Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

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.