Thistleknot stepped over to where the Knight’s out-flung fist still gripped his weapon. Grasping the cross-piece, he pulled once, then again. Even in death, the young man wouldn’t (or couldn’t) abandon his grandfather’s legacy. His fingers remained firmly locked about the hilt.
“And he called me stubborn,” the kender muttered, yanking again. “Ulp!”
Something snatched him by the back of the vest. Thistleknot found himself confronting the grinning visage of the boojum. “Uh, hello,” he managed without too much tremble in his voice. “My name’s Thistleknot Tangletoe. What’s yours?”
“Told you I’d leave you for last,” laughed the boojum in a voice that was oddly normal. “Didn’t I, friend Knight?”
“Dessert was your word precisely,” a familiar voice answered. “Pardon me if I say so, but I don’t know how you abide such furry covering. I may have to drown myself in healing muds for a tenday before I wash away the irritation from that carpet.”
Thistleknot tried to crane his head over his shoulder. “But you. . you’re-”
“Sincerely dead,” stated the Solamnic Knight, sitting up and picking loose hemp from his armor, “to which deception I owe gratitude to my friend boojum, a stage natural.” He reached behind a fallen log to replace the broken sword reverently with his own, antique whole one.
“I followed a traveling theatrical troupe around for a while,” the monster said deprecatingly, “and studied their techniques.” He had a slight lisp, caused, Tangletoe speculated, by his overlong canines. “Over time, I’ve practiced and improved upon them.”
The kender squirmed. “Oh, pardon. I forgot,” said the furry being, setting Thistleknot gently on the ground. “By the way, the expression on your face when you thought your friend here was dead was. . ah. . truly dramatic. I only wish I could master the expression of such delicate emotions. Especially the moment when you tried to squeeze out that tear. Brilliant. It would make inspired stagecraft.”
“That’s one I’ll treasure long,” the Knight murmured. “Imagine, a kender crying! And over me!”
Thistleknot felt anger rise from the tips of his toes to the ends of his pointed ears. “You tricked me!”
“Ah, but ‘twasn’t a hurtful tricking,” consoled the boojum.
“Certes, only good fun between friends,” stated the Knight, rising to peel off his “wound” and buffing where it had been stuck. “This prevarication allowed me an excellent retribution for your insisting on being the bait, while I was made to suffer in costume.” He patted the boojum on the arm. “Fortunately, this noble beast and I chanced to cross paths and made friends, and the rest is. . well, you know the rest.”
Thistleknot glared at him unforgivingly.
“Kender, put away your wounded pride,” said the Solamnic Knight. “Here stands another one such as we. Remember you that ambitious plan that we discussed over our campfire nary a week gone by?”
“The one about sneaking into the Dragon Highlord’s library and changing all his war maps for new ones with little mistakes dropped into them?”
“No, the one where. . never mind. The point, little friend, is that if we join with the boojum, we can, in the future, venture much more complicated sorties.”
The boojum beamed proudly. Thistleknot beamed back, warming up to the fellow.
“Now the three of us can take the remains of the death machine back to my Lord Dulthan. On the way, we can plot our next operation.” The Knight bowed his head respectfully toward the boojum. “That is, if you are so inclined, friend boojum.”
“I must admit I did enjoy myself tonight,” said the grinning monster. “Let us do as you say. But first we must adjourn to my cave for some delicious tea and dessert.”
“Dessert?” asked a worried Thistleknot. “But what about. .? The legends? The legends say boojums eat kender for dessert.”
“Never,” the boojum shuddered. “Although some kender do make good appetizers.”
“Hold,” the knight said thoughtfully. “Think you this might be a gnome-wrought machine? And if so, it functioned extremely well?”
“There’s some writing on the big part,” Tangletoe stated. “I found it when. . hey, wait for me!”
Monster and Solamnic sprinted for the ruined weapon, which lay in the area fitfully lit by the still-burning tree. The boojum hefted the back end of the barrel and rotated it with help from the curly-haired human as the kender scampered up.
“Ah, there it is.” The legendary being squinted at the script. “ ‘Made by A. Diddlethompermarium, Gnome Inventor Extraordinaire.’ “ The boojum stopped in surprise, nearly dropping the cannon.
Thistleknot laughed with delight as the knight finished the memorial in an awed voice.
“ ‘Popcorn Popper. Patent Pending.’ “
Tree Of Life
Miranda Horner
The sun beat down on the face of the dryad, causing her to lick her dry lips. She looked over at the blue dragon and its crushed rider for the hundredth time. The last skeletal remains of dried-out trees had been knocked down by the dragons’ fall from the skies, so the area looked even more desolate and sun-scorched than before. To the dryad, the landscape looked so alien to the way it used to be. Now, instead of the cool grove and the sun-dappled meadows, seared land with dead grass, the exposed bones of rock, and the splinters of dry trees met her once-green eyes. No rain had fallen on this land for quite a while, and the dryad knew that if this weather continued, she and her tree would die within the day.
Peeking out from under the rider’s chest was a large skin of water. The dryad silently cursed the fact that the two had fallen just out of reach of her and her withered tree. If the dragon battle had started a bit earlier and the blue dragon had fallen a little closer, she thought, I might have been able to save my tree with that waterskin. As it was, her reach fell short by a foot.
She turned back to her tree and despaired. The weakness that she felt mirrored that of the dried-out oak tree that had birthed her so many seasons ago. Just a few moon cycles back, the land had been green and fertile, with birds, trees, deer, and other forest life. Now they were all gone. . all dead. And, as the landscape had changed, so too had she. As the leaves fell off the trees and the grass had crisped under the too-hot sun, her skin had changed from pale to tan. Her long glorious hair that had once been a vibrant green had changed to a brittle, dull brown. “How can I protect the land from this horrible drought? It’s not natural,” she whispered to her tree. No response met her aching question. She laid her hand gently down on an exposed root. “You’re the last tree standing, but not for much longer. If only I could get the water from that human before we both die. We could figure something out. I know we could.”
A slight breeze picked up and blew the dryad’s hair around her face. A few dead leaves rustled halfheartedly and then settled down again. The limbs of her tree looked stark against the hot sky. A few withered leaves clung to the oak. In an effort to think past the fatigue and despair that washed over her, the dryad looked past her tree. In the distance, waves of heat distorted the ruined land into something from the dryad’s deepest nightmare. She gazed at the scene, mesmerized, until a gasp of pain broke her reverie.
“Bolt?” a man’s voice cried out. “Get up,” he ordered weakly.
The dryad got up onto her knees and watched as the man struggled to pull himself out from under the large blue dragon. She had seen the dragon try to twist at the last moment to protect his rider, but it hadn’t worked. Instead, the dragon’s body crashed over the man’s legs, crushing them. The heavy plate armor that covered the man didn’t help matters any, she knew. Not only did it impede his movement, but its dark, lily-engraved bulk also attracted the heat of the sun. The human is already very hot, she noted, but things would certainly get worse before the day ended.
“Bolt?” The man had managed to pull the waterskin out from under him and yank his helm off of his head, but that was it. “Are you hurt badly?”