, nor would it repel them.

  “What were you doing here, Delia?”

  “If I tell you, my Lord will take me and give me to the goblins to do what they will with me. I will take this dwarven prison above that pain.” Her voice gained strength as she talked, though it was still plain in pitch and tone.

  “He promised you beauty and the attentions of many men, didn’t he?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she stood. “Yes. And he kept his promise. He gave me some of his power and gave me to one of his generals. Even in the dark lands I was sought after. And once I was set on my mission here, I could have my way with any I came across. My Lord gave me more than anything you could ever promise.” She stepped closer with every phrase until she was a scant handbreadth away from me.

  I kept my voice even. “But now you have failed.”

  “I have. And I will be punished when he finds me.” She looked down for a moment. Was she contrite? Then her eyes snapped up at me, and she grinned. “But I will not turn traitor to the one who gave me everything I ever desired.” Her hands moved up her body then, touching herself in ways that would have driven men insane with lust had she but been in her previous form. Now it did nothing. She seemed to be some girl playing at being attractive, and all it did was turn my stomach.

  “You know your power is gone.”

  “Your thing broke my spell. In time I’ll regain what I lost, and on that day, I shall walk out of this prison as a queen.”

  This is not what I had wanted. With her tears, I had hoped she would renounce her ways and rejoin the lands of light. But no. I would not learn what her plot had been. At least not as a confession as I had hoped. “What general did you serve?”

  Her smile lit her eyes with a lust I had never before seen in a human. “Thesairh.” She did not speak for a moment, her eyes fluttering in ecstasy. “He was more a man than every one of you in your little lands. And when he comes here, though I’ve failed, he’ll crush this little nation of little people, and then he will take Chariis for his own plaything.” Her eyes narrowed. “There. You have what you came for. Go back now. It will do you no good to warn them.”

  Behind me, a voice. “Man from Above, move away from the bars. If you would see those you love, return to what is yours.”

  I heeded the white goblin’s warning. I turned away from Delia as she began to laugh. Tinkling bells sounded in her mirth. I stepped quickly to the stair. Her powers were already returning.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  My bones creaked by the time I had made my way up the stairs, past the monuments, and back to the hall where I’d left my friends. I may have been gasping for breath a bit, too.

  This was why most stories about heroes weren’t about old men.

  In the hall, unconscious dwarves sprawled on tables, benches, and floors. Apparently, I’d been gone longer than I’d thought.

  Karen Cordolis stomped on one table, going from sleeping form to sleeping form and kicking each in the head. “Dwarves! You’d think they could hold their own drink, but no. In my time, a dwarf could drink for a week and not suffer any ill effects!”

  I approached my small friend. “Is Minos still awake?”

  “Of course not! He drank every toast that was offered to him. He was the first one out! Men, dwarves, males of all races are the same!” She aimed another kick. The dwarf did not stir. “I didn’t even get to how I left behind Janica’s little village!”

  I was glad that her new legs seemed to be as good as her old pair. They no longer looked like blocky carvings but as much flesh as the rest of her. “Karen Cordolis, we have a problem. The jezebel was sent to soften the kingdom to make invasion easier. One of Garethen’s generals means to cross through Graz on the way to Chariis.”

  She looked up at me, her attention completely refocused. “How do you know?”

  “I spoke with the jezebel. She told me how her brave general would crush this kingdom and free her.”

  “Did she name the general?”

  “Thesairh.”

  The potato woman shook her head. “Don’t know him. You?”

  “No. It’s my guess he’s a lower general making a bold move to impress the Fallen Lord. Given the state of things here, if he attacks soon, he may very well conquer the Graz.”

  Karen Cordolis nodded. “You’re right. The Graz need to be warned, and we need to cross into Jaed before this general can attack. I believe I’ll be able to find Minos if you care to track down one of our elven friends. We may need one of them to dispel his drunken stupor. They went that way after the dwarves started falling thicker than they would in battle.”

  I followed her gesture, crossing from the great hall and into a smaller stone room. It was filled with exquisitely detailed statues. Here was a dwarf battling a goblin. There was a fierce dragon. And there were Cerulean and Yolian, speaking as only elves can. They turned to me as I stepped into the room. It appeared I had interrupted something of import.

  Yolian addressed me. “Adal. We were just discussing the need to move on from this place.”

  “I agree. We may be in greater danger than we had surmised.” I explained what I had learned.

  Yolian said, “Then we must move quickly before we’re trapped between a dark general’s army and the Graz. You’re right in saying we must warn them, of course. Come, we will find Minos.”

  As we reentered the hall, Karen Cordolis called out to us. She had found the sleeping chief. The elves worked their magic on him, and his body responded to the story. Minos awoke without so much as a headache. That little trick could be handy the next time I needed to sober Jayan up.

  Jayan.

  I shoved unwelcome thoughts aside. Right now I had more immediate worries to address.

  After we told Minos of the impending invasion, he awoke his men with a clamor. He gave us directions on how to travel under the mountain. “I am sorry I cannot spare a guide to go with you, but we must prepare for this invasion force. There should be no danger, though. Lazul will know the stories that need to be told. You will pass several sentries. I will write a letter for you, detailing what they are to do to prepare for this
general and giving you free passage.” He sat and wrote on a strange parchment made from a type of hide I had never encountered.

  Meanwhile, Yolian and I tracked down the rest of our number and gathered what supplies we needed. Minos opened his storerooms to us, refilling our rations.

  I discovered Galatea and Abani together in a cavern surrounded by heavy axes. Abani had taken the Garrendai woman’s arm and stretched it over her head. “You must stretch. Yolian has healed me many times in my travels. His spells mend flesh, but they also leave the muscles tight.”

  As I entered the room, the two turned to me. I explained our haste, and Galatea set out immediately. I asked Abani to linger a moment. “Thank you for helping her.”

  The Parvian scowled. “She dishonored her husband by chasing after Korah, as much as her husband dishonors her. I only do what is necessary so we can accomplish our goal.”

  I decided it would help harmony in our group if I shared the truth. “Galatea’s husband is dead. Daragen is her mate, a partner for sailing, not a husband.”

  “Then she dishonors the memory of the dead. One husband for a woman.” Abani departed without another word.

  I reunited with Yolian and the rest of our companions. Within an hour we had set off, deeper into the mountains and away from the Graz stronghold.

  The paths here were dark and not constructed for visitors. In ancient days when the dwarves had first built these cities, they had wanted to welcome the surface world so that they might boast of their craftsmanship. Yet, as time had passed, new chiefs had focused instead on their own people. Indeed, few visitors had likely ventured beyond the great capital city. The ceiling was far lower, though it still allowed us to ride our mounts. There were no burning censers, forcing us to rely on the floating orbs the elves produced.

  As we traveled, I asked Yolian to teach me the story necessary to form such a ball of light. I thought it foolish to rely on only two of our party for something most of us found so necessary. At first Yolian refused, saying I did not have the training for even the most rudimentary spell. I countered and told him how I had used a story on the dwarves back in the city of the Graz.

  He was impressed, but cautioned me. “Be careful, Adal. In times of need, a story may submit to your will. Yet refrain if you can; tales are playful and may bend your words. What if the story had made us the thieves, and the dwarves started expecting someone to follow us? It takes many years to be able to sculpt a story to your will and your will alone.”

  Of course. The stories had wills of their own. Wills that would sacrifice people because that’s what “should” be, right? Stories that would sacrifice a prince, but look kindly on someone struggling against a jezebel.

  So, which was it? Would they help or hurt us? Or were we so small compared to a story that it didn’t matter?

  What good was being the Keeper of Tales if it was the tales that kept us?

  And was that Garethen’s stratagem with these new Blue Riders? Just carve away certain stories, take them away, so things worked differently? Lean all the stories his direction?

  My thoughts were spiraling downward again. I needed to have better control than this and hoped it was only the close darkness of Graz souring my spirits. I refocused on just getting through Graz, getting above ground, back to the light. And right now, an extra light would be helpful. We didn’t have time for years of training, but whatever Yolian could share, I would take. I told him as much.

  Yolian was silent for some time but then relented. He said once we were again under the light of the sun he would begin teaching; until then he did not know the tales as he should if he were to teach here. It would be unfortunate if a jealous tale caused the ceiling to collapse onto us.

  I was surprised something like that had yet to happen. We had passed many places I would have thought appropriate for a story, yet none of us knew what they should be. Yolian, Cerulean, and I were greatly trained in the tales of the surface but knew nothing of what should be done here.

  At one time, Lazul would have known what should be said. Alas, he was as useless a storyteller here as I was, since his stories had been taken from him. Lazul refused to admit that he needed aid to tell stories he had known from his youth.

  The tunnel began to slope downward at a great slant, forcing us to dismount. The orbs floated before and behind us, but it was difficult to see too far ahead. “How long does this go, Lazul?”

  He glanced about, his dwarven eyes seeing deep into the darkness. “We are entering the caverns under the mountain proper. It will go on for miles, if this is normal dwarven architecture. The paths will also grow narrower. We would do well to spread the horses out. If one slips, it can regain balance lest we get caught in a living rockslide.”

  We took his advice and spread out as far as we dared. After more than three hours of a laborious downward walk, we saw light ahead. Daragen was the first to ask, “Should there be light here, Lazul?”

  “Oh, yes. There will be checkpoints placed along the path. They will be well-lit and well stocked; I suspect they will also guard the entrance to either a mine or a small town. We will be welcomed there.” He grabbed the letter which hung in a case from his belt.

  Indeed, as the path leveled out and broadened, we saw a stone palisade silhouetted from behind by blazing torches. Forms atop the wall called to us, “Hail! Show us your right of passage!”

  Lazul waved the parchment. “Here it is! Do you really distrust your brothers that such a small group as this would be able to pass them?”

  “Hand it up.” The voice was formal and stiff and did not answer Lazul’s challenge. After a moment, someone roared, “Open the gate! Let them in!” A large portion of the palisade swung back, and we entered the central yard of a rock fort. Dwarves stood around us on raised stone platforms that lined the yard. Each was armed, though none of them held their weapons to attack us.

  A dwarf clambered down a carved ladder. As he reached the cavern floor, he turned to face us. He was stouter than many dwarves I had seen, though no less capable of hefting the great axe that hung from his side. He was huffing from the descent. He held the letter. “So, you want passage through, eh? Well, apparently our new chieftain’s granted it. So, on you go.” He gestured to the opposite gate. Several dwarves made ready to open it. He shot a level look at Lazul. “And we guard things much better here than they ever could in the city above.”

  Our companion dwarf roared, “Ha! Even with my great axe strokes, I would not be able to fell so great a number as dwell there. No, I would have a much better chance cutting through here. It looks like I’d be able to face all of your dwarves myself.”

  The head guard handed the paper back to Lazul. “Not a chance. I’ve trained them all myself!”

  “Oh-ho! Then one of the humans could take your little fort singlehandedly!”

  The two continued back and forth. The other gate swung open, and we exited. Lazul and the one who had granted us entry embraced. As he rejoined our party, I glanced at him. “An old friend?”

  “Now he is. It’s a shame you humans don’t greet each other with such enthusiasm.”

  I smiled. “Normally, humans scheme to see what they might get out of their neighbor. Such friendly displays are rare.”

  “Ah. Well, I only just met him, but in a few words I could tell he was a true dwarf. Of course, most of us speak true and to the heart of things, even if others say we boast. It was refreshing to see another brother. When we congregate in cities, it thins our blood so much we start acting like, well, like men.” He glanced sideways at me. “Of course, I mean you no offense.”

  “None taken. We have faults, just as all races do.”

  “Ha! Dwarves have no faults!” His grin was infectious.

  Daragen jumped in. “Of course, not all humans are as flawed. Why, if you dwarves acted more like the Garrendai, it would be much better for you!”

  Abani spoke. “I thought you were from Habrin.”

  Galatea watched her mate carefully f
rom a distance.

  “I was born there, and it has the loyalty of my blood, but I was trained in Garrenda. That nation has my service until Habrin calls me back. And as King Padokat has ordered me to serve in our journey here, you have my loyalty. You know that.”

  Abani did not answer.

  Galatea, though, made her way to lead her mount beside Daragen’s. The two talked in low voices.

  Two of our companions were reconciling. Another, though, was moving away. I needed to find some way to strengthen Abani’s ties to the rest of us, lest some story lead her away.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We continued into darkness. Yolian focused on the walls around us and maintained our light. Lazul often scouted ahead, though he rarely reported much. Cerulean served as our rear guard. She remained quiet.

  After what seemed to be an eternity, we made camp at a level place. There was a small cavern off the path outfitted with censers we lit. It was equipped with more than enough beds for us. We found the place welcoming, though no one was there to greet us.

  “It’s a way station for weary travelers,” Lazul explained. “We’ll stop at one each night until we reach the surface again. Very safe and easy to protect. We have the same way stations in my own kingdom, though ours have ale and better beds awaiting travelers.”

  I walked along the walls, letting the fingers of one hand trail along the rockface. “Is there a story dwelling here?”

  “How should I know?” Lazul quickly thrust himself into finding some food in his pack.

  Karen scolded him for his gruff answer.

  It seemed a sensible thing to do: set a story to guard a place like this. There would be no risk to friendly soldiers who knew the tale. But if outsiders or enemies took up residence here and did not speak the tale, the tale itself might be able to activate a cave-in. It did not sit well with me that we didn’t know.

  Yolian seemed to know my thoughts and began circling from the other side of the room. His hand brushed its own path on the wall.