Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

"Who, Papa? What?" Uhoh whimpered confusedly as he tried to calm his master's throes.

"I chose him. I trusted him," was all Gunthar seemed able to say. Spittle flew from his lips and bloody foam poured down his chin as his words became lost in horrible convulsions. He seemed to twist upon himself like a wounded snake. His lips drew back in a fearful grimace, and the woods echoed with his screams. In terror, Uhoh scrambled out of the way and hid behind the boulder. He pressed his face against the cool stone and bit his lip.

Finally, his master grew quiet. Uhoh peered around the boulder and saw Gunthar lying flat on his back, as still as stone. Even the palsy was gone from his hands. Uhoh crept to his side, fearful of what he might find, but as he drew near, Gunthar's bloodshot eyes swiveled in his head. He blinked, then a weak smile stirred his Solamnic mustaches.

"Ah, very good, my boy. I was afraid I was going to die alone," he said faintly. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to move my hands. Come closer and hold mine, won't you, my boy?"

Reluctantly, Uhoh touched his master's hand. He found it cold and hard, like marble. Though his body was rigid, the muscles of the old man's face continued to twist and writhe. "What wrong, Papa?" Uhoh whispered.

"You must do something for me, Uhoh," Gunthar said.

"What, Papa?"

He groaned as a fresh spasm wracked his face. "He thought I was a fool. I was. Now I know. Now I understand. This was the plan from the very beginning. How else…" Gunthar's voice trailed off, and his eyes grew dim.

"What me do, Papa?" Uhoh asked again.

"What's that, my boy?" Gunthar started. "Where was I?"

"You with Uhoh," the gully dwarf cried.

"Uhoh, you must do something for me," the old man whispered weakly. "Come closer."

Uhoh leaned over his master, his mud-caked ear nearly touching the old man's lips. The old man whispered something almost inaudible, then sighed heavily. Then, convulsing, Gunthar shoved Uhoh away. "The Knights!" he screamed, long, quavering, dying away. This final effort seemed to drain the last spark of life from his body.

"Knights bad?" Uhoh cried in confusion.

"They've killed me," Gunthar whispered, his eyes closing.

"Knights very bad!" Uhoh growled.

The old man roused at these words. He strained, trying to grasp the gully's dwarf's hand. "No, not all the Knights. You must run home and warn the others. Do you understand?"

"No," Uhoh cried in frustration.

"Good, I knew I could count on you," Gunthar said, smiling weakly as he relaxed.

"Me run away home?" Uhoh asked.

"Yes. Go now," Gunthar said, then his face grew still. His eyes lost their focus and seemed to stare beyond the clouds. A last cloud of steamy breath floated from his lips and dissipated in the cool autumn air.

Uhoh shook his master's body. "Papa, what me do now?" he asked. "What me do now? Papa? Papa!"

He stood and placed his hands on his hips, scolding the still form of his master. "Papa stay. Papa not leave Uhoh."

Gunthar's face seemed to relax. The lines of age and worry fell away, replaced by almost a glow of peace. Uhoh fell to his knees beside Gunthar and stroked the old man's hair with his small, grubby hand. "Uhoh no go. Uhoh stay with Papa," he whispered as tears began to stream down his cheeks, cutting new tracks through the grime. He laid his face against his master's chest and closed his eyes.

"Uhoh never leave Papa," he cried as sobs wracked his little body. He wept until exhaustion claimed him and the peace of sleep stole over his eyes.

"Make sure you get this right," the bozak said to his coppery subordinates as they stooped over Gunthar's body. "It's got to look like he died here in fierce combat." One of them began sprinkling blood from a vial all over the area surrounding the slain hound.

While all this was going on, three more of the copperscaled draconians appeared from the forest, dragging a large heavy object behind them. As they cleared the wood, they stopped and leaned back against their load, panting heavily with their long, forked tongues lolling and short wings fanning the air. "This is good enough," one of them gasped. The others sighed in relief and staggered away to other tasks, leaving the body lying just off the trail opposite the Grand Master.

Even dead, Mannjaeger was an awesome sight. Although lying on his side, his great bulk loomed like a mountainside, dark and brooding. His head could have served as the battering ram of a minotaur pirate galley, while the look in his eyes, even in death, might turn a medusa to stone. His flesh crawled with lice and parasites sent scurrying for new pastures, now that Mannjaeger had met his demise.

One of the draconians dragged Gunthar's spear from the forest. He walked over and stabbed it into the body of the boar at least a dozen times, finally fixing the weapon deep in the boar's lifeless chest. Then he removed a bottle from some secret pocket in his uniform and poured fresh blood into the dead wounds. That done, he broke the shaft of the spear over his copper-scaled knee and carefully laid it in Gunthar's outstretched hand. Meanwhile, the bronzescaled draconian paced the area muttering to himself and sprinkling dust in some kind of mystical pattern. Wherever the dust fell, leaves and twigs that had been disturbed by the movements of the draconians returned to their original places, footprints in the soft soil vanished, while even the air seemed cleansed by its passing, removed of its hot metallic odor-the stench of draconians. The draconian completed his magical work and folded his clawed hands into the sleeves of his robe. The others finished their tasks and darted into the woods, leaving only the bronze draconian and one copper-scaled kapak overlooking the site of Gunthar's death.

"What now, oh great one?" the kapak asked.

"Our work here is complete," the bronze pronounced from the cowl of his robe. "Soon now, my illusions and the illusions of the others will disappear, and those hunting phantom boars will give up their chase and return to the castle. When they do, they'll find Gunthar has not returned, and they'll search for him. That will give us enough time to collect our fee and be gone from this place."

"And then?" the coppery draconian asked with a sly look in his red eye.

"And then nothing, my kapak friend," the bronze snarled. "You return to your sneaking, while we bozaks return to our cleaning up your mistakes with our magic."

"Mistakes! What mistakes? This has gone off perfectly, according to our plan. We didn't even need your help," the kapak snarled. " The Old Man says 'take the bozaks' so we take the bozaks."

"And a good thing, too. If not for me, you would have completely forgotten our gully dwarf friend over there," the bozak laughed derisively. "Go now and make sure his wounds are sufficient to have killed him, even without your poison. We can't have anyone getting suspicious."

With a murderous glance at his companion, the kapak drew an odd dagger from his belt. The dagger's blade was made from a boar's tusk, polished and razor sharp. He started across the trail, but the bozak yanked him back with an excited snarl.

"Idiot!" the bozak screeched. "You'll ruin my spells of concealment. Go around! And be careful."

Glaring at his companion, the kapak stalked around the bodies, stepping carefully with his clawed feet to avoid disturbing a single twig or leaf. Despite his awkward appearance, with large reptilian wings and long snaking tail held aloft for balance, he moved as gracefully and noiselessly as a Palanthian cutpurse. As he neared the body of Lord Gunthar and the gully dwarf lying still as a stone beside him, his long tongue slithered out in anticipation of the mutilation to come. Draconians were cruel, malicious creatures, artificially created when darkest magics were used to twist and defile the eggs of good dragons. A little wanton destruction and mutilation is not so lowly an entertainment as to not excite their appetite for evil. The kapak laughed under its breath as it grasped the gully dwarf by the wrist and rolled him over.