Lord of the Rose

by Doug Niles

  At least there would be the cover of trees, he told himself, as they approached the foothills. He could see that the party of knights had moved onto an old flagstone road, probably one of the ancient highways dating back to the days of the Solamnic Empire. There was plenty of proof that their horses had passed by.

  The sun had already set behind the crest of the mountains as the roadway entered a region of forest. They were following a river valley, the highway just a few paces above a rapid, clear stream that spilled between a bracket of frowning cliffs. When Sulfie spotted a patch of blackberry bushes down near the water, Dram agreed to a brief halt, even though they still had perhaps an hour of daylight left. A little rest, coupled with some fresh fruit, might give them the energy to make up some lost ground the next day.

  The clouds broke up as the made camp, and the dwarf decided to indulge in the luxury of a fire, hoping to dry out some of their possessions and keep the mountain chill away. The companions camped in a narrow grotto with steep stone walls on two sides. Dram was able to find lots of dry wood under the thick branches of the evergreens. Piling sticks in a makeshift firepit, he struck a spark into dry pine needles and soon had a crackling blaze.

  “We can dry out a few of these wet clothes, before they start rotting right onto our bodies,” he remarked, stripping off his woolen shirt and leggings, propping them on a makeshift rack of branches. He settled back, munching a handful of berries that the gnomes had collected, and feeling a measure of satisfaction. His eyelids grew heavy, and he leaned back against a grassy hummock.

  “Hey!”

  Sulfie’s exclamation had Dram jumping to his feet even before his eyes opened. He looked around, crouching beside the campfire, his stout axe raised, and saw a most unexpected visitor.

  “Lady Coryn!” he gasped, as the enchantress in her glimmering white robe materialized out of the surrounding underbrush. His first feeling was of immense relief.

  His second was that he was darned near naked.

  With a muttered curse he dove behind the drying rack, slipping into his pants while he used the draped shirt as a dressing screen. The wizard smiled and glanced away. The two gnomes, eyes agog, stood near the hem of the woman’s robe, touching it as they reached up at her with slack-jawed amazement.

  “Hey, you’re that magician who made the white smoke,” Carbo said, remembering. “Where did you come from, now?”

  Her eyes met Dram’s as the dwarf’s head popped through the neck of his tunic. Still flustered, he hastened to pull a stout log up to the fire, wiping the moss and bark off as much as possible.

  “Here, my lady. It’s not much, but won’t you use it for a chair?” he asked. He returned to his hummock as she thanked him and sat down.

  “Why don’t you go and get some berries for the lady,” Dram suggested to the still-gaping Sulfie. “Carbo, try working your net in the stream. See if you can get us some fish, all right?”

  The two gnomes hurried off, and the dwarf turned to gaze upon Coryn. He was surprised at how happy he was to see her.

  “So you know about Jaymes?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I come from Palanthas. The Lord Regent has just learned of his capture, and I learned about it, as well.”

  “Do you know—is he still, well, safe and sound?” the dwarf wondered.

  “I have not actually seen him, but it is my understanding that he is perfectly well. Though he is most certainly not safe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Coryn closed her eyes and drew a breath through her nose. She looked as weary as he felt, thought the dwarf. And so terribly young. Awkwardly, he reached out a big hand and patted her on the knee. She took his hand in hers and smiled.

  “You’re a good friend to him, you know that?” she said pensively.

  He shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, I try to be a friend,” he said. “He’s been a good one to me. I know if someone was hauling me around in chains, he’d do what he could to get me out of there.”

  “Tell me. You never talk about it. How did you meet him?” asked the white wizard.

  Dram leaned forward. “I was bounty hunting in the Garnet foothills, going after goblins wherever I could find the bast—excuse me, the little runts. I was damned good at it, too. Had me over a hundred ears I was going to take to Thelgaard for the reward.

  “Only thing was, I went there with my ears, and the duke’s purser said the goblins weren’t their problem anymore. I was expected to go all the way to Solanthus—a hundred miles away—and get the bounty there! Well, I sorta took offense to that, and one thing led to another, and a couple of these knights—the Crown fellows, who follow Thelgaard—got their arms or legs broke. They had me clapped in arms, sentenced to hang, when Jaymes came along and sprang me from the dungeon. Disguised himself as a Rose Knight, he did, and he made a pretty convincing show of it.”

  “That was, what, almost two years ago?” Coryn said. “I remember you were with him when I ran into you both down at the Newsea.”

  “Yep, been together like salt and pepper ever since. We were doing some pretty good goblin hunting, too, though it was like holding back a tide. Nobody was paying the same bounty anymore. Then, of course, there was this business of the gnomes.”

  He glanced over toward the stream, saw that Carbo was busy fishing some distance away. Sulfie’s head popped up from the blackberry bushes then vanished as she cheerfully went back to her pickings. “You started him on that, you know. With that letter that came over the water from your friend in Solace.”

  “Oh, Palin is not really my friend,” Coryn said. “I barely know him, but he was kind enough to answer some of my questions, which is why I told Jaymes about Dungarden. These gnomes, I presume, must be the next step in the puzzle.”

  “Yes.” Dram shook his head. “Though I’m not sure this is a puzzle with all the pieces fitting together.” He told her about the failure of the compound when they had tried to use it to destroy the dike at Mason’s Ford. “A lot of spark and sizzle, but not much else,” he admitted. “The gnomes are all right. They’ve been good companions, I must admit. They say that their brother, Salty Pete, knew one part of their father’s compound—an elusive component, but he was killed by lizardmen when they crossed the Vingaard River. They’re going to try and recreate the ingredients on their own, but Reorx only knows how long it will take.”

  “Tell me, the small party of gnomes who departed after the explosion at Dungarden, did they cross at the Brackens?” Coryn asked. “Is that where Salty Pete disappeared?”

  “Yep—that’s the place they mentioned.” Dram frowned at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Have faith,” Coryn said. “There may yet be some good news. Although from what Palin told me, his son spent years working on the same problem. He also cautioned me that some secrets are better kept forever. I agree with him, but I also feel that we don’t have much choice right now.”

  “Tell me, how did you meet our mutual friend?” the dwarf asked. “He gave you such a hug on the shore of the Newsea, at first I was thinking you must be his long lost sister or something!”

  Coryn smiled, savoring a secret memory. “Not his sister. Hardly,” she admitted. Her expression grew serious, even sad.

  “Actually, I met him on the night Lord Lorimar was murdered,” she said. “The Lord was a good friend of mine—I had been giving him advice and information on matters in Solamnia, since shortly after the First Conclave. In Palanthas I caught wind of a plot building against him—but I was too late—and arrived at his manor to find the place already in flames. The lord and his daughter were dead, and Jaymes was there, holding that great sword. He wore the emblem of a Knight of the Rose then, too.”

  “His favorite disguise, once upon a time,” Dram admitted awkwardly. The dwarf had never probed his human friend for more details about that night—but he didn’t like to have to hear from Coryn that Jaymes was indeed at the scene of the crime.

  “I watched him take off his tunic, that proud rose glow
ing red as blood. He threw it into the flames and stood there, watching, as the blaze surged around him. He was already burned on his shoulders and face, but I got the impression he wasn’t going to move, Finally I cast a spell, a cone of cold, and brought him out of the fire. He just followed me when I took his hand.”

  “Why would you help a man who just killed your friend?” Dram asked bluntly.

  Coryn looked at him for a long time, her expression enigmatic. The gnomes called out as they started back from the stream, and the dwarf wondered if she even heard his question. Perhaps it was impertinent, anyway.

  Only then did he catch her words, barely whispered above the friendly wash of the mountain stream.

  “I wouldn’t,” she said.

  Jaymes was, as always at night, chained to a stout iron stake driven deep into the ground. He was almost getting used it, and—though he had watched carefully for any variance, any weakness in the diligence of his guards—he had seen not such much as a glimmer of a chance at escape. Even if the knights had not guarded him constantly, the stake was too strong, too deep

  Right now he was trying to use his manacled hands to slurp from the usual bowl of gruel that served as his evening meal. A cry of challenge and answering password attracted his attention, and he watched idly as a Knight of Solamnia, wearing the emblem of the Rose, came riding on a lathered, blowing horse, into camp from the direction they were headed.

  The newcomer dismounted and was directed to Sir Powell, who was having his meal nearby with Lady Selinda and several officers. The Rose knight was apparently a messenger, for he knelt respectfully and handed a scroll to Powell.

  Selinda asked a question, and the knight captain shrugged, passing her the parchment.

  “I don’t know why he didn’t just wait until we get to Palanthas to tell me that,” Powell said, loud enough for Jaymes to overhear. “But if he wants to transfer the Third Regiment to the coast, who am I to stop him?”

  “Strange,” Selinda agreed, after scanning the message. “My father usually doesn’t concern himself with minor deployments.” She looked at the messenger, who still knelt before them. “Thank you for making the journey, Sir Dupuy. Please, help yourself to our trail fare. Do you need to return at once, or did my father give you other instructions?”

  “If I may beg the indulgence of Your Ladyship and the captain’s approval, the Lord Regent suggested that I accompany your party on the ride over the pass and back to Palanthas. There is some damage to the road, washouts caused by the spring rains. As I have just come over that route, I will at least be able to warn you when these obstacles are coming up.”

  “By all means,” Sir Powell said, heartily. “Take up a bowl and join the men. We rise with the dawn and ride an hour later.”

  “Thank you, sir. My lady,” the knight called Sir Dupuy said, rising to his feet. He looked around, apparently seeking the cook fire.

  Jaymes would have sworn that the man’s eyes lingered far longer than necessary upon the chained prisoner.

  Dram was awake as the first glimmers of dawn were brightening the sky over the eastern plains. His body ached, but he was looking forward to entering the good air of the mountains again.

  The two gnomes were still slumbering, and he let them rest a little longer as he stirred the faded coals and rekindled the fire. He looked up to see that Coryn was already awake. Though she had slept on the ground, her white robe showed not the slightest stain of grass or mud. Not even the blackberries, of which they had all eaten plentifully the night before, had left a mark.

  “The white moon was full last night, and Solinari favored me. I learned something that might be important to you,” she whispered. “There is a prisoner held by the lizardmen in the Brackens … a gnome. He has been kept there for more than a year.”

  “A gnome?” Dram immediately understood. He nodded toward Carbo and Sulfie, who snored contentedly, arm in arm, beyond the fire. “You think it might be their brother, Pete?”

  “It could very well be,” she said.

  If Coryn had been off checking on the status of captured gnomes during the previous night, Dram had had no clue. He nodded, reflecting on the strange ways of wizards, and decided to take her at her word—he didn’t want any more details. Besides, there remained a more pressing concern: the rescue of Jaymes.

  “Yes,” Coryn said grimly, as though she had been reading his mind. “You have to get Jaymes away from those knights as soon as possible. I meant what I told you last night. He is in danger—terrible and immediate danger.”

  He grimaced, shaking his head. “What can I do?” he said. “I can’t even catch up to those riders, much less get him out of such a tight spot. Isn’t that your specialty?”

  She sighed. “I can’t afford to take the chance of being identified—it was risky enough in Caergoth, and I fear that I was spotted. But I might be able to help you with this potion.”

  She reached into a pocket of her robe and came out with three small bottles. “I have become rather good at brewing such helpful magics, if I say so myself. Of course, I have the benefit of being able to roam about Jenna’s laboratory while she is in Wayreth. I think you might find these useful.”

  Coryn extended her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Dram opened his own burly paw and let her drop the bottles onto his calloused palm. He looked at the potions reluctantly. “Magic makes my skin break out, you know,” he said.

  She smiled sympathetically. “You might have to put up with some blemishes, then, if you’re going to help your friend. I suggest you leave the gnomes here—have them camp out of sight somewhere and wait for you. They’ll only slow you down.”

  “Aye, I’m sorry to say, but I’d been thinking along the same lines myself,” Dram admitted. He scowled at the small bottles, each of which seemed to hold only a shot or two of clear liquid.

  “This blue bottle is a potion of haste,” the enchantress explained. “Use just enough so that you feel a little tingle. You’ll be able to cover twice as much distance today as the knights can ride.”

  “Haste, huh?” Dram held up that bottle, which was the largest of the three, and inspected the liquid sloshing inside. “All right,” he said. “So I might catch up to them. What then?”

  She explained about the other two potions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE TORGE

  Jaymes shifted uncomfortably for seemingly the hundredth time of the night. Sleeping with his hands manacled at his waist allowed him precious little room to maneuver. His wrists were raw.

  He stared up at the sky, the white moon near zenith. Since that moon had risen at sunset, he knew it was not much later than midnight.

  At least the evenings gave some respite to the pain of riding a horse all day. His legs cramped so much he was unable to stand when they finally allowed him to dismount at the end of the day. Though the other knights took breaks, including a midday meal, climbing down from their saddles to stretch, they didn’t go to the trouble—or risk—of letting their prisoner do the same.

  Wriggling around, he tried to ease a kink that had formed in the muscles of his back. He couldn’t do much about it. Cursing softly, the prisoner was on the verge on closing his eyes when he spotted a cloaked figure moving stealthily through the darkness.

  This figure, though bent low, moved more like a human than a dwarf. Immediately the warrior thought of the lone knight, Sir Dupuy, who had arrived bearing a message from Lord Regent du Chagne. The man had been watching Jaymes surreptitiously all evening. Sitting around a fire with several fellows, the stranger’s cold, hard eyes had frequently shifted over to the chained man.

  Now the prisoner stared at the cloaked figure as it scuttled towards him, evidently on his hands and knees. Jaymes closed his eyes to narrow slits so the other man wouldn’t guess he was awake and pondered what to do. The menacing knight was perhaps ten paces away, his eyes fixed upon the prisoner. Jaymes felt helpless. The chains binding his hands were so tight, he would have little ability to def
end himself.

  “Say there, friend,” Jaymes suddenly called out, opening his eyes and sitting up straight. He made a great show of trying to stretch. His voice rang out in the slumbering camp, and several knights grunted in their sleep or shifted and opened their eyes. “How about helping a thirsty man with a drink of water?”

  He was not surprised when the cloaked man—indeed Sir Dupuy—rose smoothly, letting his cape fall to the ground. The man looked around, saw that a sleepy sentry was staring at them and other knights were stirring. Several watched as Sir Dupuy came up to Jaymes, extending his canteen.

  “Just a quick sip,” the man said gruffly. “And then be still!”

  The prisoner took the proffered vessel, drank, then handed it back. He replied loudly. “Thank you kindly, good sir knight.”

  The hilt of a dagger protruded from the man’s belt. Without another word Sir Dupuy turned to walk away, stopping to pick up his cloak as if he had just happened to spot it lying on the ground. He went over to his bedroll and lay down, but his eyes, glittering with fury and frustration, remained fixed upon Jaymes.

  Wrestling himself around to a sitting position, the warrior met the stranger’s glare. Cramps froze his muscles, pain rippled through his legs, hips, and back, but he had to remain awake, and he watched the knight, watched and waited patiently as the moon, with excruciating slowness, crept through the western sky.

  He maintained his vigil until dawn brightened the sky and the camp began to wake up around him. Only when there were a dozen knights up, kindling fires, putting kettles on to warm, did he allow himself to close his eyes for a few precious minutes. He woke when they came with the crowbar to pull his stake out of the ground and prod him into the saddle of a horse.