The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

The unnamed creature conferred with the goblins in their chittering language. That and the wind served as the only sounds of this high place for a time that stretched far too long.

  At last the creature turned to us. “My children have made their report, and now they are free to pursue newer vows made to darker beings. Any threat you pose to me will be sufficiently dealt with by my dear ones.” As it spoke, it regained its former size and features. “Farewell, storytellers. May you rot in whatever afterlife you have dreamed for yourselves.” It leaped across the chasm and disappeared into the thicket.

  With that, the goblins turned and rushed toward us. They slashed with curved, jagged blades.

  We met them with force.

  More goblins began to pour onto the tooth. My eyes could not focus on the new arrivals long. A gray-green form darted toward me. I stepped out of the way and spun. I thrust Northwind into it as it passed. I felt my blade pierce skin and strike at bone. Before I could breathe, another assailant attacked me.

  Even as I fought, I knew how the others fared in this struggle, but not as a general is able to feel the battle around him. I knew what would be necessary to speak this journey as a tale.

  Abani danced again, and now there was a delight in her eyes. Here, finally, she could strike out and attack without fear. Finally, in our journeys we had come to an enemy that was not a friend bewitched. There was nothing to hold us back, and we could not flee. She spun, and her sword appeared to strike many goblins at once. I thought I could even hear her singing, though I couldn’t make out the words. Her sword blows matched the rhythm of her song. I seemed to hear an echo of her song, a countermelody sung by a man. Another fought in silks beside Abani, dancing with her in perfect complement to her movements. I could only wonder at what I saw.

  Lazul roared in joy and rage. More than a few goblin heads flew into the space beyond the teeth, sent by the axe of a dwarven chief.

  Daragen rolled and bobbed between his foes, striking with knives from behind when they least expected it. He smiled as he released pent up frustrations.

  Galatea jumped from spot to spot, dropping small bulbs of oil every place her feet touched. She flipped over one goblin, splashing oil on its head as she passed over. She then struck flint, and the ground around her lit. Goblins hissed in pain as the flames devoured them in sudden heat.

  Yolian’s worded armor had returned. However, now he held a blade of light, much like the one Cerulean had used. He struck at goblins, and they fell, though I could see no wounds. The sound of goblin shrieks drowned out the words he spoke.

  The vision showed me Badron. It stood near me, dodging through my forms and protecting me. It tripped its enemies so they fell into my blade. Because of its actions, I harmed many more foes.

  More and more goblins piled over the edge and onto the tooth. We gathered with our companions, scattered into the fray, and came together again. My muscles were sore from days on end of exertion. I did not think even the balanced precision of my blade would help me now.

  I saw the others were tiring as well. Yolian had allowed himself to be backed to the edge of the tooth. The elf slew one armored foe. A second moved in. It swung its curved blade and struck true. Yolian faltered. His armor vanished. The blade sliced deeper into elven flesh.

  No. The stories had demanded enough sacrifices. I wouldn’t allow this one, too.

  I dashed through the fray to his side, ending the life of the immediate threat. Yolian fell to his knees behind me, cradling his wound. He spoke stuttered little utterances through pain. The words gathered about his midsection as I protected him.

  Multiple goblins cornered the winded Abani. She planted her hands on Lazul’s nearby shoulders and vaulted over the morass. She landed blade first on another unsuspecting goblin.

  Daragen and Lazul found each other and fought back to back. The goblins held back and retrieved bows from small packs that were strung on their backs. Lazul charged. There would be no archery atop the tooth today.

  Galatea reached for a final bulb of oil. “You know sailors like to fistfight, right?” she dared nearby goblins. She flung on two gauntleted gloves and smashed the oilskin between her hands. She struck the gloves together. Sparks flew and lit oil. Flames danced on her hands. She blocked a sword with one gauntlet and punched forward with the other, burning the face of her attacker.

  Yolian stood and uttered the words that once more formed a blade. He reentered the fray.

  Dawn split the sky behind us. I heard a distant shriek that did not belong to any goblin. I spun in an attack and craned my neck.

  The griffins were returning.

  They sailed past. Each plucked a goblin and tossed it off the edge as they passed by. They flew by a second time and called out, “Leap over the edge!”

  Anxiety filled me, but I saw no immediate alternative. I jammed my blade into its sheath and jumped off the edge. Time seemed to slow as I felt the earth wrap its fingers about me and begin to pull down. Kree’Ah swept below me, and even before I began my fall in earnest, I was on his back and flying away.

  Galatea laughed. As she turned and ran, she flipped over one last goblin and soared into the sky. “Huzzah!” She held her arms out. The wind smothered the flames on her gloves. The white cloak stretched out behind her. Kerek snatched her cloak in his beak and carried her away.

  Lazul shouted, “Not a chance!” He and Daragen were still back to back, but now that two allies had been removed from the field of battle, more enemies closed in. Kree’Ah continued his sorties. He plowed through the goblins and snatched more to plummet to their deaths. Finally, both Daragen’s and Lazul’s mounts moved through the battle and snatched up their riders in massive cat’s paws. As soon as they were clear of the tooth, they flung their burdens upward. The majestic animals caught them on their backs. Neither Daragen nor Lazul seemed pleased at having been tossed.

  Kree’Ah spun around to the crown of the tooth. An army of goblins scaled this side of the peak. I risked a glance below and saw the many armies were now moving to the cracks between the teeth, and many chose to go over rather than through.

  Yolian smiled, looked to the opponent he was currently attacking, and leaped backwards, sailing headfirst off the edge of the cliff. Kree’Ah soared into position so that we would be able to see the elf’s fate.

  He jumped off the east face of the tooth, away from the climbing goblins. However, he fell perilously close to the stone. His yellowed griffin dove. Its wings folded tight to its body, and its legs drew close. The griffin gained on him, making incredible speed. Then they were alongside each other, and the griffin spun so its back was to Yolian. The elf reached out with one hand and then the other, and he settled himself onto the yellow griffin’s back.

  It spread its wings. One wing bounced off the cliff face. Rocks broke from the cliff in a stone rain as the wing pulled back in, shaking. The griffin sang out a scream of pain. They began to plummet out of control toward the ground far below. Toward marching goblin armies.

  The griffin extended its good wing. They slowed and spiraled. It was still not a controlled fall. The circles brought them closer and closer to the wall of rock that was next to them. Yolian clung to the griffin’s neck for dear life.

  It spun close again, skimming the very edge of the tooth with its wing. On the next approach it held out all four paws, claws extended, and found purchase. Yolian clung as tightly as ever, but now the yellow griffin had some reprieve. Even at this distance I saw it heaving for breath. One wing did not fold properly to its body.

  Kree’Ah spoke, “If I mount the cliff as he is, will you be able to hold on?”

  “If it’s for a short time!”

  His wings began to beat more strongly, and we slowed until we were near the edge of the cliff. Kree’Ah reached out with strong claws and latched onto the rock. He called out, “You have done well and will be named. No longer last, you shall be sixth. Can you safely leave the cliff’s face?”

  Yolian’s mount responded, “I believe so
. I have not broken my wing. I just needed some time to recover.”

  “Very well. Leap off, then, and I shall follow.”

  The yellow griffin obeyed, letting gravity pull its head back first. The rest of its body peeled after, until it plummeted again to the ground. It spread its wings and flew. I heard a shriek of joy as it passed us on its way up.

  Kree’Ah explained. “Every griffin must do some great task to gain a name. We do not waste names on all. This one risked much to rescue your companion, and for his deed he now will receive what he has longed for. Now we, too, must join the others in the heavens. Are you ready?”

  I indicated I was, and the white griffin fell back as the yellow one had and spread his wings. We returned to the summit, though perhaps my heart or other parts of me lagged behind.

  Only Abani remained. The tempo of her dance had increased to a frantic pace. She stood one moment, flipped onto her hands on a goblin’s shoulders, and then onto her feet again.

  From this high vantage, I saw that Abani was not alone. As in my vision, a man battled with her. His silks were the same color, his blade the same. He moved in time with Abani’s dance. And though I had not noticed it earlier, Abani’s song alone was incomplete. His counter completed the duet.

  Yet, this man didn’t do any damage I could see. He slew no goblins. It appeared he was protecting Abani instead, blocking a strike here, delaying a thrust there, allowing Abani time to turn in her dance and slay the enemy.

  I shouted into Kree’Ah’s ear, “Where did the man come from?”

  “You see a shade? I told you that your group smelled of death, past and future. You are seeing what I scented. You see the death the silken warrior carries with her.”

  Badron was there as well. To my eyes, its white form stuck out now; I don’t know how I’d missed it before. It grabbed goblins with its hands and wrestled them, bit them, doing whatever it could to harm them. With strong arms it broke the necks of many foes. It battled closer and closer to Abani.

  Ka’Keneh soared in a tight circle around the crown of the tooth. He called out to Abani, but my companion did not seem to hear him, or if she did, she did not react.

  Finally, Badron was next to the dancer. It didn’t strike out against any goblin. It gripped Abani by the legs and hefted her into the air. Abani did not have time to react. She landed near the edge of the tooth. Goblins swarmed to her. She had time to kick a few away before the white goblin was upon her again. It shoved her off the edge. Seconds later, Ka’Keneh screamed past, carrying the Parvian.

  The man was gone; I could not see what had happened to him.

  Atop the tooth, Badron took the fight on itself. I have never seen such a savage battle. It tore into its enemies, biting, scratching, yanking arms, and wrenching whatever it might be able to reach with its hands.

  I leaned forward to speak to Kree’Ah. “I know you already caught me, but will you save it?”

  “Your white goblin slave?”

  “No. It is another companion on our journey, and if this does not prove its worth to us, I don’t know what will.”

  “Very well.”

  The griffin soared in, his wings wide, his forepaws out, claws bared. He landed heavily on a goblin foe and screeched at the others. They backed away for a moment as I called out, “Badron, here! Mount the griffin!”

  It scrambled up a rear leg and climbed over my shoulders, finally settling just in front of me. Its breath came in harsh gasps. Its clawed hands were covered in blood, staining the white feathers of our griffin.

  Kree’Ah galloped to the edge and leaped. Soon we joined the others and flew west, toward Ban Maraseth, the den of the Black Serpent, the home of Garethen.

  We went to the end of our story.

  End Book Two

  Book Three

  Stories Fall

  The End.

  I gazed west.

  Ban Maraseth was gone now. It was washed clean. The filth of Garethen was gone.

  So was everything else. Everyone else.

  What was the point? What was the point of being the Keeper of Tales if it meant sacrificing everything? It was all just so useless.

  Badron came up behind me, quiet. Its presence was a small comfort to me. I guessed I was not quite alone.

  We sat there on the stones for a long time, watching the waves. There was little else to be done.

  “Master, tell the tale. Tell me the story of where it began.” Badron said.

  Tell the tale? Yes, I supposed even after all this, I was still a storyteller at heart. And this was perhaps the last tale to tell, the last audience to hear it.

  I nodded.

  ***

  It began in Ban Maraseth. It began on Garethen’s throne. It began in a heart long exhausted by the world around him.

  Garethen was sick of losing.

  He drummed his fingers on his throne. “Once upon a time,” he said. He sighed. “Once upon a time, the Fallen Lord led his armies against the forces of the light. And every time, every time, he was defeated. Because that’s what the stories say. And the stories have their say, don’t they?”

  He leaned back on his throne, and he pondered.

  And he wondered.

  And he had a wonderful idea. The most wonderful, insidious, perfect idea.

  “What if I didn’t?” he asked. “What if, once upon a time, the Fallen Lord didn’t scheme? What if he simply said no?” He leaned forward, his hands clasped before him.

  And he spoke words. They flowed from his lips, golden words edged in black.

  “Once upon a time, the Fallen Lord stayed on his throne. He was content.”

  And it was so. He felt the words sink into his heart. He felt the story take root.

  He didn’t want to march to war.

  “His goblins were happy to settle on the Black Sands. His behemoths began to mine. The hagri hunted without their dark master looking over their shoulders. The paranai moved north to explore what lay beyond even the Spires. And for once, there was peace.”

  And so it was. The dark armies dissipated. Men, elves, and dwarves began to forget that there was a Fallen Lord. Men began to laugh at the idea of Garethen.

  And Garethen? He was happy. He told himself he was happy. He told himself that he didn’t need anything else. That he had no need to conquer the world. That he had enough.

  But the stories, they will have their say.

  One night as Garethen prepared for bed, a behemoth, a great, dark general, approached and bowed to him. “Master,” he rumbled.

  “Yes, speak,” Garethen answered.

  “We grow restless. We hunger.”

  “Then eat something. I understand many of the goblins have started farming again. You should try some of their pasta. You’d never think they could make something so tasty, but they have!”

  “Master, we do not hunger for food. We hunger for something more.”

  “I see. And if I told you I was not going to go to war again?”

  The behemoth struck so quickly not even Garethen saw the movement. A great black hand wrapped around Garethen’s throat. It tightened. Garethen burst into ash.

  The white flakes swirled and swept into the throne room where he reformed. “Oh, you should not have done that,” he said.

  The behemoth made excellent fertilizer for the goblins.

  Soon after, a paranai tapped its way into the throne room. The skeletal creature bobbed its head. “Master, oh master,” it chittered.

  “Yes?” Garethen looked up from the book he was reading.

  “We must go soon. I so hunger for flesh. To fill up my belly. To bend my bones into another form and swallow someone whole. Oh, master, a child. Two children! Do you remember what it’s like to dine on delicate finger bones? To hear the crunch and the child’s screams all in one?” And it sighed a terrible sigh.

  “Yes. Well, go. You do not need me to realize your dreams. Not every nightmare in the east must be sent by me.”

  “Master, please, let us g
o to war again.”

  “I’m trying to read. Leave me.”

  And the paranai’s jaws unhinged, and he lunged toward Garethen.

  Garethen didn’t move. He burst into ash. It swirled and reformed on his throne.

  The paranai’s bones made excellent serving utensils at the dining table of the Fallen Lord.

  But they all lined up, all the creatures Garethen had made over the long, long centuries. They had been bred for battle, and they were not tired of it as he was. Truth be told, even he could feel the stirrings of old stories in his heart. They were too deeply rooted to be so easily replaced. He should have known.

  So, he sighed. “I need to tell a different story,” he said. “Or I need to find a different story. A stronger one.” And he smiled. “What a wonderful idea. I just need to find a different story... a very old one.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  We flew. Below us, armies flowed toward Raumioch Beti and beyond. The invasion was starting in earnest, and we had no way to warn the nations behind us unless we abandoned our mission. The very mission that might determine what Garethen’s plans truly were.

  At least, that’s how the stories always went. The band of heroes found some weakness that turned the tide of battle. And we’d discovered the secret weapon: Blue Riders that ate stories. If they ate enough of the stories, they could turn how this world worked.

  They could alter how nations viewed each other. If you took away the stories that built trust, it would create suspicion. Or what if every story that warned of how evil Garethen was vanished? Would the nations even welcome the invasion? We really didn’t know exactly what would happen or how this worked. Which stories would Garethen target? How long would it take for the effects of missing stories to be felt? What would happen to those that remained? And most worryingly, if these Blue Riders were themselves stories, how could we fight them?

  And so we flew on, in search of more answers. I chewed on my lip as I gazed beyond the griffin’s head. Kree’Ah bore me well. As far as I could see on the ground below, more and more dark armies. How could we face them on a good day, much less when Garethen threatened the stories that bound us together?