Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

"Good idea," Alya laughed. "See you in the morning."

When they had gone, Lady Meredith said, "I think, ladies and gentlemen, that it would be a good idea that none of tonight's discussion find its way outside this room. Until we determine how the succession is to be decided, the others do not need to know that a dispute even exists."

"Agreed," Tohr said, "but the question remains, how is this to be decided?"

"I think that answer lies with Lord Ehrling. Liam, you were about to read Lord Gunthar's directions."

"Yes, well, it rambles a bit. You can all read it, but basically it does name the new order. Gunthar wished that it be called the Honorable Knights of Sancrist Isle," Liam said.

"Why, that's perfect," Meredith remarked. "I think it's wonderful, don't you?"

"It does seem… perfect to me," Tohr said. "It doesn't favor either of the old orders, yet at the same time echoes the names of both."

"It emphasizes honor," Valian said. "For it is honor that shall bind us together, not loyalty to a particular cause or god."

"What of the individual orders of Knighthood?" Quintayne asked.

"There are none," Liam said. "No Knights of the Rose or the Skull, or anything else. Gunthar says, 'Each Knight shall choose the path best suited to his needs, without regard to rank or station. All Knights shall be known simply as Knights of Sancrist Isle, or Knights of Sancrist.' It goes on to say that the new white moon shall be our sole symbol, for as the moon is a symbol of the new world, so it shall be the symbol of the Knighthood."

"What of the Thorn Knights?" Tohr asked.

"Of those Thorn Knights who wish to remain, Lord Gunthar asked that they be given positions as clerics within the Knighthood," Liam said.

"No Orders of the Rose, Sword, or Crown?" Quintayne asked. "How will we maintain the command structure or know how to position our troops in lines of battle?"

"It doesn't say," Liam answered. "One of the many ways in which it is maddeningly vague. Here, see for yourself." He handed it over to Meredith.

"There's not much else," she exclaimed, handing it to Tohr.

"Yes," Liam sighed. He wearily rubbed his eyes and sank deeper into the chair.

"The remainder must be detailed in his Revised Measure," Quintayne said. "He was supposed to reveal it to us this Yuletide."

"I have it now," Liam groaned.

"Ah, what kind of shape is it in?" he asked.

"It's not ready," he mumbled into his hands. "Not ready."

"Not ready? What's left to be done?" Quintayne asked.

"Oh, you are all welcome to look at it, but we don't dare reveal it to the others. It is in terrible shape, a hodgepodge of quotes and repetitions and nonsense. It will take weeks, months perhaps, to pick through and glean the relevant material. Since Gunthar's death, I've been trying…" He broke down, his voice quavering with exhaustion. "… trying to make some sense of it."

"Liam, you should have come to us," Meredith chastised him.

"Yes, divide it up, give each of us a part, and let us work together," Quintayne said.

"I have made an extensive study of the original Measure," Tohr said. "We have a few copies in Neraka and other places," he explained offhandedly. "In any case, I am only too happy to offer any assistance you might need."

"No," Liam protested, rising wearily to his feet. "No. This is my task and mine alone. I knew Gunthar better than anyone; I knew his mind, the way it worked. I must finish this alone."

"As you wish, my lord," Meredith acquiesced. "Until then, we must not let anyone know of this. Are we all agreed?"

Everyone nodded. "We will maintain the original schedule. The Measure will be revealed at Yuletide, just as planned," she said.

The group rose from their seats. Lord Tohr lifted his glass. "To the Honorable Knights of Sancrist Isle," he offered.

"To the Knights of Sancrist Isle," they toasted in unison. As one, they drained their glasses, then filed out, leaving Liam alone in the library. He sank into his seat.

"Gods, what have I done?" he whispered.

A fine breeze blew up from the valley, stirring the leaves of the trees of Nalvarre's orchard. Actually, it wasn't his orchard, but he called it his orchard even though he hadn't planted a single one of the pecan or walnut or hickory trees that grew in such profusion here. Nalvarre settled back in a pile of leaves and closed his eyes, letting the breeze cool his tired and aching feet. The wind in the trees and the bubbling of the spring were like a magic lullaby sung by Nature herself. However, it certainly failed to work its drowsy spell on the hundreds of squirrels busily gathering nuts for the winter. They chattered and scurried through the leaves as though winter might descend any moment and catch them unprepared.

Despite last week's early snow, Nalvarre knew that winter was still weeks away, so he allowed himself a few moments' rest from his work. Like the squirrels, he was gathering nuts to store for winter. Two heavy baskets lay nearby, one brimming with pecans, the other with black walnuts. He left the tougher hickory nuts to the squirrels and other animals. Indeed, there was more than enough for everyone. Nalvarre never dreamed of keeping all the nuts to himself, not like the farmers of the lowland forests, who set traps and poisons or kept dogs to protect their orchards from the woodland creatures. He lived in harmony with the land according to the teachings of Chislev, once a goddess of forests and woods. Like the other gods, Chislev had abandoned Krynn during the Chaos War, but Nalvarre still lived by the rhythms of nature. He watched the animals, watched over them, and learned from them how to live without the crutch of civilization.

In autumn he also harvested wild grains from meadows, and apples and persimmons from fruit trees in the valley. On the lower slopes, wild grapes grew, and from them Nalvarre made his own wine. He gathered honey and stored it in jars he made himself, from clay he dug, shaped, and then fired in a primitive stone kiln. His house was made of stones from the stream and thatched with reeds from the lake in the valley. Everything he needed he found around him, and what he didn't use he returned to the land.

The one thing that wasn't in the valley or on the mountain was other people. Nalvarre lived alone, and he liked it that way. By far, he preferred the company of meerkats to merchants, squirrels to squires. Nobody bothered him. No one even knew he was living there.

He lazed away the afternoon under the trees by the brook, watching the squirrels and laughing at their antics. There was no hurry. Really, he didn't even need the nuts. He had plenty of food already stored away, and he only wanted the nuts to make pies for Yule. He still liked to keep the holy days by cooking traditional foods, the sorts of things his mother used to make. He lay in the leaves and thought of all the wonderful things he liked to eat, until his stomach began to growl, and he thought of the barley cakes he'd baked that morning. Quickly, he gathered his laden baskets and hurried down the mountain, leaving the orchard to the squirrels.

The setting sun found him nearing his door. His house was built in the shade of a great beech tree, beside a bank where a mountain stream purled. The chimney stood out against the reddening sky, a tendril of smoke rising in the still autumn air. As he crossed the shallow stream, stepping with familiar ease from stone to stone, he noticed that his door stood ajar, though he remembered closing it. He'd had a problem in the past with trespassing bears, so he always made sure to close it when he went out.

Nalvarre quietly approached the house and set his baskets on the ground beside the woodpile before prying loose a wood axe from a log. He eased up beside the door and glanced quickly inside. The darkened room held no intruders, but a queer smell wafted from the open doorway. It was a wild, musky smell, but not like that of a bear. Some new creature had found its way to the mountain, something beyond Nalvarre's experience. He nervously gripped his axe.