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.”