Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

"Ours is not to reason why, my boy," Gunthar said. "We just have to accept it."

"But him not hurt," Uhoh said.

"What?"

"Him not hurt."

"Let me see. Are you sure?" Gunthar asked as he kneeled beside the hound. Together, they examined Garr from nose to tail. Gunthar paid particular attention to the tiny wound on the hound's flank, finding it well-crusted with dried blood. "This must have happened earlier in the hunt. It looks like a tusk wound, but I suppose it could have happened anywhere. Certainly not in this fight. Poor Garr breathed his last as I found him."

He stood and examined the ground around the boulder. "Yes, there was a desperate battle here. Look how the ground is torn up by the beast's hooves, where he charged and turned and charged again. I wonder that I never heard it. The ridge must have hidden the sound. And what's this?" He stooped and picked something from the litter of leaves. "It looks like a scale. What do you make of this, my boy?" he asked as he handed the object to Uhoh.

The gully dwarf looked at the queer find as it lay glistening on the palm of his hand. The thing did indeed appear to be a scale, but not like the scale of any fish Uhoh had ever eaten. It looked more like a lizard's scale, but he'd never seen a bronze-colored lizard before. Or had he?

"Oh, very bad mischief. Very bad!" Uhoh shouted.

"What's wrong?" Gunthar demanded.

"Very bad veryveryveryverybad!" Uhoh jumped to his feet.

Gunthar turned and faced the dark eaves of the forest. "Be quiet," he whispered. "I hear it now." He cupped his hand over the gully dwarf's mouth. Uhoh fell silent. They listened together.

There was a grunt.

"Go home now Papa," Uhoh mumbled into Gunthar's palm.

He began to run in place. Gunthar fumbled for his spear and dragged it to his side. Without ever allowing his eyes to leave the forest, he managed to lift it before him, the butt of the spear lodged under his foot. He stared into the wood, seeing only the lighter gray of the trunks standing in serried ranks, until spots began to burst before his eyes. Boar-shaped spots, he thought them. He blinked.

A gut-wrenching squeal shook the trees. The ground rocked, and loose soil spilled down the slope. Like a piece of a mountain brought magically to life, Mannjaeger appeared from the shadow of the wood into the full light of day, red eyes burning with hatred. For some reason, Gunthar fixated on the pink tongue lolling between twin scimitars of yellow ivory. He almost seemed hypnotized by it. It curled and rolled, the black spots on its underside sliding like the pattern on the back of a snake. A droplet of blood rolled down the length of the tongue and splattered on a leaf, joining the small puddle forming below his mangled throat. Garr had struck a mighty blow after all. Raw flesh gaped from a horrific bite, one that would have felled a lesser beast.

Only at the last moment, when he felt the living thing struggling in his hands, did Gunthar come back to his senses. He flung the writhing gully dwarf aside, then tried to bring his spear to bear, but it was too late. Mannjaeger plowed into him. Gunthar felt the world heave beneath him as a force like that of a battering ram exploded against his breastplate.

His ancient Solamnic armor, crafted a century ago by the best Solamnic smiths, served him well. The boar's tusks screeched against his steel greaves and clattered uselessly on his breastplate. Nevertheless he felt the hammer force of each blow and the crushing power of each bite. In a matter of moments, he was bleeding from a dozen wounds, more from the tumbling he received than the boar's tusks. He never was quite able to regain his feet. Every time he seemed about to get his balance, Mannjaeger struck him again. He felt like the survivor of a shipwreck who finds his greatest danger is of being drowned in the shore surf. He soon began to grow weary, as each new wave struck him down and dragged him back out to sea.

Then the boar was gone. He no longer felt its weight, no longer smelled its rancid breath. He lay still in the leaves, suddenly at peace. He didn't dare open his eyes, for he felt the ground beneath him shake as the monster prowled around his body, sniffing, grunting.

"Gulpfunger spawn!" There was a loud meaty thwack, and a squeal like the rusty gates of the Abyss being pushed open by hell's own legions. Gunthar dreaded to open his eyes. He only wanted to lie there and let himself fall asleep. "Glickenspogger!"

Slowly, Gunthar sat up and clenched his teeth, waiting for the inevitable blow of a renewed attack. He clenched shut his eyes and hoped it was all a bad dream, and that he'd be waking in his own warm bed beside his lovely wife Belle, and that everything, everything he'd ever seen and done and suffered had all been one long spicy gnomecuisine-induced nightmare. No Council of Whitestone. No War of the Lance. No Sturm Brightblade to die at the High Clerist's Tower. No attack of Palanthas by the Dark Lady's army to claim his eldest son's life. No Chaos War to take his last son. No heartbreak to slowly rob his Belle first of her wits and then of her life. Paladine, I pray, give me a life quietly average. I never wished to lead the Knights. I'd trade it all for a little castle on the coast and my family at my side again. My boys, my poor poor boys. I miss them so.

"Get away from Papa, you… you… you Chugsnorter!" Thwack. Squeal!

Gunthar sighed and opened his eyes.

Uhoh crouched beside a boulder, a small round stone poised behind his ear, ready for throwing. For some reason, Mannjaeger hesitated. Perhaps he had never before smelled a gully dwarf and was trying to figure out if they were too noxious to eat. He restlessly plowed the earth with his hooves and snorted the air. Thick strings of bloody drool poured from his champing jowls.

Gunthar was surprised to find his spear undamaged and near at hand. In fact, he thought it lucky he hadn't been speared by it himself. He used it to help himself to his feet, while the boar was distracted with the gully dwarf. Not until then did he notice he had not passed through the meat grinder unscathed. One particularly vicious slash had rent the chain mail protecting his thigh and sliced a finger-long wound as cleanly as if it had been done with a razor. But for some reason, the wound burned like dragon fire, robbing that leg of all strength. He leaned heavily on the spear just to keep from falling, and despite his best efforts, a groan escaped his lips.

Mannjaeger spun at the noise. Finding the more immediate threat of the man, he charged. With black spots swimming before his eyes, Gunthar balanced himself on one foot and lowered his spear to receive the charge. Uhoh shouted something unpronounceable and hurled his stone. It struck the boar in the eye, causing him to swerve slightly and impale himself on Gunthar's poorly aimed thrust.

Mannjaeger screamed as he lunged away, blowing blood from his mouth and tearing the spear from Gunthar's grasp. Gunthar collapsed, but the boar charged into the forest, dragging the well-lodged weapon behind him. He continued to thrash and bellow, hidden by the shadow of the wood, until finally all sound died away.

Gunthar groaned and rolled onto his side. With the danger gone, the pain in his leg grew to blinding intensity. He clawed at his wound, trying to see the cause of the burning. Strangely, the wound had already crusted over with dried black blood. Gunthar fell back in the bloodspattered leaves beside Garr's body. For a moment, he grew quiet as he looked into the dog's empty eyes. Then he began to thrash and moan in pain.

Uhoh was by his side. "What wrong, Papa? What wrong?" he asked.

"The dagger! Betrayed!" Gunthar cried. "Fool! Planned… they led us… apart. Only Garr able to follow the true trail, and he knew I'd follow Garr. I should have known. But how? I chose him. I trusted him." The pain engulfed his hips and abdomen. He felt as if he was slowly being lowered into a pot of boiling oil.