He set the spoon beside his plate and cleared his throat. He rose slowly, carefully shifting his weight onto his feet before standing. He cleared his throat again, then wet his lips with some wine.
"Thank you, Knights, ladies, and gentlemen, for attending this banquet on such short notice," Gunthar said. "I am sure you are curious as to why I have called you all here this evening. This will be explained shortly. I hope that in the meantime you will enjoy the fare of the kitchen of Castle uth Wistan. There is plenty of meat, wine, and ale if you like it."
He smiled and stroked his mustaches, his eyes wandering to the smoky raftered ceiling. "Speaking of ale, I am reminded of a time during the War of the Lance, when two most unexpected visitors showed up at my door. At the time, I didn't appreciate the importance of this happenstance, if that is what it was, for I was weary from the road, having just returned from seeing the fleet on its way to Palanthas. That was during the War of the Lance, just before the battle at the High Clerist's Tower."
Lord Gunthar continued to unfold his tale, though few heard him. Most had not even noticed that he had risen from his chair, so intent were they on devouring the roast meats set before them, guzzling the wine slopped generously into cups whenever they wanted it, or wagering on fights between gully dwarves and hounds over the scraps and bones thrown to them. Gunthar stood before them like a man standing before the sea, and his words were lost in the tide of their noise.
His table stood upon a raised dais at the front of the hall, beneath the great tapestry. To his right and left sat Knights of some renown, those who had attained the highest rank-the Order of the Rose, and the leaders of the orders of the Crown and Sword. To the left and right of this main table were two other tables, both very long. The table to the right was occupied by Knights of the Order of the Crown, while at the table to the left sat the Knights of the Order of the Sword. Opposite Gunthar's table stood a fourth table. It was unoccupied, though places had been set for twelve. The four tables formed a great square, and the floor in the middle seethed and boiled with gully dwarves and large gray hounds of the kind used to hunt boar and deer.
"And so the old man said," Gunthar continued, chuckling to himself, " 'Bring me the good ale, from the barrel beneath the cellar stairs.' Well, you can imagine my surprise! I mean, how on Krynn could he have known about the barrel beneath the stairs? Of course, you've probably all heard that Fizban was really Paladine, so it is perfectly obvious now how he knew about the barrel beneath the stairs, but at the time I was very much taken aback. And of course, he had a kender with him… ."
Gunthar laughed at the memory for a long time. His eyes seemed to get lost in the smoky shadows of the ceiling. He didn't finish his tale, at least not out loud, although it appeared from the smiles that occasionally danced across his thin lips that he was telling it to himself.
But no one of any real importance was listening. While the Knights caroused and the hounds cracked bones, gully dwarves licked spilled wine from the flagstones and Gunthar silently reminisced, a lone gully dwarf stood on the floor before Gunthar's table, apparently enraptured. It was almost as though he really understood what the old man had been saying. Gully dwarves were the lowest of all creation, despised by nearly every race upon Krynn. As a people, they were universally filthy, stupid, greedy, and malicious-traits they themselves took pride in and cultivated. Most people, in fact, would rather their homes be infested with plague-carrying rats than gully dwarves. But Gunthar seemed to tolerate them well enough, and they did provide a few moments of diversion for the Knights gathered to feast in Gunthar's hall.
It was highly unlikely that this particular gully dwarf had the slightest conception of what Gunthar was saying. More likely, he had eaten something that didn't agree with him (another rare occurrence in gully dwarf annals!) and was simply waiting for it to pass, and the smile on his face was like the smile of a human baby under similar distress. It just so happened that he was facing Lord Gunthar when the attack overtook him, and thus the source of confusion. Or if he did understand a word or two, his attention was probably caught by the mention of ale and food, and he was only waiting to hear these words again.
In any case, as the old man resumed his seat, like his image reflected in a carnival mirror the gully dwarf sank to the floor in front of him. His baggy clothes collapsed around him, until he looked like a half-empty sack of potatoes topped by a small dirty face with a bulbous nose and big, watery, and rather mousy eyes. Atop his head, he wore a ragged fur cap of rat hides loosely stitched. His own hair stuck out through the holes in the cap, which gave him the look of someone who has just woken up.
As Gunthar finished, a cloud of quiet sadness darkened his eyes. His gaze strayed to the window that overlooked the courtyard to the east, and he sighed deeply, shaking his head.
"I agree, milord," said the Knight to Gunthar's right, mistaking the cause of the old man's sudden sadness. "These young Knights have no respect for the old tales or the old ways."
Gunthar started from his reverie. "What's that, Liam?" he asked.
"I was mentioning the lack of respect of the younger generation for the tales of the old days," the Knight said, his face stern as he eyed the other Knights.
"They'd like to be making their own tales, my friend," Gunthar said, "not listening to the rehashing of all our old adventures."
"But don't we pull lessons from the past and apply their wisdom to the future?" Liam asked his elderly master. "How can they expect to triumph on the battlefield if they don't listen to and learn from those who fought before them?"
"The old orders are passing away, Liam. Things aren't as they were when I was young, or even when you were young. The old lessons no longer apply. As Sturm taught us, rules and measures are fleeting. They must change with time or become useless and burdensome. For the Knight, the only thing that remains constant through all that change is his honor." Gunthar smiled. "Or her honor," he amended as he glanced around the room. Of those Knights gathered at this feast, almost half their number were women. A few sat at Gunthar's own table.
"Yes, milord," Liam acquiesced as he lifted a cup of wine to his lips.
"And who knows, perhaps one day even these ragged creatures," Gunthar continued, indicating with a wave of his hand the score or more gully dwarves moiling on the floor with the dogs, "perhaps even they will take their place at this table."
Liam choked and set down his cup.
"Or even kender. Paladine forgive us if we do." Gunthar laughed.
Liam's face grew pale. "Milord?" he gasped.
Gunthar laughed and placed his hand on the shoulder of his friend and fellow Knight. "Oh, don't worry Liam. Such changes are not in my destiny to make. Perhaps, when I am gone and you take my seat at this table, circumstances will dictate that you implement such a drastic change to our ancient order. Or perhaps the one who succeeds you will do it. Who knows? I merely speculate.
Stranger things have happened."
"Yes, milord Gunthar," Liam said.
"Now, mark that little one there on the floor," Gunthar said good-naturedly as he speared a hunk of roast with his fork and used it to point at the gully dwarf sitting on the floor before their table. "He's not like the others of his kind. If ever there was Knightly material among the Aghar, he is it. Watch how he follows my every word."