Their eyes slowly stopped tearing, and they were able to see their surroundings. They saw the flowers and the trees. And they saw the man who glared at them. He was a middle-aged human of stature, with a full beard, elegantly sweeping mustache, and sinewy arms. He obviously had been a well-built, powerful man in his youth. He was dressed simply, in loose white pants and a flowing, white shirt.
Dozens of petals clung to Brandella's mane of curly hair. She looked at Tanis and giggled, and Tanis knew his own red-brown locks were similarly adorned.
"Ah, you two can see now?" the man demanded. "Then please leave my garden."
They gingerly stepped out of the flowers. The man stood half a head taller than Tanis. Brandella made an attempt to assuage the man's irritation.
"I've never seen flowers like that," she said. "They're beautiful." She knelt to smell a blossoming yellow and green flower with splotches of pink and red on its petals. The man, seemingly mollified, smiled indulgently down on her.
'They're from the Age of Dreams," the man said, hands on his hips. "They don't grow on Krynn anymore. The same is true of the trees."
She sniffed at the blossom, and a look of surprise crossed her face. "It has no scent," she said, perplexed, rocking back on her heels.
'That's the shame of it," admitted their guide. 'They look good, but they're dead. Like everything else here."
"Everything except us," corrected Brandella in a hopeful voice.
Hashing them an odd look, the gardener turned and said, as he walked away, "If that's so, then youH regret it soon enough."
"Why?" asked Tanis, following the broad, white- shirted back along a red-tiled path that clashed with the profusion of purples and pinks in the vegetation.
"Why, youH starve," said the man over his shoulder in a matter-of-fact voice. "There's nothing to eat here. Nothing. It's all dead: the animals, the fruits, even the trees. All dead. Just like you will be if you don't get out of here."
They hurried after the gardener until they found themselves at the foot of a small hill nearly covered with white trees, bushes, and flowers. There were a few dark spots but not very many.
"If this is Death, how do we leave it?" Tanis questioned. "Is there a way?"
The man ignored Tanis and pointed to the hill of white. 'That's mine," he said proudly. "I wish it were smaller and whiter but," he humbly added, "it was the best I could do when I was alive."
"That's very nice," the half-elf said perfunctorily, sweeping more petals off his shoulders, "but how do we get out of this place? You've got to help us!"
The man calmly changed direction and advanced on Tanis. He didn't seem threatening in the least, so Tanis didn't deign to protect himself. He should have. Like a bolt of lightning, the man's hand shot across and his fingers encircled Tanis's throat.
He squeezed.
Tanis tried to pry his attacker's bony fingers away from his wind pipe, but the grip was like that of death itself. Blue spots began to dance before the half-elf's eyes.
'Tanis!" Brandella cried. "I… can't move." She stood a few feet away, frozen in the act of reaching to help him.
The half-elf was on the verge of passing out when the man let go of him. Tanis staggered and fell to the smooth tile path, gasping for air. Tanis sensed, rather than saw, Brandella's body relax from its rigid stance, and he looked up at the gardener, who enunciated angrily, "My hill is more than 'very nice.' Look, you, at the hills and mountains all around. What do you see?"
Tanis looked, but he could not speak. It was Brandella who answered. "Hundreds, maybe thousands, of tall, dark mountains in every direction," she said tentatively.
"Very good," the man said, face pallid and eyes terrible. Tanis realized how formidable he must have been in life. The man's lips were thin and tight with anger. Nearby, in vivid contrast to the gardener's mood, pink petals drifted from a small bush to the ground.
"Very good," the man said again, gesturing at the hills. "And my mountain is small and white. Those other peaks there, and there, and there"-and he stressed each word with a stab of a bony finger-"are the lies and terrible crimes of my neighbors. My hill represents my failings when 1 lived on Krynn. I'm not perfect. I had my faults."
Tanis felt his eyes narrow. "Pride? Maybe a bad temper?" he rasped from his seat on the path.
The gardener shot Tanis a surprised look. Reluctant respect grew in his eyes, and the hint of a smile crinkled the edges of his mouth.
"Good guesses," replied the man, who continued blandly. "As for your demand that I 'have' to help you leave Death, let me tell you that your fate is of no matter to me. Besides, everyone comes here eventually."
Brandella stepped carefully before the man. "With all due respect," she said, obviously hoping not to anger the' garden's caretaker, "everyone may come here, but some may come before their time. I don't mean that they die young, but that they don't belong here at all. Not yet. And if that is so, there must be a way to go back. Could you not tell us how we might return?"
The man watched the weaver fixedly. "Nicely said," he finally offered, bowing with a flair that matched his white suit. "Spoken with respect and grace. Perhaps I shall tell you what I know, after all."
"You're very kind," Brandella said sweetly, mustering all of her considerable charm. By the gods, she's going to curtsy, Tanis thought, still seated, and started to speak, but the woman silenced him with a look. She remained standing, however.
The man pointed toward the horizon at the tallest of the forbidding mountains. "It is said that on the other side of Fistandantilus's mountain there lies a portal that leads back to Life. Of course, to my knowledge, no one has ever scaled the wizard's monument to evil. Not even Fistandantilus himself. He lives on this side of it, always in its shadow, never seeing the light of day."
"If you know that that is the way back to Life," Tanis recklessly questioned, "why don't you attempt to go back yourself?"
Their guide gave him a long, hard look. "Half-elf, your human side occasionally oversteps the elven," he commented. Tanis swallowed nervously but kept his expression blank. He started to rise, in case the man attacked him again.
"I lived my life," the man finally answered. "I lived it well. There is little more I could do except grow older and more doddering. I am also told by those who have come after me that I left behind something of a reputation. Why spoil it? Besides, I have my flowers here-and the peace, usually," he added with a pointed look at Tanis, "to tend to them. Is that answer enough for you, my inquisitive young despoiler of gardens?"
"Yes," Tanis replied, chewing nervously on his lip, "but one more question, if I may?"
The man paused, considered, then nodded his head.
Tanis stared into the eyes of the man and asked, "Who are you?"
The gardener spoke off-handedly. "I am called Dragonbane. Huma Dragonbane. I was a Knight of Solamnia.
30
Tanis stopped breathing asb qrew dizzy-, the shock was so great. In a whisper, he finally managed to croak, "Huma of the Lance…" The man in white, backed by the variegated tones of vegetation seemingly gone mad, cocked a quizzical eyebrow at the half-elf. "They called me that, too. Then you've heard of me?" "Yes. Oh, yes," said Tanis, awestruck at the sight of the hero who, myth had it, had driven the evil dragons from Krynn during the Age of Dreams. "It's nice to be remembered," the dead Knight said simply. "But you must go now to find your way back to Life. If you fail, do come back again and see my flowers. I have the best garden in all of Death!" He caught Tanis's eye and then cocked his head back and laughed. "Or is that my pride talking7"