Margaret Weis: Heroes And Fools

A slight breeze picked up and blew the dryad’s hair around her face. A few dead leaves rustled halfheartedly and then settled down again. The limbs of her tree looked stark against the hot sky. A few withered leaves clung to the oak. In an effort to think past the fatigue and despair that washed over her, the dryad looked past her tree. In the distance, waves of heat distorted the ruined land into something from the dryad’s deepest nightmare. She gazed at the scene, mesmerized, until a gasp of pain broke her reverie.

“Bolt?” a man’s voice cried out. “Get up,” he ordered weakly.

The dryad got up onto her knees and watched as the man struggled to pull himself out from under the large blue dragon. She had seen the dragon try to twist at the last moment to protect his rider, but it hadn’t worked. Instead, the dragon’s body crashed over the man’s legs, crushing them. The heavy plate armor that covered the man didn’t help matters any, she knew. Not only did it impede his movement, but its dark, lily-engraved bulk also attracted the heat of the sun. The human is already very hot, she noted, but things would certainly get worse before the day ended.

“Bolt?” The man had managed to pull the waterskin out from under him and yank his helm off of his head, but that was it. “Are you hurt badly?”

The dryad decided to step in. “Human, the dragon is dead. The silver dragon raked its underside badly. It was a glorious battle,” she added, “if you like such things.” It was hard to make her voice loud enough, she discovered.

“I will remember the flash of the silver parrying the grace of the blue for as long as I live,” she declared.

The man turned toward her quickly. “Who are you?” he demanded. His face had a harsh cast, and his hair was matted with dried blood, making it look darker than the sandy brown that must be its natural color. The dryad noted that he was clean-shaven.

“No enemy of yours, unless you intend to harm my tree,” the dryad responded rather curtly. Then, realizing that this man held something in his hands that was invaluable to her, she added more reasonably, “Of course, your cares rest elsewhere, like in your cities or in the skies above.”

The man looked as if he was about to say something, but started coughing instead. Once he was done, he unscrewed the cap off of his waterskin and gulped a mouthful.

“Noooo!” the dryad cried out before she could stop herself.

He looked up and slowly screwed the cap back on. “What, are you thirsty, too? Well, you won’t get any of this until you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.” His stare pierced her with its coldness.

The dryad readjusted her position, sitting cross-legged. Her head reeled a bit. It won’t do to faint right now, she told herself crossly. She smiled slightly and said, “I’m the guardian of this area.” She gestured to the desiccated trees that surrounded her. Only her own oak tree still stood completely upright. The rest were leaning or had been broken in the dragon’s fall. “I live here.”

The man looked around as much as he was able to. “Not much of a place to live,” he stated, dearly unimpressed.

The dryad kept an enticing smile on her face, but inwardly she cringed at the offense. “It used to be a forest with many glades and brooks, but some unnatural drought has caused it to die.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “Well, then. I’m not going to tell you what a fool you are for staying here, but. . oh, look. I just did,” he added sardonically. “But I do need your help to get out from under Bolt.”

A look of sadness crossed his face. “I’ll give you some water for your help.”

The dryad allowed herself to look as if she were considering the offer. In the past, her gentle, playful words and smile were enough to charm humans into doing what she wanted them to do. That didn’t seem to be working now, though. Briefly she looked down at her seared skin and realized that she probably didn’t look half as nice as she used to. The lack of moisture showed in her prominent bones and dry skin. Even her hair seemed parched. Another wave of weakness and despair rolled over her, not allowing her to think clearly. Soon, she realized, I won’t be able to move at all.

“Well?” the human asked archly. He tried to shift position to look at her more comfortably, but the pain must have been too intense, for he grimaced and closed his eyes.

“May I have that drink you promised me?” she finally asked. “I answered your questions.”

Her response garnered no reaction from the man. He must have passed out from the pain, she thought. “Human? Wake up,” she called out in a rough voice.

No response. She reached out as far as she could and was able to pat the dirt near his head. “Wake up.” Nothing. Gently she kneaded the root under her hand and sought contact with her tree. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” she murmured. “I will have lost my chance to keep you alive.” She bowed her head in concentration, trying to reach out to her tree’s consciousness. She felt a vague presence, but it was too sapped of energy. “Everything around me dies,” she whispered brokenly. She would have wept, if she had any tears left.

Another grunt of pain brought her attention to the human. “Wake up,” she encouraged him.

The man pushed himself up a little on his right arm. “Get me out from under this,” he demanded harshly. His expression was pained and hostile at the same time.

The dryad shook her head. “You told me that you’d give me a drink of water if I answered your questions.”

He simply stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well.” He settled himself down and unscrewed the waterskin. He poured some of the water into the cap and reached back with his left arm, careful to hold the full waterskin upright with his right hand so as not to spill it.

“That’s it?” the dryad asked. She had hoped that he would pass back the whole waterskin.

“Take it.”

The man’s tone of voice allowed for no argument, so she reached out for the cap. Instead of drinking it, though, she carefully spilled it over the exposed root under her hand. The man’s expression grew incredulous. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She waited until every last bit of water had dripped from the lid before handing it back to him. “I must protect my tree,” she answered. She looked up pleadingly. “Please, give me the waterskin so that my tree may live.”

The man shifted to close the waterskin. “Why should I do that? Your tree is dead. I’m not. You’re not. If you help me get out from under my dragon, I’ll give you more than a sip of this water. You must help me start back to my rendezvous point. I’m sure that my fellow Knights will be looking for me along that path soon.”

The dryad looked down at the root, noticing that the water had already soaked through. She didn’t feel any stronger, so it must not have been enough. “I can’t help you,” she declared softly.

The Knight pushed himself up and looked at her angrily. “Why? Do you so oppose the goals of the Knights of Takhisis that you won’t help me out from under a dead mount?” he asked. “You mourn for the lost life of this forest, but you won’t help someone not of the forest maintain his hold on life?”

“I simply can’t help you, human,” she said sadly. “I am not what you think I am.”

He frowned and said, “Well, you look like an elf, except for the dark skin. I don’t recall ever seeing a wild elf with skin that dark and without any tattoos. What are you if you’re not an elf?”

“I am a dryad. I was born of that tree back there,” she stated simply. Another hot breeze stirred the hair around her face.

“And how does that prevent you from helping me? Or taking from me this waterskin that you so desire?” he asked.