The Rose and the Skull

by Jeff Crook

Hurling a curse over his shoulder, Uhoh stepped outside and nearly tripped over the prone draconian. A scream from the house spun him around in time to see Lumpo standing in the doorway with his eyes rolling back in his head. He sank like an empty sack on the doorstep.

  Uhoh shoved his fists on his hips and stomped one foot. "Why you scared? This slagd dead!" he shouted.

  "Shhhhhh! Maybe only sleeping!" Glabella hissed from the loft.

  "Look, dead like stone!" Uhoh said as he kicked the draconian. He regretted that demonstration as he hopped around holding his stubbed toe. He fell to the ground and pulled off his shoe, fully expecting to see his toe swollen as big as a peach. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked it like a thumb.

  Meanwhile, Millisant limped to Uhoh's side. While he sucked his toe, he stroked and petted her. She fawned and wagged her tail, all the while favoring her injured leg. Noticing this, Uhoh spit out his toe and examined her forelegs. His hands came away red with blood.

  "Me scared!" Glabella wailed to the heavens.

  "Shut up and come here!" Uhoh shouted. "Millisant hurt! Bring medicine."

  By holding Millisant's injured leg, Uhoh helped her limp into the cottage. As he passed Lumpo's still form, he kicked the unconscious gully dwarf. "Get up! Put wood on fire!" he ordered.

  "Wha… what?" Lumpo mumbled.

  "Put wood on fire!" Uhoh shouted in anger.

  "I not know how," Lumpo said.

  "Take one stick, put on fire, blow," Uhoh said as he helped the injured hound lay by the fireplace. Glabella scurried down the ladder from the loft and went in search of her bag.

  "I not know how," Lumpo whined.

  "Do it!" Uhoh screamed.

  To his everlasting surprise, Lumpo actually managed to stoke up the fire. Soon, a warm blaze filled the room with light. Carefully, tenderly, Uhoh cleansed Millisant's wounds. Glabella busied herself with various charms, feathers, and small dead mummified animals reputed to have magical powers in gully dwarf lore. She waved these in the air and uttered innocuous phrases, only stopping occasionally to assure Millisant of her imminent recovery.

  Uhoh bound Millisant's wounds with strips torn from Nalvarre's blanket, then helped settle her comfortably by the fire. Millisant thumped the floor with her tail and gobbled down the scraps from last night's supper as Uhoh fed them to her. Lumpo stood in the corner with his mouth hanging open, eyeing each bite as it passed from the plate to the dog's waiting mouth. Suddenly, Glabella shouted and shook a chicken foot in Millisant's face, then stepped back proudly with her hands on her hips.

  "There, that do it. Chicken foot cure work every time," she said.

  With Millisant taken care of, Uhoh remember his shoe and stepped outside to get it. His foot was cold, especially his toe. So it was with complete surprise that he found the stone dead draconian gone. Only a pile of dust marked where it had lain. He sidestepped to where his shoe lay, and without ever turning his back on the dust, stumbled quickly though the door. He slammed it shut and pushed the table up against it.

  "Slagd gone!" he gasped at his companions' puzzled looks.

  "See, I say! I say, slagd only sleeping. I say, he not dead. Now what we do?" Glabella despaired.

  "We go," Uhoh said. "Now. We go to Town. We stay here too long."

  "Now?" Lumpo moaned as he rubbed his belly.

  "Now," Uhoh said. He pulled Lumpo's bag from its hiding place in the corner and threw it at him.

  "Get food, much as you can carry," he ordered.

  Lumpo looked at his bag. "Me need bigger sack," he muttered as he stuffed apples into it.

  In minutes, they were ready. Their bags were packed with food, and Lumpo had indeed found a large canvas sack, which he filled in Nalvarre's forbidden root cellar. He slung it over his back, looking very much like a small soot-begrimed Yulefather with his bag of toys. When everyone was ready, Uhoh pushed the table away from the door. Millisant rose and hobbled to his side.

  "What we do with her?" Glabella asked.

  Uhoh looked into the eyes of the hound, and a deep regret brought tears to his eyes. If he took her, she might not survive the journey, but he truly didn't wish to leave her behind. She'd saved his life twice now, and unlike most gully dwarves, Uhoh did know the meaning of thankfulness. At last, and with much sadness, he made up his mind.

  "Millisant stay here. We lock door. Nalvarre come home tomorrow and take care of her. He good man, good innkeeper," he said.

  It truly broke Uhoh's heart to have to push Millisant back and shut the door on her. She pawed and whined, not understanding, but her injuries prevented her from bulling her way past the gully dwarves. By standing on Lumpo's shoulders, Glabella was able to work the latch that locked the door. That done, they gathered their bags and, without a word, set out.

  Millisant's howls followed them down the mountainside.

  Nalvarre stumbled from the valley forest near daybreak, but weary as he was, he didn't stop. Fear drove him onward. He feared not for himself but for the gully dwarves he'd left on the mountainside. Clearly they were involved in something much more sinister than he first suspected. The manner of Lord Gunthar's death chimed too closely with the way Uhoh's Papa had met his end. Whatever the dwarves' involvement, they were in danger, and he'd left them unprotected.

  As a priest of Chislev, Nalvarre's life's work had been to protect and preserve the creatures and the woodlands of Krynn. When he was still a young priest, he'd been given the guardianship of a lovely forest hidden away in a quiet corner of Solamnia, near the city of Kalaman. During the siege of Kalaman, the Knights of Takhisis were spreading their influence all over Ansalon, marking the lands with fire and sword. A band of Knights had come from the south with a party of draconian soldiers. They set up camp in his beautiful woods, and they began to cut the trees to build siege engines for their armies. When they had all they needed, they cut trees apparently for the fun of it. They torched the dead and dry leavings of their works, and these fires soon spread throughout the forest. Nalvarre's home was destroyed, his forest decimated. Even in those days, when he wielded clerical powers, there was little he could do. He moved to a new woodland, but this one also fell to the armies of Takhisis. Each time he moved, it seemed they came to destroy what he loved, until there were no more woods for him to move to. The Knights of Takhisis took control of Qualinost. Nalvarre fled to Sancrist, the very last place on Krynn where he expected to find Knights of Takhisis and their malicious, life-hating draconians, and now, here they were!

  Even so, Nalvarre needed a few moments' rest, water, and something to restore his strength. The water was easy enough, for all the lake lay between him and the mountain; it was food he was hard-pressed to find. He hadn't had time to search for food, and he'd already eaten the small ration of bread and honey he brought with him on the journey, but there was nothing to be done. He had to keep going. He felt time was already slipping away from him.

  At one point, the path swung near the lake where an outcropping of flat rocks formed the shore. It was an easy place from which to draw water and was often used by such travelers as visited the valley. Nalvarre laid himself out flat on the rocks in the morning sun. Leaning over the edge of the rocks, he drew handfuls of water to his parched lips. He drank first to quench his thirst, then to lessen the edge of his hunger. When he'd drunk his fill, he lay there a while, resting his weary feet and looking at his own reflection in the water.

  He didn't like what he saw. He looked weary, haggard, old. His beard was a mess, but he didn't really care about that. The cheeks beneath the beard looked drawn, the lips thin. His hair was shockingly gray. He didn't remember it being that gray, but then again he couldn't remember the last time he saw his own reflection. How many years had it been?

  He turned his attention to the reflection of the morning sky. Pillowy white clouds chased each other across the crisp azure of the heavens. Mountains rose all around, with colors of granite and stone, and the grayish-green of the evergreens on the highest slopes. Like some kind of magic s
pell, the beauty and serenity of the scene relaxed his aching muscles, eased his worried mind. His eyelids grew heavy, began to droop, but it wasn't magic; it was only his exhaustion and his desire for sleep. He fought it off, shaking his head and splashing cold lake water in his face. He blustered and gasped, spraying droplets from his beard. He looked again at his reflection in the water.

  "Fool!" he shouted at himself. "To think you almost fell…" A spot of movement in the reflection of the sky caught his attention. He rolled onto his back and gazed up.

  Like a sparkling droplet of blood against the blue of the sky—high, high above, tiny with distance, flew Pyrothraxus. Nalvarre knew it was Pyrothraxus even though he'd never seen the dragon; it could be no other. He felt all his trepidations and fear rush to a head. The gully dwarves were involved in something more sinister than the death of one unfortunate Aghar. Why else would draconians be hunting them? Why else would Pyrothraxus choose this day to fly over the valley, where he'd never flown before?

  "What am I to do? What can I possibly do?" Nalvarre wondered aloud. "I am only one man." A vision of the gully dwarves sitting at his table, their faces smeared with food, rose unbidden to his mind. He knew then what he had to do. He had to draw a line in the sand, for there were no more forests in which to hide. He'd never again sit by and watch what he loved destroyed, using his solitude, one man against many, to excuse his lack of action. All his life he'd adhered to the principles of balance but without really understanding them. Chislev taught the philosophy known as neutrality, a philosophy of balance. Both good and evil must exist in contrast, so that the balance of the world is maintained. Nalvarre had always thought this meant he must never take sides, must treat both equally. Only now did he realize that the importance lay in balance. When evil seems ready to overwhelm the world, good must be assisted to regain the balance. When good threatens to consume all in its fires of righteousness, evil must be given room to breathe and grow.

  Now evil threatened to consume Nalvarre's last home. He'd been pushed across half a continent, and there was nowhere else to go. It might not mean much in the grand scheme of things, or it might be the difference between peace returning to the forest and evil sweeping down and destroying his last home, but he had to try to save the gully dwarves. He leaped to his feet and charged off through the bulrushes. The mountain, and home, was still many miles away.

  All that day he marched up the mountainside, over the stream, over the bridges he'd crossed only yesterday. He marched late into the afternoon, and as he neared home, his steps quickened despite his weariness. Each step was indeed a toil. The mountain had taken its toll upon his body. He no longer felt his legs, and his lungs ached with the cold. His arms were so tired, he'd have long ago cast aside his staff if he hadn't needed it to hold himself up. All the while, he had to battle his common sense, which seemed to scream, "All this trouble for a bunch of gully dwarves!"

  Finally, there was one more bridge to cross, and then a short walk beside the stream. How many times had he walked it before, never realizing how great a distance it truly was? He thought he'd never see the roof of his house again, but as he rounded the bend, there it was, beneath the shade of the beech tree. Everything seemed fine—no signs of violence.

  A low and mournful howl chased away the last of his doubts. "Millisant!" he gasped as he broke into a run.

  "Uhoh! Glabella! Lumpo!" he shouted as he neared the door. He threw back the latch and opened the door. Millisant came hobbling out and began to sniff the ground around the cottage.

  Immediately he noticed the bandages on the hound's front legs. He kneeled beside her and examined them. She'd nearly chewed them off to get to her wounds, knife wounds by all appearances. It didn't make any sense at all. What had happened here?

  Millisant seemed determined to sniff out some trail or other, so it was with much difficulty that Nalvarre wrestled her back into the house. The night promised to be cold, so Nalvarre quickly built a fire. Once it was burning brightly, its light illuminated still more mysteries. The house had been ransacked, but not for treasure. Every scrap of food in the house was gone, except the honey pots on the mantle. The flour barrel hadn't been touched, but anything readily edible had been taken. The gully dwarves' personal belongings were also missing. Nalvarre busied himself making dough and rolling it out for bread while pondering the puzzle set before him. Millisant sat at the door and whined.

  He ate a frugal supper of bread and honey. It just didn't make any sense. If the gully dwarves had been captured by the draconians, who had bound the wounds of Millisant and locked her up? When he had finished eating, as he began to put away the dishes, the solution finally struck him.

  The gully dwarves were alive! They'd escaped. In his joy, Nalvarre strode vigorously around the room, clapping fist to palm in his excitement. Millisant whined.

  "Yes, there was some kind of fight. They left you behind because you were hurt, and you wanted to follow them," he said, very serious. "We will follow them, but it is too dark to follow now. In the morning… " he yawned as he began to climb to the loft.

  "If you and I can't find three gully dwarves, then we've no right to call ourselves dogs," he laughed as he collapsed into his bed.

  Soon, snores rattled the rafters. Millisant lay down beside the door with her chin on her paws, her eyes open. She licked her bandages for a while then whined softly to herself well into the night.

  19

  "The north tower is the tallest tower of Isherwood," Jessica said, her voice echoing in the high drafty hall. "It is called the Roseburg Tower, as it was named for the Knights of the Rose. The best rooms are here. This is where I have my room," she added with a tinge of regret that she couldn't conceal "and where I'm sure you'll want to live as well."

  "I'm sure," Alya said with a polite smile.

  Jessica stopped beside a low, arched doorway in which was set an ironbound door. "Through this door is the courtyard, if you'd like to see it," she said.

  "Of course," Alya said. With a smile, Jessica opened the door and followed her guests outside.

  Once the courtyard had been paved with flagstones, but most of these had long since been broken or pushed up by the roots of trees. A small forest filled portions of the courtyard, and those areas not covered by trees were filled with a profusion of weeds, thorny vines, and grasses. Dark green ivy covered every inch of standing stone walls, though Jessica kept it trimmed from the window casings from the habitable areas of the castle. Where parts of the ancient stone curtain wall had fallen into the courtyard, piles of rock provided coverts and dens for all manner of small animals, from lizards to chipmunks. Alya strolled around the area near the door, stopping to examine a maple sapling pushing its way through the flagstones. Valian Escu stood like a statue of a warrior, sniffing the air, his eyes far away.

  Castle Isherwood was a remnant of a past age. Its towers and battlement, its very design, were old-fashioned even before Huma rode to glory astride his silver dragon, ages upon ages ago. Once upon a time, its four square towers rose majestically over the valley, guarding an ancient wayroad to the north, a symbol of the strength and wealth of the lord of the keep. Between the towers ran four thick walls, as strong as the stonemasons of the day could build. Halls and storerooms, kitchens and armories had once lined the inner wall, surrounding the great paved courtyard where men-at-arms marched and trained, battling with wooden swords and staves or jousting against the Quintayne.

  "Most of the castle is in ruin," Jessica apologized. "I tried to fix up things here and there, but I could never make much headway. In the end, I rather grew to prefer it this way."

  "It will soon rain," Valian said, abruptly changing the subject.

  He seemed able to tell the weather by the smell of the air. All along their journey from Castle uth Wistan, the dark elf had astounded them with his nature lore. Being born an elf of the sylvan forest, he was in tune with his surroundings in a way that, to humans, seemed almost supernatural. He was a mystery to Jessica, stran
ge and ugly with his sharp features and cold manner, yet strangely compelling and attractive too. His physique was unmatched by any man she'd ever known, yet he was neither muscular nor skinny. His every movement bespoke feline grace, his every glance burned like fire, while his tone and his manner were as cold as the glacial blue of his eyes.

  Seeking some way to bring him into a conversation, Jessica said, "The rain fairly pours through the roof here, though the North Tower is dry enough. It's like living in cave. Rather delightful, actually."

  "Dwarves live in caves," Valian said as he turned and re-entered the castle. "I'll see to the horses."

  "I've learned to ignore him," Alya said, smiling at Jessica's efforts to be friendly. "Elves seem to live on another plane than we do. Mind you, it isn't any higher than ours, only different. They like to think it is higher. They only think a profound mental life makes up for their physical weaknesses. Not that Valian is weak. For an elf, he is almost statuesque."

  Jessica nodded. A dark elf was simply any elf who chose to follow a lifestyle not in accordance with traditional elven concepts of morality and goodness. Therefore, he was "cast from the light" of elven society.

  "So what did Valian do to be cast out of elven society?" She felt bold enough to ask.

  "Oh, he killed another elf," Alya absently remarked as she stared at the darkening sky.

  "That's horrible!" Jessica exclaimed. "Why?"

  "It does look like rain," Alya said. "What? Oh, it had something to do with class. He is Silvanesti, of course. It seems when he was young, he and an elf maid fell in love and wanted to marry, but she had already been promised to someone else, an elf of some importance, I believe. On the morning of the wedding, as the groom was traveling to the ceremony, Valian confronted him on the trail. They fought, and Valian killed him.

  "That's why they banished him. Can you believe that happened before the War of the Lance? He doesn't look any older than you or I, but actually he is older than Lord Gunthar was. Perhaps we should go inside?" Alya suggested as the first drops of rain plopped on the cobblestones.