The War Of The Lance (17 page)

After breakfast, Kali shooed away the last few neighbors who had stopped by to surrender
(and to see if any blue- berry muffins were left). He returned to ask Oster about his
travels and how he and the woman came to this place, but found his ambulatory charge
missing from the main room. A sudden panic gripped Kali. He feared that this stranger had
wandered off and, knowing humans, gotten himself into trouble.

A quick search revealed Oster in the second spare guest room, at the foot of the bed where
the warrior- woman was resting. The human had an odd look on his face, that look that
gnomes get when they realize an invention requires no more modification. Rapture would be
a good word for it. So would golly-woggled-knocked-

off-the-pins-in-love, but rapture is shorter and as such will be used henceforth.

Kali moved quietly into the room and stood there for several heartbeats, shifting his
weight from foot to foot and not knowing if he should leave.

Finally the man sighed. A deep, room-filling sigh that would have driven the atmospheric
pressure indicator in the bedroom up a few notches, had Kali thought well enough to
install such a device. It was a human, rapture- filled sigh.

“She is beautiful,” he said. “Healer, who is she?”

Kali was thunderstruck. He had assumed the two outsiders knew each other, since they were
found near the same wreckage. Kali wondered if the man's mind had been damaged by the
fall, as the woman's apparently had.

“She, ah . . .” began the gnome, “she was not with you?”

Oster snorted like he had inhaled a fish. “With me? Nay, Healer. I am a simple merchant,
too bull-headed to live quietly under tyranny, but too old and fat to fight it well. My
wagons were confiscated and I joined a small party that raided and ambushed the invaders,
burning their supplies and freeing their slaves. For that crime we were hunted through
hills and valleys by a greater force than we could have imagined. My comrades were soon
dead and scattered, and I was left to face the fury of the Dragon Highlord on my own.”

The human shook his head, but his eyes never left the slumbering form of the woman.
“Damned fool that I was, I did not run, nor beg for mercy, nor even think to draw my
weapon. By the time I had even conceived of such things, the hell-spawn commander of that
force - the Dragon Highlord himself - was upon me, and knocked me out. Why the Highlord
did not kill me there I do not know, Morgion rot his bones. Instead he trussed me and
slung me dragonback like a sack of flour. When I awakened to my fate, we were in the air.
Then a massive blow struck the beast in its flight, and we crashed. I awoke to find myself
in your parlor, with all these odd, pleasant little people, and with this” - he leaned
toward the woman - “vision of loveliness.”

The woman-warrior was lean and stringy, her battle- hardened muscles honed by war. But she
was fair of face

and, with her auburn hair spread out on the down pillows, looked almost angelic. It was
easy for a human to think of her as beautiful when she was unconscious.

Kali, being a gnome, was thinking along other lines. “This Highlord,” he asked, “did you
know him?” “No,” answered Oster, staring rapturously at the

woman. “I never saw him without his mask.” It was then apparent to Kali that the “foul
hell-spawn”

and the radiant creature with whom the man was smitten (for even gnomes can recognize
someone who is smitten) were one and the same. But more important at the time was the news
that a massive blow hit the dragon they were riding and forced it to crash. Weapons that
could deliver massive blows out of the sky and force dragons to crash sounded suspiciously
gnomish to the gnome.

Of course, the outsider Oster would be disappointed to find out that his vision of
loveliness and his Morgion- cursed captor were one and the same. Were Kali a less
honorable and more honest individual, he would have burst Oster's bubble at once. But Kali
was a gentlegnome, and there were some things you just don't do in polite society:
disappointing someone to whom you have surrendered was one of them.

Oster broke in on the gnome's reverie with another room-filling sigh. “Does she have a
name?”

“Er . . . ummm,” stuttered the gnome, thinking on his feet. “Did she give me a name when
... ah ... she brought you in? Something about fighting a dragon. Yes, that's it,
something about a fight with a dragon. She hit it with some great magic, that must have
... ah ... been the massive blow you felt. And you fell off of it and ... ah ...” He
scanned the room for inspiration, his eyes settling on his collection of ornamental spoons
painted with wildflowers. He tried to think of a flower name. “She brought you here, but
was . . . drained by the battle, and took ill herself soon after . . . something about the
battle that wore her out. Columbine. Yes, THAT was the name. Columbine.”

“Columbine,” said Oster, sighing again, a deep sigh that made Kali think of a bellows in
need of repair. "I owe my life to her. I feared that I would be held prisoner or slain by
the Highlord, but now I have made good an escape to a magical land. Rescued by a beautiful
and

magical woman." He turned to the gnome, transfixing Kali in an intense

gaze. “I must help her recover, little healer. What can I do to help?”

Kali stammered and stuttered, but at last instructed the man Oster in some simple methods
of healing, little more than the applying of cold compresses and the like. Then he left
his two charges alone and fled the house. He needed to think about what had just
transpired and, more importantly, to confirm his immediate fears concerning the dragon's
demise.

Kali went from house to house, a long, tedious business that took most of the rest of the
day. This is not because the gnomish community was large - it was not - but at every
house, a visiting gnome must make pleasant conversation, have tea, report on any recent
findings, have some more tea, look at the host's latest researches, make more pleasant
conversations, and so forth, before pressing on. Kali hoped he was not offending others by
refusing a third helping of tea, but after the sixth house he was beginning to slosh as he
walked.

At the seventh house, the one belonging to Archimedorastimor the Lesser, son of
Archimedorastimor the Greater (and the Later), Kali found the answer he feared. The
Archimedorastimors (father and son) had both been involved with astronomy and had long
been wondering what to do with their time when it was overcast or daylight. While most
gnomes in the field simply attempted to build large towers to get above the clouds and
beyond the sun, the Archimedorastimors (Archies for short) instead came up with the novel
idea of firing their telescopes from large catapults to get above the clouds and the sun.
Other gnomes scoffed at the foolishness of the theory and went back to building towers.
But Archie father and son went on experimenting until the time, three years ago, when
Archie father built an explosive catapult and launched his entire laboratory into the air,
from whence it never came down. Archie, son of Archie, had since continued his father's
research, but (save for creating a combination parachute and pillow) had added little to
the science. Occasionally, however, he managed to launch a large rock that would fall down
on a building or three.

In any event, it was at the seventh house that Kali

found the answer he was dreading. Yes, five days back Archie had been out in the field
experimenting with a new astronomical catapult, and from that testing he had just
returned. The experiment had been a failure because something large and lumbering had
gotten in the way at the last moment. The large and lumbering something sounded to Kali
suspiciously dragonlike. When he proposed this theory, Archie did admit that the lumbering
something was more than a little reptilian in appearance. Further, it made a sudden and
steep dive after it flew into his rock. Kali took tea and made small conversation for the
rest of the afternoon, adjuring Archie not to mention the details of this experiment to
the new outsiders - Oster and the warrior-woman. Archie promised and also said he would be
by later to surrender when he had finished his journal.

Kali, having resolved the first problem, now turned to the second. The warrior-woman was a
Dragon Highlord (whatever that was), and had taken Oster as a prisoner - in a mean fashion
at that. The Highlord's armor, which Kali had hidden in a back room, apparently had
concealed the fact that she was a woman. Oster was now smitten (as only humans can be
smitten) with her in her true appearance. When the woman awakened again, Kali figured, she
would probably be mean to Oster again. Oster would be hurt that this radiant creature was
not only not named Columbine, but was also the individual that was so mean to him before.

That would make TWO people that the gnomes had surrendered to unhappy.

That would not do at all.

When Kali returned to his house, he found that the man Oster had gathered some wildflowers
and placed them in a vase by the woman's sickbed. Kali decided the man had not been addled
by the fall after all. From the Human Stories he'd heard beside hearths and over cups of
mulled wine, Kali knew such behavior was typical. Humans were always engaging in activity
that seemed fruitless, pointless, and overly emotional, making use of grand gestures and
mighty oaths.

The first step, thought Kali, is to make sure the man Oster is not around when the
warrior-woman comes to. Her last two outings among the living had proved to be

less than peaceful, and based on that sort of previous behavior, the next occasion boded
no better. At least he should get the man away and talk to the woman, explain the
situation, and calm her down. If she were half as reasonable as Oster, all would work out
for the best. Perhaps she had imprisoned him because she liked his appearance as well as
he liked hers, Kali reasoned. Human Stories made much of the fact that humans were very
poor at expressing themselves, particularly to those they liked.

When Kali walked into the room, he noticed Oster holding the woman's wrist, as though that
would indicate anything more than that the body in question had a pulse. Steeling himself
for deception, the gnome walked up to the foot of the bed and grabbed the woman's exposed
big toe. Scowling as he imagined wise humans would scowl, Kali gave a grumbling sigh.

Oster looked up at the gnome at the foot of the bed. “Not good,” said Kali. “Not good?”
said Oster. “Complications,” said Kali. "Straining of the

impervious maximus. Omar's syndrome. Liberal contusions. It may be a while."

Oster rose to his full height and stamped his foot. “Then I shall remain and help!”

Kali was prepared for the human to issue a mighty oath on the matter, but when none was
forthcoming, he scowled deeper and thought quickly. “I'm ... ah ... going to need some
supplies. You may help best - if you are up to it - by going to fetch them.”

“Anything to aid, little healer.”

Kali went to his desk and drew out a parchment and pen. He listed five things at random:
hen's teeth, black roses, rubbing alcohol, toad eyes, and feldspar chips. He gave the list
to Oster. “These will aid,” said the gnome. “You can gather some gear from the storage
area and set off. You may need several days to gather the items, but take your time.”

“Can I have a guide to help?”

Kali thought of Archie. “I can arrange something. Now come. The woman . . . er, Columbine
. . . needs peace and quiet as well as those items.”

The man went back to rummage in the storage area and Kali wrote a note to Archie,
explaining the situation

and the need to take the man on the longest possible course to get these items. He was
going to post it normally, but checked himself, noting that the gnomish postal service
would just as likely deliver it to Oster or back to himself, since their names were
mentioned. He ended up delivering it himself.

Archie and Oster left the next morning, and the woman-warrior awoke that evening, feverish
and angry. Kali was entertaining another colleague, Etonamemdosari (Eton), a weaponsmith,
who was working on a sword that could be used directly as a plowshare, when the woman
stumbled into the room. The pair of gnomes looked up from their mulled wine. (They were
trading Human Stories).

Awake, the woman was less lovely than asleep, for her waking thoughts and memories pinched
her face into a tightly-muscled scowl that would scare the cat, had Kali had any cats. (He
did not, for they made him sneeze, but HAD he a cat, said cat would be considering
changing his lodgings after looking at the woman).

“My weapons,” she said in a voice that would frighten a watchdog. (See the above note on
cats, for they apply in this case to dogs as well).

“Er . . . Have some wine?” asked Kali.

“Roast the wine!” bellowed the woman, crossing the room in a single stride and thumping
the table with both fists. “Where are my weapons? Where is my armor? Where is my dragon?”

“Dragon?” said Kali, hoping to sound much more innocent than he felt.

The woman made a noise like a machine caught between gears and pitched the table over,
mulled wine and all. Kali could see this was not going to work out as well as he had hoped.

“Try again,” she said, an evil glint in her eye, “or I'll twist your head off.”

“Ahem . . . Well. Ah.. .” Kali's mind raced for a moment, trying to remember how much of
the tale he told Oster applied here. "We, ah, I, ah ... that is ... You were brought here
by a hero who slew the beast you were riding. He thought it a wild creature, but, when he
found you and realized it was yours, he... ah ... brought you here to recover and, ah ...
left to gather some healing herbs to

aid you. He says he's terribly sorry." Kali's words struck the angry woman like a blow. She

visibly sagged for a moment, her shoulders drooping. Kali could see that the deceased
dragon meant as much to her as a cat or dog would to him, except it would probably not
make her sneeze. She slumped into a chair, and after taking a few breaths to steady
herself, said in a wavering voice. “The prisoner?”