The Rose and the Skull

13

Three days had passed since Dalian Escu stumbled upon Gunthar's body lying in the snow. At his feet had lain his broken spear, by his side the noble hound who'd fought Mannjaeger to the death. Master and hound, together they rested, with a soft coverlet of frosty white solemnly veiling their still forms, as it should have been. Nearby loomed the massive elemental bulk of the great boar, his body pierced a dozen times by Gunthar's spear before the final fatal blow lodged in his heart. Unlucky thirteen, some noted.

In the cold dawn, they brought the Grand Master out from the castle to the courtyard, where fresh snow was falling on the bowed heads and slumped shoulders of those gathered for the funeral. Most were simple villagers and townsfolk from all over the Isle of Sancrist, but others had crossed seas to be here. Word of Gunthar's death went out with dragonback messengers to Northern and Southern Ergoth, to the Isle of Cristyne, to Qualinost and to Palanthas, and dignitaries from the nearest lands of Krynn had come at the summons. Silver dragons were seen circling in the gray, snow-laden clouds overhead, and also, someone claimed, a lone gold dragon had passed over the battlements in the night. The day before, blue dragons had come bearing more Knights of Takhisis, as well as condolences from their supreme leader, Lady Mirielle Abrena. Sir Liam Ehrling, distraught by the death of his master, had kept to his room until the morning of the funeral.

As the doors opened and the pallbearers appeared, a hush fell over the crowd. Freshly fallen snow muted the footsteps of those who bore Lord Gunthar. He rested not in a casket. Instead, he lay upon a wooden stretcher, and four Knights carried him-Knights of Solamnia Quintayne Fogorner and Ellinghad Beauseant, and Knights of Takhisis Tohr Malen and Valian Escu. Behind them strode Meredith Turningdale, bearing Gunthar's shield, and lastly Liam Ehrling, bearing his sword. Lord Gunthar was covered with a white linen shroud strewn with red roses and tiny golden crowns. At his feet lay the ivory tusks of Mannjaeger, trophies of his last battle.

In silence, they laid him on the snow-covered ground, and in silence the mourners passed, leaving roses and other tokens at his side. Flakes falling from the sky alighted softly on his face but did not melt, until he looked like some ancient god of winter, asleep in his snowy bower with his offerings heaped about him. Liam stood at his head, Lady Meredith at his feet, and they quietly greeted each person as he or she stopped beside Gunthar's form. Though he struggled to maintain his composure, many a choked tear streaked Liam chiseled face, while Meredith let her grief flow like quiet rain.

When all had paid their respects, the bearers once again lifted Gunthar and returned him to the castle. Never again would he leave it.

The gathered Knights and delegates of towns, villages, lands, and nations filed into the old chapel behind the pallbearers and took their seats in the pews lining the aisle. They laid Gunthar on the altar beneath an ancient symbol of the platinum dragon, then stepped back and made their way to their seats. When all were finally seated, the chapel grew quiet, so quiet that ice crystals were heard striking the glazed windows of the chapel. Outside, the snow had changed to sleet, as the townspeople, villagers and foresters of Sancrist began to make their way home, returning to the farms and fields, homesteads and mills they'd left to pay their last respects to the master of Castle uth Wistan. Many did not know what the morrow would bring, whether the Knights of Solamnia would die with the Grand Master, or be reborn in the merging of the two orders. Many of those gathered in the chapel wondered the same thing.

So profound was the silence of the chapel that several people started when, with a loud click, a door behind the altar opened. From it emerged a man bowed with the weight of many years. Thin wisps of gray hair hung in streamers around his wrinkled brown face, and he leaned heavily upon a stick as he hobbled through the door. He was helped along by a younger woman dressed in long robes of pristine but unadorned white. From a single, simple comb, long raven tresses streaked with gray spilled loosely over her shoulders. Hers was a face of classical beauty, with its proud chin and cheekbones that some might have called haughty, were they not softened by wisdom and age. But her dark eyes held no light. She stared blankly ahead, so that even those at the back of the chapel knew at a glance that she was blind. Still, she somehow led the elderly man down the steps and to the front pew, where he took his seat beside Liam Ehrling.

As she turned, he held her hand a moment longer, and croaked in a voice weary with grief, "Thank you, Crysania."

"You are welcome, dear Wills," she answered.

As if by magic, the music of her voice cleansed the room of the brooding silence that had gripped it since Gunthar was brought in. The people seemed suddenly to relax in their pews; there was a noise of shuffling and adjusting, the creaking of armor and the rustling of fabric. Someone coughed, and there were even a few whispers.

"Who is he?" Jessica Vestianstone quietly asked the person sitting beside her-a wealthy merchant from the town of Gavin.

"Wills, Gunthar's old retainer. He must be over a hundred. I didn't know he was still alive," the man whispered. "That's Lady Crysania. I can't believe she's here. Someone told me she is living some place on the island, though I don't know where."

"Lady Crysania!" Jessica whispered excitedly to herself.

She didn't need anyone to point out her hero. As a child, Jessica had listened enraptured to the tales and songs of Crysania and her love for the dark mage, Raistlin Majere. She had indulged in many a romantic dream of one day meeting someone for whom she too would risk the Abyss. To Jessica, Crysania's bravery and loving sacrifice were like a beacon towards which she strove, across the barren sands of her own life's drudgery.

Lady Crysania moved slowly up beside the altar where Gunthar lay, feeling the air with her hands, until she touched the hem of his shroud. Gently, she placed her own hands on his and bowed her head in silent prayer. The chapel grew quiet again, but this was a quiet of peace, broken occasionally by a sob. Crysania lifted her head and smiled.

"Good morning," she said softly to the congregation.

A scattered few answered. Jessica held her breath. She never dreamed such a day would come, that she might actually hear the voice of Lady Crysania. Despite the solemnity of the occasion, her face almost glowed with joy.

"They tell me Lord Gunthar died in battle against the beast known as Mannjaeger. They say that Lord Gunthar was a warrior, and that he would have preferred to die in battle," Crysania said. There was a general grunt of approval from the congregation. Jessica saw Liam nod his head appreciatively.

"I'll not try to comfort you with such notions, for I do not believe them," Crysania said. A hush fell over the chapel.

"Gunthar was not a warrior," she continued. "True, he led the Knights of Solamnia through two devastating wars, and probably no leader since Vinus Solamnus himself has done more to keep this noble order together in the face of adversity. But as you all know, rarely did Lord Gunthar take his place in the forefront of battle. He was not a great warrior.

"He was a great leader. He left it to other, more capable hands, to strike the blows in the cause of good.

"I am here today because Gunthar uth Wistan was a man of peace. It has been said that to lead men in battle is simple. To lead men in peace takes courage and strength, and above all, honor. When the wars are over, the old warriors fade away. Lord Gunthar led you through more days of peace than he did of war, yet he did not fade away. The Knighthood is alive today because of him.

"Many of you honor and revere Huma, who fought and died to save Krynn from the armies of Takhisis. Many of you revere Sturm Brightblade, who fought and died as an example of honor. Some of you honor his son Steel Brightblade, who chose personal honor over loyalty to his Dark Queen, and fought and died to save Krynn from Chaos. How many of you, I wonder, truly honor this man here…" Crysania's voice broke, but her blinded eyes never wavered.

"… this man who fought, and fought, and fought," she continued, emotion choking her voice, "… who never stopped fighting to hold together your order, amidst the pride and arrogance and foolishness of people too numerous to name. He fought battles without swords, without honors, without victors. Often he fought alone, against the better judgment of his peers. Until the end he fought alone to try to preserve that which he held most dear, even above his own personal honor.

"When we lay to rest this great man, let us not pretend that he fought great battles. He did not save the world. He preserved it, so that those who survived the great battles might have a place to come home to. Lord Gunthar was a man of peace, and in peace, not war, he achieved his greatest deeds. And like the deaths of those great Knights who went before him-Huma Dragonbane, and Sturm and Steel Brightblade-let his death bind you together in a purpose greater than yourselves. Do not allow him to die in vain."

Crysania bowed her head. As one, with the rattling of swords and creaking of armor, the pallbearers rose from their seats.

"So ends the line of Gunthar uth Wistan," Crysania chanted in invocation. "He goes now to join his longfathers of old, his sons, and his wife. Unto Paladine we commit his soul, but unto the earth we consign his flesh. Never shall we see his kind again."

Slowly, reverently, the pallbearers ascended to the altar and took their places beside Lord Gunthar's body. Crysania descended to the front pew and helped Wills to rise. Together, the old retainer and the former priestess of Paladine climbed to a great iron door to the right of the altar. As they passed, the pallbearers lifted Gunthar from the altar. The Knights sitting in the congregation rose and began to file into the chapel's aisles, while those not of either Knighthood remained in their seats.

Crysania opened the iron door, where servants waited with lighted torches. Arm in arm with Wills, she descended a staircase cut into the living rock beneath the castle, torchbearers leading the way. The pallbearers followed, then came the Knights of Solamnia. Last of all, the Knights of Takhisis entered, closing the door behind them. Those remaining in the chapel rose quietly and began to disperse, the villagers and townspeople to their waiting carriages and horses, the dignitaries from the elven lands, Ergoth, and Palanthas to their guest quarters in the castle. The chapel was left empty and silent once again, while outside the sleet turned to rain.

The stair wound down and down, but gently, not like a dungeon stair. The walls were wide and the steps broad, for it was made to be traversed by those carrying a heavy burden. Two torchbearers descended before the Lady Crysania, and two followed behind the last Knight of Takhisis, but those Knights near the middle of the group walked in near darkness. Jessica was among these. She paced in solemn procession, with one hand lightly touching the Knight before her, and she felt a hand on her shoulder as well. No one spoke. All seemed lost in their own private musings, with only the shuffling of feet and jangle of armor to break the silence.

Finally, the stair ended in a long dark hall. Over the heads of those before her, Jessica saw the torchbearers; the flickering light of their torches went before them in a great arch on the walls and ceiling of the passage. They entered a low stone crypt, where they busied themselves lighting torches hanging in sconces on the walls. The Knights before her filed into the crypt, some moving to the left, others to the right. As Jessica entered, she moved to the right, where other Knights from her own Order of the Crown waited with bowed heads. She moved in beside them and took her place. The others followed behind her, until it seemed all the small burial chamber was filled with Knights. The air began to smell of hot steel and leather, so that Jessica found it more and more difficult to breath.

They deposited Gunthar's body on a stone bier near the center of the chamber. All around him, in the shadows and in niches in the walls, lay the sarcophagi of his ancestors, his grandfathers and their grandfathers. Castle uth Wistan was ancient beyond reckoning. Cracks in the walls showed evidence of the Cataclysm that wracked Krynn over three hundred years before, raising mountains and draining seas, and destroying the city of Istar where the kingpriest, in his arrogance, called down the gods' righteous anger upon himself.

Some people said the uth Wistan name dated back to the Age of Dreams. But it had found its inevitable end here, with the man who lay now in the center of the chamber, for his good ladywife and his sons laying round him, their spirits gone before him to prepare a place. He was the last of his line.

The Knights crowded all the remaining spaces of the crypt, many straining to see their late Grand Master's body, others only too glad to let the shadows hide their tears. Lady Crysania stood beside Lord Gunthar's body, while the guard of honor took their places at her side: to her right, the leaders of the Knights of Solamnia, and to her left those of the Knights of Takhisis. Lady Meredith Turningdale laid Gunthar's shield across his knees, then Liam Ehrling placed his sword on his breast. He stepped back, his face a mask of stone. Crysania lifted her hand; it shook visibly.

"Return this man to Huma's breast," she said.

Ellinghad Beauseant stepped forward and turned to face the gathered Knights. He began to chant, and others soon took up his song. Jessica found she knew the words as well, though she didn't remember ever learning them.

Return this man to Huma's breast:

Let him be lost in sunlight,

In the chorus of air where breath is translated;

At the sky's border receive him.

Beyond the wild, impartial skies

Have you set your lodgings,

In cantonments of stars, where the sword aspires

in an arc of yearning, where we join in singing.

Grant to him a warrior's rest.

Above our singing, above song itself,

may the ages of peace converge in a day,

May he dwell in the heart of Paladine.

And set the last spark of his eyes

In a fixed and holy place

Above words and the borrowed land too loved

As we recount the ages.

Free from the smothering clouds of war

As he once rose in infancy,

The long world possible and bright before him,

Lord Huma, deliver him…

As the last notes of the chant died away in the stone corridors of the vault, Ellinghad bowed his head and stepped back.

With tears in her eyes, Crysania lifted her hands and cried, "Return this man to Huma's breast beyond the wild, impartial skies; grant to him a warrior's rest, and set the last spark of his eyes free from the smothering clouds of wars, upon the torches of the stars."

Her hands dropped to her sides, and her long black hair hung down around her face as she bowed her head. Slowly, one by one, the Knights filed past Gunthar's body. Each Knight paid his or her respects in their own way, some bowing to one knee in humble prayer, some leaving some small gift or token of remembrance. Jessica was surprised by the seeming honest grief of many of the Knights of Takhisis, for most had known Gunthar only as their enemy. One by one, they filed out and returned up the winding stair to the chapel, before making their way to whatever post or duty called them.

Jessica was one of the last to kneel beside the Grand Master's tomb, but she was unsure what she was supposed to do. She felt like praying, but she didn't know to which gods she should pray. All had left Krynn during the Chaos War. Her heart, like the tomb, felt empty and cold, but she knew others were watching her. Finally, she whispered, "Peace be with you, my lord," and rose to her feet. As she turned to leave, Crysania lifted her head and smiled sadly. Blushing, Jessica hurried up the stair.

When she reached the chapel, Jessica stopped. Compared to the tomb, the air here seemed fresh and alive. A cool gray light filtered through the tall, narrow, glazed windows lining the walls while a steady rain beat upon the roof. She felt suddenly thankful that she was warm and dry and above all alive. The cold dead air of the tomb had filled her with a horror she realized only when she was free of it. She thought of Lord Gunthar down in the cold of the grave, alone for all eternity, and she began to weep for him. Long sobs wracked her body. She crept back to the darkest corner of the chapel, to a place where she could be alone with her sorrow. Where a column rose between two pews she crouched and let the sobs take her.

Jessica Vestianstone had joined the Knighthood only two years ago. She came from a wealthy merchant family from the city of Gavin, here on the isle of Sancrist, the second-youngest child of eleven. She'd joined the Knights of Solamnia because there was no place for her at home. She had no desire to marry and have eleven children of her own. She longed to do something greater, to serve in a noble cause, to take part in a great endeavor. Had the gods not abandoned Krynn, most likely she'd have ended up a priestess of one god or another.

By the time she reached her teens, her two oldest sisters were captains of successful merchant ships in their father's business. Between voyages, they began to teach Jessica the martial skills of swordplay and archery. She proved talented, and her natural humility and sense of honor brought her to the attention of some local Knights of Solamnia, Sir Quintayne in particular. He'd encouraged her to join and sponsored her application. Jessica had no doubt that in the old days she'd never have been accepted, as she wasn't aggressive by nature, but in the post-Chaos world, the Knighthood needed bodies to fill the gaps in their lines.

Almost immediately after she was accepted, they'd placed her at Isherwood. Alone in the middle of a wilderness, and almost never called to attend Grand Chapters, Jessica never really got to know any of her fellow Knights. But at Isherwood she was mistress of her own life at last. She delighted in exploring the wild hills surrounding the castle, while the ancient building itself charmed her with its simplicity and nobility. It was the sort of castle she'd always imagined princesses of stories being exiled to by their cruel fathers, lonely princesses awaiting the arrival of a noble Knight to rescue them. Only now, she was the noble Knight. She felt weary and alone. Gunthar's funeral made her realize how many of her hopes and dreams lay unfulfilled, without hope of ever coming to pass as long as she remained isolated at Isherwood, or now that the Knights of Takhisis were taking it, at some other musty, dank, unimportant post.

When she heard the iron door close, Jessica paid it no mind. She thought no one could see her where she hid, but the one who saw her needed no eyes to see. Jessica felt a light touch on her shoulder, and turning quickly, she found herself staring up at the one person in all the world she least wanted to find her weak, weeping like a child.

"Lady Crysania!" she gasped. "I was… I am… "

"You were weeping," Crysania said. "As a dear friend was fond of saying, a deaf gully dwarf could have heard you."

"I'm sorry," Jessica sighed.

"Why? Your tears do you honor, if they are shed honorably," Crysania said.

"But…" Jessica began. She sank to her knees as new tears welled from her eyes. "I wept for myself," she cried. "I wept for Lord Gunthar, for the loneliness of the grave he must feel, but only because I am already there. When I joined the Knights, I dreamed that I would make a difference. I dreamed of glory. But since joining, I have labored the long days in a desolate castle, alone but for an old dwarf to care for my horse."

"Many were the times I felt as you," Crysania said. "On the long march to the dwarven plains, I was alone in the midst of many. Though I loved, I loved alone, and though I strove to bring light to the darkness, I strove alone and still the darkness triumphed. The time was not yet come, as I learned, and as you must also learn." She stooped to help Jessica rise.

Jessica brushed back her tears and tried to compose herself. "I am sorry, Lady Crysania. It was selfish of me to weep for myself. My tears were better shed for Lord Gunthar."

"But why? When we weep for the dead, truly we weep for ourselves, for our loss, not theirs, and for our own fear of the grave, not theirs. The tears you shed do you no dishonor, lady Knight," Crysania said. "We all weep in darkness."

Suddenly, Jessica clasped Crysania's hands and bowed to one knee. "My Lady, please allow me to serve you," she cried.

"You have duties and responsibilities here," Crysania said.

"I am to be reassigned," Jessica said excitedly. "They are giving my post to the Knights of Takhisis. I have no other duties as yet. If you were to request…"

"Patience, patience, dear girl," Crysania said softly but firmly. "There is much yet for you to do here."

"What do you mean?" Jessica asked.

"Come, take my arm and walk with me," Crysania said.

Together, they strolled from the chapel, passing along a hall lined with windows that looked onto the courtyard. The rain came down like a gray curtain, almost obscuring the outer wall from view. A few hazy shadows walked their posts atop the battlements.

As they passed throughout the castle, Jessica waited for Crysania to say something more, to finish her thought begun in the chapel, but instead the former high priestess of Paladine made small talk, asking about Jessica's name and her family, and about the castle where she lived. Jessica told Crysania how much she loved the crumbling old place. Lonely as she was, she enjoyed the solitude and peace she found there.

Finally, they reached the guest quarters of the castle. Crysania stopped beside one of the doors and felt unfamiliarly for the latch. Until that moment, Jessica had almost forgotten the Lady Crysania was blind. Gently, she guided her hero's fingers to the knob. Crysania smiled.

"Thank you. It was very good to meet you, Jessica Vestianstone," she said. "I hope we will talk again before I leave."

"As do I, milady," Jessica answered with a bow.

Crysania smiled and opened the door. As she passed within, Jessica caught a glimpse inside the room. Directly across from the door there stood a large bed, where a profusion of blankets spilled onto the floor. As the door swung shut, the head of a huge white tiger lifted from behind the blankets and blinked sleepily at Jessica. Her breath caught at the suddenness of his appearance, and she almost cried out before she noticed that he was not a tiger after all, but a man. He rose as Crysania entered, but then the door closed, cutting off Jessica's view.

Jessica's head dropped. Dejected, she shuffled away, finding her way eventually to her own quarters just as the call to mess was being sounded. But she had no appetite. Instead, she entered her small room and sat on the bed in the dark, while in the passage outside her door Knights rushed to the dining hall. They talked, laughed, joked, and bickered, just as they had always done. Already, the life of the castle was returning to normal, even before the echoes of the crypt had faded away.