Lord of the Rose tros-1

by Douglas Niles

  “The gardens have suffered,” Coryn said gently, coming up behind the pair. “They have had no care for more than two years now.”

  “What’s that?” Carbo asked, intrigued. The bald-headed gnome strolled past them and right up to the ruin. He picked up a blackened board, scrutinizing it. “Nice carpentry, once. Have to allow for warping of weather. And the fire. Was this some kind of palace?”

  “It was the manor house of a Solamnic nobleman. A Lord of the Rose,” Jaymes said quietly. “He died here.”

  Carbo nodded, stroking his white beard. “Fire of natural origin-that is, not dragonbreath. Started here in the great room would be my educated guess, then spread out in all directions. It stopped for some reason, before those ends burned up.”

  “It started to rain,” declared the warrior grimly. He turned again to Coryn, his expression cold. “Why are we here?”

  “I need something, and I think you might know where it is. Lord Lorimar possessed a strongbox, a container of steel marked with his L in filigree. You have seen it, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I have seen it,” said the warrior.

  “Well, I need that box-or rather, its contents. I thought you might know where Lorimar kept it.”

  “What makes you think it didn’t burn in the fire?” Jaymes asked.

  “Lorimar told me it was protected-it wouldn’t burn. Maybe you’ll help me find it, if only because I just saved your life…”

  With a frown, Jaymes turned to Dram. “See if you can find some digging tools in what’s left of the stable. A pick and a shovel should do it.” He turned back to Coryn. “All right, come this way.”

  He led her past the remnant of a stone wall, mostly crumbled, that had once been the front of the great house. They stepped carefully between the litter of partial timbers, including trunk-sized beams that had obviously fallen from a lofty ceiling. Using the chimney as a marker, Jaymes paced off a dozen long strides along the base of a broken stairway. He knelt and brushed away the soot and muck that smeared the floor, clearing several flagstones by the time the dwarf arrived with a solid pick and a short-handled spade.

  The warrior took the shovel and wedged the tool under one of the stones. With a powerful push he drove the shovel in then leaned on it to lever the stone loose. Dram pulled it out of the way while the man loosened two more of the flat sections of dark slate, revealing a layer of plaster over the red clay. When the flagstones were removed, Jaymes lifted the pick and chopped until he had broken up the plaster and the hard-packed dirt.

  He dug until the tool struck something solid with a metallic clank. Carefully Jaymes scraped away more dirt, digging down around the edges of a rectangular box. When he knelt and brushed it clean, the ornate “L” was visible, even through the rust. Dram helped, using the shovel for leverage, as the man lifted the box.

  “Looks like a pretty stout lock,” the dwarf observed.

  “I might have the key,” said the enchantress, adding, “after a fashion.”

  Jaymes set it on the raised stone shelf that had once been a hearth, and Coryn, the hem of her white robe already dark with soot, knelt beside the box. She touched a finger to the latch and muttered a soft, sibilant word. A slight spark flashed from the box, and she bent with both hands to lift the lid. It rose up with a creak of rusty hinges, and, looking inside, the white robe cried, “No!”

  “Not what you expected?” Jaymes asked caustically.

  She stood and stared at him, her lips clenched in a tight, angry line. With one hand she gestured at the box. “It’s empty!”

  “What were you expecting?” asked the dwarf, his eyes shifting between the two of them as he peered into the container, feeling around with his hands to confirm Coryn’s findings.

  She didn’t answer the dwarf. Instead, she continued to regard Jaymes with her brooding stare. Her dark eyes glinted. “Was this tampered with after the fire?” she asked. “Could someone have dug it up, opened it, then returned it to its hiding place?”

  The warrior shrugged. “The soot and debris I cleaned away was like the rubble everywhere else around here. My best guess is no, it hasn’t been disturbed since well before the fire.”

  “And the lord was dead at the time of the fire?” she prodded, as Dram eyed them. Both of the gnomes had edged closer, glancing at each other, trying to understand the mysterious conversation.

  Jaymes nodded and turned away, rubbing his hand across his face. “He was already bleeding to death when the fire started.”

  “Then the contents of the box must have been removed before he died. That tells me something,” the enchantress said.

  “What in the name of Reorx is so all-fired important about this box?” fumed Dram.

  “It’s called the Compact of Freedom,” Coryn replied, her eyes never leaving Jaymes’s. “Lord Lorimar wrote it and was instrumental in getting it signed. But it bears the imprints of Lord Regent du Chagne of Palanthas, as well as all three of his dukes.”

  “Just a mere piece of paper?” the dwarf said skeptically.

  “More than that, it’s a promise agreed to by those four nobles: a pledge that Garnet will remain a free city, with none of the orders of knighthood presiding over it. It further limits the powers of the knighthood throughout the rest of the old empire, requiring that every ten years the people must approve the actions of their leaders or they will be replaced by others.”

  “Whoa! Du Chagne signed that?” Dram said with a low whistle.

  “His arm was twisted slightly. All their arms were,” Jaymes noted. “Lorimar used his stature-he was the only one who could broker the power of the independent merchants, and he convinced the lords that the alternative would be civil war.”

  “Let me get this straight. Lormimar was murdered, and this piece of paper is missing-this compact that was in this box?”

  Jaymes shrugged. “That’s where he usually kept it. The last time I saw it, I watched him lock it in the box. In fact”-he flashed a look at Coryn-“I helped him bury it. There was more than the compact in the box, too. Something else of great value.”

  “The Green Diamonds,” she said. “I’ve heard about them, but are they mythical or real?”

  “Real enough, and beautiful, each of them bigger than an eyeball,” the warrior declared. He added for Dram’s benefit, “In gratitude for Lorimar’s loyalty and assistance, the merchants of Solamnia gave him a gift: six unique diamonds, huge, green in color. Lorimar planned to incorporate them into a crown if ever Solamnia united behind a king. The third thing in this box was another sign of that hope: He had a banner made, white silk emblazoned with gold. It depicted all three signs of the knighthood, the crown, the rose, and the sword, all on the same pennant.”

  “Sounds like someone figured out what Lorimar was up to and assassinated him,” Dram said slowly, staring at Jaymes. “Probably a good thing-sounds like this Lorimar wanted to be the new king of Solamnia.”

  “No. Lorimar was content here,” the swordsman replied. “I believe he wanted to live out his days in peace. Though he did have a daughter, and a marriage to her might have elevated any one of the lords toward that kingship…”

  “What happened to the daughter?”

  A long silence prevailed, as the dwarf looked back and forth between his companions. When he perceived they were looking at each other and paying no attention to him, he grabbed the two gnomes and stomped off back to the overgrown garden.

  “You need to be a little more careful,” the white robe said to Jaymes, in a low, sympathetic voice. “You took a terrible risk in going to Caergoth. You were lucky I was there instead of in Palanthas. Next time you might not be so fortunate.”

  “I had to go there,” the warrior said, his jaw set stubbornly. “I found what I was looking for. But… thanks for your help anyway.”

  “Yes, my help,” she murmured.

  He took off his glove, showing her the gold ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “It helped me a lot last time I came through Garnet too.”r />
  “I’m glad.” She reached out a hand, brushing the stubble on his cheek tenderly. “I mean it. Be careful,” she said.

  “I will. You be careful, too.”

  Coryn nodded slowly. Looking at her, Jaymes was reminded how very beautiful she was, with her black hair fanned across the cowl of her hood, perfectly framing an oval face with high cheekbones and dark, mysterious eyes. After a moment the hint of a smile played across her full lips. She leaned forward, kissed the warrior softly. He put his rough hands on her shoulders very gently, as if afraid of dirtying her robe-which had, somehow, once again become immaculately white-and stepped away.

  She whispered a word of magic and disappeared.

  Jaymes stood by himself for a long time, brooding. Then he took a look around the ruins. His eyes lingered on the hulking remnant of the east wing, where the fire had been halted. The interiors of several rooms were visible, and he looked at one in particular: a chamber draped in ragged, blackened curtains that still betrayed a hint of blue silk material. The near wall had burned away, and the sagging floor barely supported the sodden, rotten remains of what had once been an elegant bed… a lady’s bed.

  “Is she gone?” Dram asked, finally coming back from the garden. “Used her magic to disappear, did she? Makes my skin crawl just to think about it!” He shuddered in the common dwarfish aversion to all things magic. “We’re better off without her! Though she did give us a timely exit back there in the ghetto.”

  “We’re lucky she bothered,” the warrior said.

  “Yeah. Uh, speaking of luck, we’re lucky I went out to the garden just now. I got a good look at the road across the plain, and we have some visitors coming. Fast. Out of the East.”

  Jaymes cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yes, they’re riders all right, but they’re not coming on horseback,” Dram said. “My best guess is they’re goblins on wolfback. They’re spread out on both sides of the road but they aren’t traveling by highway, they’re moving faster on the grass.”

  “What about the gnomes?” asked the man.

  “Last I saw they were looking around in that direction,” Dram replied, indicating the shell of the manor’s west wing.

  The two companions made their way along the front of the house, spotting the gnomes up in the second story of the ruin, bickering in what had once been a grand hallway.

  “Something put out the fire,” Carbo insisted. “Rain wouldn’t be enough, see. I know all about rain. Probably it was a nitrogen-sulfate mix of some kind, designed to retard combustion.”

  “No,” Sulfie objected, “you heard them, it burned itself out. See how it got to this stone balustrade, on the big stairs? It just petered out.”

  “Poppycock and balderdash!” snorted the male gnome. “The stairs are wood- they would have burned! No, there was some kind of intervention. Perhaps a fire brigade came by and doused the flames.”

  “Fire brigade? Ha, ha! From where? That’s just ridiculous. Maybe the stairs are fire-retardant-like ironwood! Did you think of that?”

  “I thought of-”

  “Rain.” Jaymes said from below, staring up at the two gnomes.

  “Go away!” Carbo snapped down at him.

  “I told you what happened: It started to rain,” the warrior continued, his tone flat. “The house was gutted in the middle, but the ends were still standing. It rained hard enough to put out the fire.”

  “See!” said Sulfie. “You heard him. Rain!”

  “Come on,” said the human, ignoring the two gnomes, who continued to debate. “We’ve got to get out of here-goblins are coming.”

  The gnomes hastened down from their high perch, moving precariously along the edge of the half-burned staircase. Once they were safely on the ground, Jaymes pointed toward the back of the once-grand manor and spoke to Dram Feldspar. “You’ll find a shallow ravine just a stone’s throw from the back plaza. Take the gnomes, and wait for me there.”

  “Aw, I don’t like waiting. You’re not going to do anything crazy now, are you?” asked the dwarf.

  Jaymes shook his head, as Dram led the two gnomes away. Before they were out of sight, the warrior was moving forward at a crouch, concealing himself in the tangle of the overgrown garden, making his way around the hedge until he could see across the plains that extended, flat and brown, toward the eastern horizons.

  He spotted the riders immediately, knew that Dram had been accurate. These were goblins riding those huge, shaggy wolves they often used as mounts. Their canine lope was unmistakable as the goblins were borne across the grassy flatland. A quick glance showed him at least two score of these outriders, with a larger column of goblins just beyond. The latter marched on foot but were making good time. All of them seemed to be verging on the ruin of Lord Lorimar’s manor.

  Jaymes checked the wind. It was coming from the plains, blowing toward the four companions, so they would not be betrayed that way. The warrior ducked back, watching as the leading goblins drew up to the fringe of what had once been the garden. They dismounted, turning their great wolves free to lope on the plains, while the goblins drew their wickedly curved swords and started into what had once been the rose garden, hacking the blooming branches down as if they were jungle creepers.

  Jaymes withdrew to join his comrades in the low gulley. From here they could peer between the thick grasses along the rim and, as long as the wind stayed friendly, keep an eye on the goblins with little chance of being spotted themselves.

  The goblins swarmed through the blackened rubble, kicking around the broken timbers, whooping and cheering as they scrambled over debris. Several squawked and barked when they came upon the fresh hole where the steel box had been removed.

  A goblin tore down one of the blue silk draperies from the lady’s bedchamber and threw it over his shoulders, a mockery of a regal cape. He pranced along the sagging edge of the broken floor until a rotten timber broke under his feet, plunging him unceremoniously into the tangled wreckage of the first floor. Moaning piteously, he was too injured to resist as another goblin came up to him and snatched away the material, leaving his stricken comrade pinned between two heavy, charred beams.

  Gray clouds had rolled across the plains with the goblins. Now a chilly drizzle began to fall, and the marauders wearied of their unprofitable explorations. They withdrew to the garden, leaving a few pickets posted around the fringes of the ruin. As it grew dark, the orange glow of an immense bonfire brightened the interior of the hedge ring. The rain picked up, leaving the four companions stuck in their ravine soggy, miserable, and cold.

  Even so, Jaymes said they should wait until dark before slipping away. Dram agreed. The two gnomes, huddled together under a single blanket with teeth chattering, had lost all their spirit. Hours later the warrior led them away, heading north behind the cover of rain and clouds and darkness blanketing the area.

  Hours before dawn, they were still moving. “Those outriders are just the vanguard,” Jaymes warned Dram. “I have a feeling the whole army is going to be along in another day or two.”

  Mason’s Ford was a nondescript town that owed its existence to a shallow stretch of the small but rapid North Garnet River. A series of small corrals and barns ringed the outer fringe of the community, which lacked the protection of a wall, tower, or any other fortification. The four travelers were foot-sore and weary as, two days after leaving the ruin of Lord Lorimar’s manor, they trudged along the muddy track leading through the town and toward the river crossing that had given the place its name.

  The rain had continued durng their trek, and Mason’s Ford was shrouded in a soggy fog that rendered the place indistinct and dreary.

  “Seems kind of crowded,” Dram noticed immediately. The main street was lined by wooden buildings with long covered porches that were crowded with men, women, and children. Many of the people were huddled in blankets or tarps. A few of the men had staves, picks, and other crude weapons near to hand.

  “What word of the gobs, Strangers?” asked one m
an, rising from the front step of an inn and ambling into the rainy street.

  “Last saw ’em two days back,” said the dwarf. “A patrol on worgs south of here. Dunno where they were headed.”

  “They burned Garnet, you know.”

  Jaymes and Dram exchanged a grim look. “No. We hadn’t heard,” said the swordsman.

  We’re just passing through, ourselves,” Dram added.

  The man chuckled. “Good luck,” he said, before turning back to his family and companions who were watching, with interest, from the crowded porch.

  “Wonder what that was about,” the dwarf said. “Why in the name of Reorx are all these folks sitting around here if they’re so dang worried about the goblins?”

  Jaymes simply kept walking, his long strides forcing the dwarf and gnomes to hurry in order to keep up. The street started to descend toward the ford, and they noticed even more people huddled under every roof. Some had erected tarps in vacant yards, while others had taken over stables, barns, and sheds for makeshift shelters.

  The reason for the crowding became apparent as they approached the river. Brown water spilled over the porches and crept up the walls of the last buildings on the street. The current surged, churning far above the banks, making the river so broad that the far bank was lost in the murky distance. Jaymes narrowed his eyes, looking toward the stout rope that anchored the auxiliary ferry, a flatboat that provided passage for those who didn’t care to wade the ford. That boat was broken, hurled by the surging current against the pilings of a nearby lumber yard, where it sat with its hull cracked and open to the river’s angry rise.

  There would be no crossing of the Vingaard, not until the rain ceased and the flooding river fell.

  Ankhar didn’t mind the rain. The water rolled easily off of his bearskin cloak, and his broad shoulders and sturdy frame were not burdened by the weight of the sodden garment. His goblins were happy to march through the mud, and the fleet-footed worgs were not hampered anywhere near as much as horses would have been.