He waited patiently. Far more patiently than I had ever been with my nieces or nephews.
All right. He said I was his guest. I would trust the stories to protect me as long as I was his guest. I sheathed Northwind and stalked past him to the table. Garethen joined me. We sat across from each other.
He raised the silver dome that covered the platter before him, releasing steam. “Ah. My cooks make excellent dinners. All to order, of course. Please, eat. I took pains to discover the current delicacies of the North. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to find fresh onions on this side of the Jaws!”
I didn’t even peek to see what the silver dome before me hid.
“Very well. I hope you don’t blame me for eating, though. I’ve had a very stressful few days, and I suspect it shall be continuing for some time. The stress, that is, not the day. Though that, too, may stretch beyond what I wish.”
He chewed on some piece of meat. I didn’t want to know what it was.
He noted my glare. “You suspect I’m eating a human child, Adal?” He smiled. “I must confess, I tried it at one point, but human children have no taste. Elven children are more tender, but blander yet. No, if you’re going to enjoy baby, dwarven children have both the right taste and the right texture.” He savored another bite.
I leaped to my feet and drew my blade.
Garethen burst into laughter. “You old fool! You think I eat children? No, this is rabbit, plain and simple. Just some seasonings added, along with potatoes and carrots. My personal favorite. I know I’m some sort of demon in your eyes, but even demons can jest, can’t they?” His eyes were filled with mirth.
“I have no interest in jesting,” I growled.
“No, of course not. I must be the bad guy, mustn’t I?” He sighed. “Adal, the stories trap us. I’m tired of being the bad guy. I’m tired of losing. I’m ready to do something else. So, well.” He looked over at me. “You’re here, so I can tell you my big secret plan. You’re the unlikely hero, after all. I’m supposed to tell you everything so you can defeat me. That’s the way of things, isn’t it?”
I did not answer.
“Yes, that’s the problem with this world. The stories control everything. And Chariis always defeats Garethen, because that’s what the stories say.” He sampled another bite. “And the stories don’t help anyone, do they? Of course they don’t help me. I fail. Every time. You always beat me back, but at such a great price.”
He leaned back, eyes toward the ceiling. “I heard that you’ve already lost your prince. My guess is that he was close to you? Ah, I see he was. Imagine it, Adal. A world where stories didn’t tell you who would die. A world where no prince was forced to sacrifice himself. Of course, you’d be giving up a great deal of protection. They’re the ones that make sure I’m always defeated. So, I guess it would be a trade, but a fair one. You’d lose their protection, but also the curse of following their forms.” He plucked up his stone cup and sipped. “What do you think? Is it worth the price?”
I didn’t answer.
Yolian had warned me: He would tell me things that were true. And this, too, was part of the tales. He would tempt. He would prod.
But the stories. They were the problem. They had caused Korah’s sacrifice. And Cerulean? If not for the stories, would she be alive, too?
No. Garethen certainly spoke truth, but that didn’t mean he was right. I wasn’t here to debate him. I needed to know what it would take to defeat the Blue Riders, and that would only happen if Garethen himself told me. I simply waited.
“Ah, it’s too bad that I have a way to get around those pesky stories and you don’t, isn’t it?” Garethen chuckled. “I hear you’ve met some of my little creations.”
“They slew a number of our party. We never fulfilled all the roles a story should have.”
“Oh, I know! It’s about time I figured that out. Alas, being ancient sometimes means you learn slowly.” The Fallen Lord savored another bite. “But then again, everything’s about to change, isn’t it, Keeper of Tales?”
I kept my mouth shut.
Keeper, yes. And perhaps it was time to thin the herd. Would the riders serve me? Could we turn them and use them for good?
“You do know that because you’ve been given that title, the world is destined to end. Just like last time.” Garethen looked down at his plate and said nothing for a few moments.
Keeper of Tales, destined to end… last time? The combination of words tugged at the edges of my memory, but grasping them was like trying to seize falling snow. I found nothing that would help me judge the truth of his words. This was all part of his net, I reminded myself. Just wait.
“I’m not hungry anymore, I’m afraid. And I believe your audience has ended.” He stood. “And now, the next part of the story involves you attempting to escape.”
The doors to the chamber slammed open. Abani entered the room, her eyes triumphant. Two behemoths lay on the ground behind her. “Patriarch of Lies. I’ve battled your spawn for too long. Now I finally face you!”
“Oh, how delightful!” Garethen crowed. “A Sword Dancer! I think I shall enjoy this.” He held out a hand. “As Garethen spoke, his words formed a blade of darkness.” The words fell from his lips, circled his hand once, and formed themselves into a black, curved sword. “You know, you’ll likely kill me. I haven’t danced in a long time.”
“Quiet!” Abani snarled, approaching, her feet moving to a distinct rhythm.
I stood and drew Northwind. I would not allow Garethen to hurt my companion.
The Fallen Lord spoke. “Adal was enraptured by the coming combat and did not interfere until it was over. He sat to watch.”
Suddenly I couldn’t take my eyes away from Abani and Garthen. I sat again at the table, enraptured by the thought of a Sword Dancer facing Garethen. And I would get to see it! What a tale this would make!
No. This wasn’t right. I should be at my companion’s side. I was a part of this tale, not just an observer. No matter how I struggled, though, I couldn’t find my feet.
And this is what a story did? Garethen spoke, and it came to be? We had feared the stories would serve the Fallen Lord here.
Abani rolled under Garethen’s slice. She knelt from her roll, thrusting forward with her blade. Garethen flung it aside with his sword and spun. He slashed toward the Parvian even as she ducked again, striking upward. Again, Garethen pushed her attack aside. He leaped back. “Sword Dancers aren’t what they used to be, are they? I remember battling Dorandi. Do they still tell his story? Now that was a magnificent fight!”
Abani stood. Her face remained calm.
Beside her appeared a man in silks, holding a blade identical to Abani’s.
Garethen cocked his head. “Well, now, this is interesting. Who’s your lover, Parvian? I take it he’s dead?”
Abani roared. She spun, slicing up toward Garethen’s head. He ducked. She spun again, slicing low. He parried her blade. Her silks flew around her, hiding the exact presence of her body. Garethen thrust through the robes. Abani wasn’t there. She struck at his hand. The Patriarch of Lies cried out as she cut through skin. He released the blade. It fell and shattered into a thousand syllables as it struck the floor.
The mysterious companion struck out at Garethen.
He dodged to the side. “Garethen held two weapons, each darker than the last. They drew heat out of the air, creating an intense cold.” His words formed into two shorter curved blades.
The battle was so fast. Dodging, jumping, ducking, thrusting, spinning. Two Sword Dancers against Garethen. It was something out of a tale.
I looked down at my own body. Nothing bound me to the chair but Garethen’s black and gold words. But no tale could bend you beyond what you were. I closed my eyes and concentrated. “Naeharum Adal was mesmerized for only a moment. He stood, ready to act.”
As I spoke, it happened.
The same power as Garethen.
Garethen parried two attacks and thrust forward with both
blades. Abani dodged the sword nearest her and struck forward. The companion dodged as well. Garethen backed up a step.
“Your bluffs will not help you,” Abani spat.
Garethen barked a laugh. “Bluffs? You mean you can’t see him?”
The companion struck out, cutting into Garethen’s chest. He froze for a moment.
A moment was all Abani required. She spun. Her blade severed his head from his shoulders.
Garethen’s body exploded into a fine ash.
Abani paused in her dance. The companion beamed at her and vanished.
Abani backed away from the ash, glaring at it. I finally made my way around the table to her. “I don’t know how long he stays dead once he’s slain. Not long in this place of power would be my guess, though.”
Abani breathed deeply. “He needs to stay dead,” she growled.
I searched my memory for any way to delay Garethen’s return. I used the stories. I found nothing there, but I did find my canteen at my side. Without taking the time to think, I tore off the lid and started scooping ash into it. I seized a goblet of wine and poured it into the canteen. A flagon of the drink spilled onto the remaining ash on the floor.
Abani watched. “What are you doing?”
“In all the stories, wind takes the ash back to Ban Maraseth. If the wind can’t pick up the ash, maybe we can delay Garethen’s return that much longer.”
“Yes, but what are you doing?” Abani repeated, gesturing to the canteen with her blade.
“If we can keep the ash from coming together, maybe that’ll keep him from coming back. Forever.”
“It corrupts the one who holds it. You know the stories.”
It was true. Ydarion had been corrupted. He’d been the only one who had threatened to destroy Garethen forever. And their battle had brought destruction on all by triggering the Deluge.
But if I was the Keeper of Tales… If I could do what Garethen did…
I held up the canteen. “Garethen’s ash remained in the canteen. Adal’s heart remained pure, untainted by the Fallen Lord.” I raised an eyebrow.
Abani growled low in her throat.
I didn’t see my words the way I could see the elves’ words or Garethen’s. But then again, my story had worked before. I’d been able to escape Garethen’s story locking me in place. Maybe. Maybe this would work.
I looked at her. “I won’t hold it long, I’m guessing. Just long enough to take it someplace safe. Someplace he can never be.” I glanced around the empty room. No one was attacking. Without Garethen to tell their stories, would all the enemies simply stop attempting to kill us?
I spoke again. “Adal and all his companions escaped Ban Maraseth with no one else getting hurt.”
“I killed him. It is to my honor to carry it.” Abani held out her empty hand.
I snatched the canteen away. “If I turn, you can slay me far more easily than I could slay you. No, I keep this.” I looked into Abani’s eyes. “Are you ready to fly? Shall we test out the strength of the story I’ve told?”
A moment, and then a smile touched the corner of her lips. “I slew the Patriarch of Lies in his home. I can do anything.”
“There will be stories about you, Abani. But this story isn’t done yet.”
Together we dashed from the chamber. Down the hall. Up the stairs. Yolian awaited. He stood over Galatea, healing a bloody gash on her arm. The others fought around the staircase, keeping it secure.
I called to the sky, “Come get us!”
The circling griffins dove.
Yolian paused in his spell. “You know Garethen’s secret?”
“No,” I answered. “We did better than that.” I held up the canteen. “We have a piece, a large piece, of Garethen. We can take it to the one place he can never be. We bring the ash to Chariis. He can never lay claim to it there. We bury it, and the Fallen Lord will be destroyed! In all the stories, Garethen can never enter Chariis. If we take his ash there, he’ll never be able to reform. We have this chance, this one chance, to capture the Fallen Lord forever!”
And the stories would hold him down until, well, until I could study them all. Until I could tame them. Until I could find a way to use or change them. Maybe I could change them so that no one would be hurt by them again, so that Garethen could finally be destroyed forever, so that we wouldn’t be chained to them.
I couldn’t read Yolian’s expression. He did not have the time to answer.
Kree’Ah skidded to a halt through several not-men. I mounted him as quickly as I could. Badron scurried up as well. I shouted, “To Chariis, as fast as your wings will bear you!”
The griffin leaped, and we were in the sky.
To Chariis, to the Fabled City, bearing the Fallen Lord! To the end of this story!
Chapter Forty-Eight
I clung to Kree’Ah. His wings beat against the air, lifting us off the roof of Ban Maraseth. I pressed against his feathers, making myself as small a target as possible. Badron huddled under me.
Fell creatures shouted at us, screamed at us, hurled vile curses at us. We gained height and escaped the range of their invective.
As their voices faded into the wind, I leaned over Kree’Ah’s side. Ban Maraseth was far below. I held the canteen.
We did it.
We actually did it. We succeeded. We destroyed Garethen.
I laughed.
“So confident?” my mount asked.
“We have Garethen,” I answered. “He will never rise again.” What wonder was this?
“Oh? That is not what we have heard of the Serpent.”
The stories said you could never conquer Garethen. None had ever done it. Not even Ydarion could.
But if I was the Keeper of Tales? If I could decide what stories would be told? Perhaps it was time for a new story. Perhaps it was time for the end of Garethen forever. And without him, without his threat, what could we accomplish in the peace that would follow?
I clutched the canteen. A canteen that contained the source of every darkness in the world. It sounded like the start of a story, like someone would open it up and set loose suffering.
But this was so much more dangerous. How fast would this corrupt the one who held it? We had conquered Garethen, yes. But could he turn me in the space it took to get from here to Chariis? And like that, the bright torch of my joy snuffed out.
“Watch me,” I shouted to Kree’Ah. “Watch me. I have a piece of him. I hold Garethen here. He could turn me.”
What would happen if Garethen corrupted the unlikely hero? Had it ever happened?
Kree’Ah shouted back to me, “Adal, it is difficult to catch the scent of a being on your back. But know this: If you turn to evil ways while I am present, your flesh shall be ribbons between my claws and in my beak.”
Well. That was a comforting thought.
But what would happen if the Keeper of Tales turned to evil? He would be much like Garethen, wouldn’t he? A teller of tales, twisting those around him, turning them to his own likes? Rewriting the world in his own image? I shook my head.
Badron trembled before me. “Let the canteen go. Let it drop below. It is not worth your soul.”
“I will only hold it until we get to Chariis.” I told myself I could hold on until then. I didn’t feel any dark desires now, did I? “Then it will be safe. We’ll have it taken to the deepest parts of the Library, where stories of Garethen’s defeat can wrap around it. He’ll never come together again.”
“This tale is not yet told. Do not yet be so bold.”
No. The white goblin didn’t know what was happening. How could it understand? No. This was our chance.
I was the unlikely hero. And the most unlikely; every other unlikely hero I’d ever heard of was young and clumsy. Surely I was somewhat clumsy, but old, too! Who ever heard of a hero like that?
No. This was the best route. Of course it was.
The other griffins joined us, even as my thoughts raced. Yolian on his thin griffin watched me c
losely. I smiled at him and waved. Even from this distance I could see his frown.
Abani flew closest to me. She watched me so closely. Her blade was in her hand, flickering in and out of her robes.
I didn’t know if it was a good thing to have so many friends ready to slay me. But then again, this was at best an unusual circumstance. And if I turned evil? If I could wreak havoc like Ydarion had so long ago?
Yes. Death would be best.
The wind was intense. The griffins beat their wings fiercely on this voyage. It took nearly a day to reach Raumioch Beti.
“How long can you go without stopping?” I asked Kree’Ah.
“Longer than you can stay awake,” was his answer.
“I don’t want to stop.”
“Do you have rope?”
I twisted awkwardly and retrieved my pack from my shoulders. “Yes.”
“Tie yourself to me so you may sleep. We can reach your Fabled City without resting.”
“Can you tell the others? Please?”
And my mount cried out the commands. Yolian’s frown deepened. I’m sure neither Lazul nor Daragen were happy, either. All the others, with some small difficulty, were able to rope themselves to their mounts.
The sun set behind us. Raumioch Beti sent long, long shadows out.
I felt stirring inside me. Cerulean fought. She was displeased with what was happening. I ignored her as best I could. She could only know old stories, and we were writing a new one. A very new one. The first story of a new world. A world without a Fallen Lord.
The stars were so close that night.
“Master, why do you cry? Master, tell me why.”
“Oh, Badron.” I couldn’t talk for a moment. “My father told me all the stories of the night sky.” I paused to laugh. “My mother would send me to bed, but I would always sneak out. Always. And my father would be outside, at the fire, alone. I think he was waiting for me. And he’d point up and he’d say, ‘See those three stars there? They form Caerad’s Belt. Do you know that story, Adal?’ And then he’d tell me stories. Just him and me, at the fire, under a sky like this one.”
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