Jeff Crook - The Rose and the Skull

"Come. We go now," Glabella hissed. "This way." She pointed at a narrow overhang of rock, under which the shadows seemed especially deep and dark, bespeaking the probability of a cave. Castle Slagd brooded above them like some great carrion bird or crag-faced gargoyle, hunched and watchful. Its black walls rose in impossibly slender towers not unlike fangs, from which fantastic minarets hung, suspended as though by magic. The stormy sea crashed thunderously below.

The rocks where the Knights huddled were slick with sea spray and rain, and the Knights themselves were all but soaked. Jessica's short brown locks clung to her face as she looked up at the castle above them, and she wondered how they'd ever get inside.

Glabella stomped her foot in impatience. Valian snarled at her, "We can't go anywhere until our weapons are free."

He pointed at the half-dozen stone draconians lying among the rocks at their feet, the Knights' swords protruding from their petrified bodies. They'd surprised the patrol of baaz guards and given urgent battle, among the boulders beside the sea, until no enemies remained alive. Jessica tended a cut on Lady Meredith's brow, and Valian's cloven shield lay in the sand, but this was all the damage they suffered.

Like all baaz draconians, when slain their bodies turned instantly to stone, trapping the weapons of their enemies. Only Lady Meredith had withdrawn hers in time. She wiped it clean of the black draconian blood and returned it to its sheath, but the others were forced to wait until the stone bodies turned to ash and released their swords. Sir Ellinghad had gone up the shelf of rock to keep watch for other patrols.

The silver dragons had deposited them at a sandy cove about three miles away, and for the last few hours, they'd scrambled across that hard, broken landscape to reach this point by the sea, where Glabella said the secret entrance lay. Now the only thing to do was wait and try to keep as dry as possible.

A storm such as few had ever witnessed was lashing the rugged coast. Huge waves pounded the rocky shoreline, tossing spray and foam hundreds of yards inland. Icy rain blown by gale winds stabbed like daggers at exposed skin, making the Knights thankful for their armor. Glabella enjoyed no such protection. Only the thick mat of her hair, which shed water like an otter's skin, protected her face from the storm's worst.

Earlier that morning, in the bleak darkness, they'd exited Castle uth Wistan with their packs, weapons, and supplies, and found three silver dragons waiting in the courtyard.

The three dragons had agreed to transport the group over the wild mountainous north of Sancrist Isle, to a place near the draconian castle, but they wouldn't be playing a part in any assault. Once the Knights were safely on the ground, the silver dragons were to return to keep watch on Pyrothraxus.

Sir Liam stood on the battlements and watched them rise into the air. The wind from their wings whipped his long Solamnic mustaches and stung his eyes to tears. He raised his hand in farewell. When they were no longer visible against the night sky, he paced the battlements, deep in thought, until sunrise.

Dawn rose in a glut of scarlet and crimson, promising a storm before the day was done. The mountains of Sancrist loomed before them jagged, wild, and merciless. Few but gnomes lived there anymore since the coming of Pyrothraxus, and so there was no one to see the three silver dragons passing, higher even than the clouds racing before the storm.

As fast as the dragons flew, the storm flew faster, and it crashed ashore before they reached the citadel of the draconians. As the lead dragon sighted Castle Slagd, a fork of lightning split the formation, forcing two of the dragons to veer left. For a few terrifying moments, they vanished into the black clouds, then they reappeared and all three glided along the shore until they spotted a sheltered cove, offering a place to land out of the wind.

The dragons had deposited them on the sand and hurried away before the full fury of the storm struck. The Knights set out, climbing a rocky slope, until at its summit, they saw the draconian castle in the distance, starkly illumined by a flash of lightning.

Now rain continued mercilessly as they huddled behind boulders, waiting for the dead draconians to turn to ash and free their trapped weapons. Thunder shook the skies and lightning leaped from the mountain tops, while the rising sea surged around their feet, washing the draconian bodies. It seemed possible that their weapons would be lost, but then one sword toppled over as the stone crumbled,then another and another, and the Knights waded out to retrieve them before the surf washed them away.

Finally, everyone was ready. Ellinghad descended from his watch, reporting no movement within sight. Glabella pointed up the hill at the cave, and wordlessly they climbed to it. They entered cautiously, with Valian in the lead, as his elvish eyes gave him the advantage in the dark. Glabella stalked beside him, one hand in her bag, ready to wield the mighty magics she promised were at her disposal. The others lit torches and followed.

Grand Master Iulus drummed his claws impatiently on the arm of his golden throne. The throne was a recent acquisition, taken from a minotaur galley sailing from the landless west. The minotaurs had died to the last bull without revealing the source of the throne or the place from whence they'd sailed, but to Iulus it didn't really matter. He wasn't an explorer or even an adventurer. He was a Grand Master of assassins, and so that meant he was an opportunist. The throne was an opportunity he could not resist.

To General Zen, however, the throne was a symbol of degeneration. He looked upon it with disgust, seeing his Grand Master slouching there like some filthy hobgoblin king, his mind filled with greed and petty desires.

"So, our little friend still won't talk, eh?" Iulus said. "We shall have to do something about that."

"My lord, I believe we are wasting our time with the miserable creature. It is obvious that he has told us everything. We should kill him and be done with it, as Lady Alya suggests," Zen said.

"Your job is not to think," Iulus purred dangerously, "nor to listen to the councils of humans, no matter how pretty. This gully dwarf knows more than he is telling."

"But he is only a gully dwarf," Zen protested.

Iulus rose from his throne. "Do you dare disagree with me?" he snarled. His twisted, malformed draconian face grew livid, the exposed veins and muscles pulsed, almost seeming to glow. "Who do you think you are? I am the master here. I trained you in the arts of assassination. I trained all of you. Without me, you'd still be a mercenary licking the boots of every hobgoblin chieftain with two more pennies than his rival."

The sivak general growled but held his tongue. "Forgive me, my lord," he said, bowing.

"Bring the gully dwarf here, and bring that self-proclaimed Highbulp, Mommamose. Perhaps young Uhoh would respond better if his dear old mother were under the lash," Iulus directed.

"Yes, my master," Zen said. He bowed and prepared to leave.

"Oh, and inform Lady Alya. I think she might enjoy this," Iulus laughed. "Tell her that if Uhoh refuses to talk this time, we'll kill him, but first we'll let him watch Mommamose die. That should pique her interest."

General Zen bowed once more, turned, and stalked from the chamber.

After he had gone, Iulus stared thoughtfully at the door.

He whispered to himself, "And I think, once this is done, that I shall teach you the final lesson of assassination, my old friend."

"It all comes of trusting a gully dwarf," Ellinghad snarled as he plucked a draconian arrow from his chain mail and tossed it aside. Pausing a moment to gauge the time between the blows that rained against the door, he threw back the bolt and jerked it open, slashing out with his sword and felling a draconian raising a mallet. Ellinghad then slammed the door shut and dropped the bolt back in place just as a dozen or so arrows struck the other side, sending splinters flying.