Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

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.