Heroes And Fools

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?”

The dryad decided to step in. “Human, the dragon is dead. The silver dragon raked its underside badly. It was a glorious battle,” she added, “if you like such things.” It was hard to make her voice loud enough, she discovered.

“I will remember the flash of the silver parrying the grace of the blue for as long as I live,” she declared.

The man turned toward her quickly. “Who are you?” he demanded. His face had a harsh cast, and his hair was matted with dried blood, making it look darker than the sandy brown that must be its natural color. The dryad noted that he was clean-shaven.

“No enemy of yours, unless you intend to harm my tree,” the dryad responded rather curtly. Then, realizing that this man held something in his hands that was invaluable to her, she added more reasonably, “Of course, your cares rest elsewhere, like in your cities or in the skies above.”

The man looked as if he was about to say something, but started coughing instead. Once he was done, he unscrewed the cap off of his waterskin and gulped a mouthful.

“Noooo!” the dryad cried out before she could stop herself.

He looked up and slowly screwed the cap back on. “What, are you thirsty, too? Well, you won’t get any of this until you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.” His stare pierced her with its coldness.

The dryad readjusted her position, sitting cross-legged. Her head reeled a bit. It won’t do to faint right now, she told herself crossly. She smiled slightly and said, “I’m the guardian of this area.” She gestured to the desiccated trees that surrounded her. Only her own oak tree still stood completely upright. The rest were leaning or had been broken in the dragon’s fall. “I live here.”

The man looked around as much as he was able to. “Not much of a place to live,” he stated, dearly unimpressed.

The dryad kept an enticing smile on her face, but inwardly she cringed at the offense. “It used to be a forest with many glades and brooks, but some unnatural drought has caused it to die.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “Well, then. I’m not going to tell you what a fool you are for staying here, but. . oh, look. I just did,” he added sardonically. “But I do need your help to get out from under Bolt.”

A look of sadness crossed his face. “I’ll give you some water for your help.”

The dryad allowed herself to look as if she were considering the offer. In the past, her gentle, playful words and smile were enough to charm humans into doing what she wanted them to do. That didn’t seem to be working now, though. Briefly she looked down at her seared skin and realized that she probably didn’t look half as nice as she used to. The lack of moisture showed in her prominent bones and dry skin. Even her hair seemed parched. Another wave of weakness and despair rolled over her, not allowing her to think clearly. Soon, she realized, I won’t be able to move at all.

“Well?” the human asked archly. He tried to shift position to look at her more comfortably, but the pain must have been too intense, for he grimaced and closed his eyes.

“May I have that drink you promised me?” she finally asked. “I answered your questions.”

Her response garnered no reaction from the man. He must have passed out from the pain, she thought. “Human? Wake up,” she called out in a rough voice.

No response. She reached out as far as she could and was able to pat the dirt near his head. “Wake up.” Nothing. Gently she kneaded the root under her hand and sought contact with her tree. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” she murmured. “I will have lost my chance to keep you alive.” She bowed her head in concentration, trying to reach out to her tree’s consciousness. She felt a vague presence, but it was too sapped of energy. “Everything around me dies,” she whispered brokenly. She would have wept, if she had any tears left.

Another grunt of pain brought her attention to the human. “Wake up,” she encouraged him.

The man pushed himself up a little on his right arm. “Get me out from under this,” he demanded harshly. His expression was pained and hostile at the same time.

The dryad shook her head. “You told me that you’d give me a drink of water if I answered your questions.”

He simply stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well.” He settled himself down and unscrewed the waterskin. He poured some of the water into the cap and reached back with his left arm, careful to hold the full waterskin upright with his right hand so as not to spill it.

“That’s it?” the dryad asked. She had hoped that he would pass back the whole waterskin.

“Take it.”

The man’s tone of voice allowed for no argument, so she reached out for the cap. Instead of drinking it, though, she carefully spilled it over the exposed root under her hand. The man’s expression grew incredulous. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She waited until every last bit of water had dripped from the lid before handing it back to him. “I must protect my tree,” she answered. She looked up pleadingly. “Please, give me the waterskin so that my tree may live.”

The man shifted to close the waterskin. “Why should I do that? Your tree is dead. I’m not. You’re not. If you help me get out from under my dragon, I’ll give you more than a sip of this water. You must help me start back to my rendezvous point. I’m sure that my fellow Knights will be looking for me along that path soon.”

The dryad looked down at the root, noticing that the water had already soaked through. She didn’t feel any stronger, so it must not have been enough. “I can’t help you,” she declared softly.

The Knight pushed himself up and looked at her angrily. “Why? Do you so oppose the goals of the Knights of Takhisis that you won’t help me out from under a dead mount?” he asked. “You mourn for the lost life of this forest, but you won’t help someone not of the forest maintain his hold on life?”

“I simply can’t help you, human,” she said sadly. “I am not what you think I am.”

He frowned and said, “Well, you look like an elf, except for the dark skin. I don’t recall ever seeing a wild elf with skin that dark and without any tattoos. What are you if you’re not an elf?”

“I am a dryad. I was born of that tree back there,” she stated simply. Another hot breeze stirred the hair around her face.

“And how does that prevent you from helping me? Or taking from me this waterskin that you so desire?” he asked.

“Normally, I cannot leave the area around my tree without dying slowly. Because of the state of my parent tree, I have found my boundaries to be even harsher and more limited,” she told him. If I had more strength, she reflected, I could stand over him and threaten him to get that waterskin. Now I have to use truth to get what I need, she thought.

“So that is as far as you can go,” he deduced.

She nodded. His contorted position must be causing him great pain, and his armor must be very hot, for he was sweating profusely now, she noticed. “When you first fell, I tried to come nearer, but I didn’t have the strength to approach any closer than this spot.”

The Dark Knight nodded slowly. “Then I guess I shouldn’t waste my strength talking to you, since you aren’t of any help to me. I will just stay here and wait for the others in my talon to find me.” He unscrewed the cap of the waterskin and took another sip of water. He looked sadly at the dragon that pinioned his legs. He seemed as greatly sorrowed by the creature’s death as he was frustrated by his own predicament.

“Are your friends within a day’s flight from here?” Judging by the wounds that the Knight evidenced, he might not live through the night. She knew that her tree wouldn’t.

“Why should it matter to you?” the Dark Knight returned as he screwed the cap back onto the waterskin.

“Your wounds are bad enough that I don’t think they’ll get to you soon enough,” the dryad explained.

With his left arm the Knight gestured at his legs. “My legs are crushed, not bleeding.”

“But already you roast under this sun. You’ve several more hours to go before the sun begins its descent,” the dryad noted.

“And I’ve enough water to get me through this,” the Knight said through clenched teeth. “Now enough of your incessant patter. Leave me be.”

“I can’t. My tree is dying. I desperately need the little water you have to restore it to health,” she argued.

The Knight settled onto his back. “Surely you don’t think that this bag of water will bring your dead tree back to life? Besides, I need the water more. I must survive until my talon finds me,” he replied harshly.

The dryad rested her throbbing forehead on her cradled palms. The heat was getting stronger. If she could just get the Knight to give over the waterskin, everything would be fine again. Her tree would live and she could recuperate in its shade. “The water will heal my tree,” she said defiantly. “You’re the one who is as good as dead. This talon of yours won’t ever find you amidst the ruin of this place.”

“Enough, dryad. I must rest, and your words will do me no good in that regard,” the Knight declared, sounding tired and angry at the same time.

The dryad raised her head. “From what little I know of humans, I’d think it would be rather stupid of you to sleep after the injuries you have suffered-hitting your head.”

“Really? And what makes you think that?”

She almost laughed at how he kept answering her even though he told her to stay silent. “Many seasons ago, when there were still three moons in the sky, a human dressed a little differently than you passed through my glade. He had similar metal fittings, but they didn’t form the pattern of skulls and lilies like yours. His helm still sat upon his head, though it had lost one of its metal wings and was greatly dented.” She paused to determine if he was listening. “He wandered about randomly, clearly dazed by something. I saw him sit down with his back against a tree not too far from here and then go to sleep. The next morning, when I sent a sylph over to check on him, the sylph discovered that the human had died in his sleep.”

“Was he wounded in any other way?” the Knight asked finally. The dryad was afraid that she’d lost him to sleep for a minute or two. “And what is a sylph?” he added.

She decided to answer the second question first. “Sylphs look a little like elves, except they have wings and consist of magic and air. And as for the wounds, since the human was completely covered by metal, except for his face, I don’t know,” she admitted. “Sometime during the next season a Render came by and discovered the human. By then nature had reclaimed its own, so the kender found only a skeleton and the metal. She dragged the remains farther off into the forest.”

The Knight grunted, amused. “So, even you have suffered the presence of kender, eh?”

“They came through every now and again,” the dryad admitted. “They have never tried to destroy this forest, like you humans often do.”

“I beg to disagree,” the Knight countered. He raised himself back onto his right arm in order to peer at her. “Even kender cut down trees to gain farmland and grow crops.”

The dryad shrugged. “They never did here.”

“That’s as it may be.” He stared at her for a moment. “So, if you’re as isolated as you seem, how do you know that kender are kender and not just little humans? For that matter, how do you know anything about humans?”

If I keep answering his questions, the dryad thought, maybe he’ll give me some more water for my tree. “My tree is hundreds of seasons old. Shortly after its first seeding, it bore me. Over the passage of the seasons, I’ve seen many different forms of life. Mostly forest animals, but I have encountered humans, kender, elves, and even those bearded people called dwarves. I have tried to pay attention, and learn about the world around me,” she finished. “Now, I ask again, may I have your water? You’re not going to live past nightfall, and I could certainly put it to use.”

The Knight snorted, then worked to free the cap from the waterskin again. “Okay, I’ll give you another capful, but you’d better drink it yourself this time. None of this spilling it on your dead tree.” He handed over the cap, his outstretched hand trembling.

The dryad took the cap and deliberately poured it over the root as he watched. “Don’t you understand how nature works, human? This tree bore me. If I can save it, we can help bring this forest back to its normal state.” She gave the cap back to him. This time, their fingers brushed briefly because of his shaking hand. The Dark Knight snatched the cap away and quickly closed the waterskin.

“How could your silly dead tree save what’s left of this forest?” the human asked roughly.

He didn’t like revealing his weakened state, the dryad noticed. “You should never underestimate the power of nature. Even droughts as bad as this one do come to an end. If I can make my tree last another week, or even another day, it might be enough time for rain to come.”

“I don’t think you realize what has been going on around here over the last few years,” the Knight declared, his tone ringed with amusement. “The gods have left Krynn to our care. Great dragons have come to take control of the lands. In some places, the land itself is changing to conform to the power of these dragons. You are probably sitting on some dragon’s land even now, helpless to resist what is happening.”

The dryad wanted to look away from the Knight’s imposing stare, but she couldn’t back down now. She felt a certain stirring in the back of her mind, indicating that her beloved tree had registered the small trickle of water this time. “If that’s the case, then so be it,” she began, her voice rising in volume. “Either way, I expect you will die, and your blood will water the ground upon which you lay. That alone could help my tree for a few hours. However, that’s not enough. What I really need is your water before you die. Your sacrifice could allow the land to flourish again. Think on that while the sun beats down on your reddening skin and your so-called talon heads off to another destination, not even noticing your absence. Think on that when your last breath leaves you and you realize that you could have given yourself a shaded place to rest your body for all eternity. Think on that when you understand that your selfishness has deprived the rest of the world of hope. Hope for life. Hope for the future. You humans understand hope, at least the twisted hope of acquiring land, possessions, and all else you hold dear.”

Silence greeted her harsh words. The dryad lowered her head, wishing that she could weep, for her tears were never salty and they might help her tree live longer. Clearly she had failed, and the Dark Knight had chosen to ignore her until he passed out again-if he hadn’t already passed out.

“You may think whatever you like, dryad, but I have my own beliefs and my own honorable goals to achieve,” he said, finally. “When I became a Dark Knight, I had a Vision of what my Dark Queen wished for me. This Vision spoke of battles won for her sake. Never did it say that I should give my last hope of survival to a nature spirit who sits next to a dead tree. I cannot fail my Queen by surrendering to you this water. Once my fellow Knights come and rescue me out from under my Bolt, I can heal and once again ride to victory for Takhisis.”

The dryad raised her head and gazed at his expression. It spoke of pain and duty. “So, your hopes for the future differ from mine, human,” she whispered and sighed. “I always find you humans to be so full of determination to get your way. You don’t take the time to look around and realize that others also walk through life. Never do you think that the trees do their job by providing shade for you or that the birds should be thanked for chattering overhead. If there were no trees or birds, you wouldn’t be able to achieve these goals that your mistress has set for you.”

The Knight settled onto his back again, biting back a gasp of pain. He looks so very pale under the redness caused by exposure to sun, the dryad thought. He must be losing blood. “Are those the birds you speak of?” he asked once he got comfortable.

She looked up and noticed several vultures flying overhead. “Even carrion eaters serve a purpose, Knight.”

“Yes, they eat the flesh of the fallen. My talon usually shoots them down. They are foul beasts, always hovering over the battlefield,” he declared in an annoyed tone. “I suppose they’ve come for Bolt. I wish my crossbow was at hand.”

She sighed and shook her head. “If something didn’t eat the dead, we would be surrounded by carcasses.”

“So, you don’t mind?” the Knight asked, clearly trying to get a rise out of her. “You don’t care if they tear away pieces of flesh, fight over your body. It doesn’t bother you?” He laughed without humor. “Vultures are disgusting creatures who prey on those whose passing should be honored in a more fit manner. I know of one fellow Knight who wore a family ring that he wished to pass on to his daughter. The ring had been handed down from one generation to the next ever since before the First Cataclysm. It bore the symbol of a wild boar, which signified an event that gave honor to his family. Evidently, a great boar had almost gored a member of the Ergothian nobility, and the man’s forebear saved the noble’s life by killing the boar, thus gaining the gratitude of the noble’s family. The man’s ancestor received the ring from the noble’s family. Ever after that it was passed down from firstborn to firstborn. Because of a few vultures, though, I was unable to retrieve the ring from the Knight’s body and deliver it to his daughter. The vultures must have eaten it before I could get to him.”

The dryad pondered the story for a few moments, then answered. “First of all, you place too much emphasis on the trappings of honor.” An expression of annoyance flickered across his face. “Secondly, if I die outside my tree, then it is fitting that my body becomes part of the circle of life,” she said calmly. “However, I intend to crawl back inside my tree before I die.”

“And if your tree dies with you inside? What then?”

The dryad watched the vultures land on the ground several yards away. “My body ceases to exist when I’m part of my tree,” she said absently. She looked at him sharply. “Are you offended by my honesty?”

The Knight shook his head weakly. “Telling the truth is an admirable trait. I do not get offended if I ask a question and you give a truthful response. By asking the question, I open myself up to both falsehoods and truths. While a falsehood may make me feel more comfortable, I prefer to hear the truth. That way, I know where I stand.”

The dryad looked over at the gathering vultures. “I prefer to tell the truth whenever possible. Often, humans follow the exact opposite behavior, I’ve discovered. At least, that is true of the ones I’ve talked to.”

The Knight frowned. “You haven’t spoken to many Knights, have you? Though we serve an Evil mistress, our honor requires truth.”

The dryad smiled wryly. “Then the truth couldn’t offend you.” The heat of the sun must be getting to me, she thought. She looked down at her skin. It seemed as dead and dry as the surrounding land. I won’t survive much longer, she realized. Neither will my tree.

“No, it couldn’t,” he agreed. He was no longer sweating, but he should be, she thought.

The vultures hopped nearer. Slowly they were moving closer, the dryad noted. If nothing challenged them, they would continue to edge closer until they could tear at the blue dragon’s flesh. The silver had raked its side, slicing open a great wound, making things easier for the carrion birds. “If you die here because your talon doesn’t show up like you insist it will, won’t you have stained your honor by lying to yourself?” she asked wearily.

He remained silent for a bit before answering. To the dryad, time seemed to slow down and then stretch out interminably. I’m slowly dying, she thought.

“My talon moved on ahead of me just as I was ambushed by the silver and its rider,” the Knight revealed. “We fought a fierce battle in the skies, then Bolt took a bad hit from the rider’s lance. After that, the silver dragon grazed my Bolt and then we both fell from the sky,” he said. His voice too was not much more than a whisper now, she thought.

“So the rest of your talon flew somewhere and they expect you to catch up? How do you think they’ll know where to come back and find you?”

The Knight sighed. “They know what path we took. They can guess where I fell behind. They should be coming along soon, as a matter of fact.”

“Are you sure that you aren’t lying to yourself?” the dryad queried in a weak voice. “And don’t you stain your honor if you tell a falsehood, even to yourself?”

“I hadn’t thought of that before,” he admitted. “I would have to say yes.” He slowly raised himself to a position where he could get a drink of water from the waterskin. When he was done, he almost dropped to the ground, wincing with pain. “And you? Are you lying to yourself when you say that this waterskin will help your tree and this forest to live?”

“Maybe not the forest. But the tree,” she said, “the tree has remarkable powers. It had enough magic in it to birth me. I have no doubt that your sacrifice of water would help revive the tree. And with the tree alive and growing, perhaps others would follow-even in the face of your great dragons and their destructive magic.”

The two of them remained silent, watching the vultures creep toward their feast. Just when they were about to slip out of sight and attack the dragon’s gaping wound, the dryad made an effort, calling on her last reserves, and got up on her knees to yell as loudly as she could, “Heeeeyaaaah!”

The startled birds flapped their wings and scattered to a spot farther away. The Knight too was jolted and turned around to look at her. The dryad sank down and stretched out, exhausted. “Why did you do that?” the Knight asked softly.

The dryad shrugged. Even though her link to her tree had been slightly strengthened by the small doses of water, she was too weak even to speak.

“Here, have some water.” The Knight held out another capful. His hand trembled worse, causing some of the water to spill onto the ground. The dryad reached out slowly and took the cap. She immediately dashed the water over her tree’s roots and handed the cap back. Immediately she felt a little better. Gradually she sat up again. The Knight was looking at her, puzzled.

“Why did you scare away the vultures?” he asked again.

She shrugged. “You dislike them so.”

“After your little speech on how they serve as part of a natural cycle, you decided to scare them away?” he asked. “You must have a reason.” He sounded wary. “You did it just to get some water, didn’t you?”

Her head hurt. The sun was high in the sky now, so the heat was at its worst. “Since you prefer the truth, I must answer ‘yes’ to your question.”

The Knight’s face expressed doubt, so she looked beyond him and noticed the vultures starting their approach again. “Watch the vultures,” she told him. “My energy is almost gone, then you will be on your own.” He looked at her in concern. “Did you expect that I would outlive you, Knight? I would need a lot more water to do that,” she pointed out, her voice not much more than a rasp.

“You are in better condition than me,” he argued halfheartedly. “Come now, sit up and talk. It is like you say: If I go to sleep, I might not wake up, after all.”

The dryad smiled slightly. “I fear that I can’t talk any longer. I’m the one who must fall asleep and never wake now.”

They sat in silence for a while as the Knight pondered that. The sun still beat down upon their heads. The Knight seemed to be struggling with some quandary, the dryad noted. She wilted into a position that brought her face down next to the ground. If she twisted her face and kept her eyes open, she could still watch him, though.

Finally, he turned to her. “Dryad,” he called out as loud as he was able. Her eyes were shut. “Dryad? I will give you some more water!” he called out.

Too late, she thought before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Then, a little time later, she felt an infusion of strength. She lifted her head. The sky was darkening into twilight.

“Knight? How much time has passed?” she called out. She received no answer. She looked to where the Knight rested. His head was down, his arm was outstretched. His hand gripped an empty waterskin. Strangely enough, the vultures were no longer around.

She looked over to her tree and saw that it was struggling to revive, and succeeding somewhat. “This man died with honor,” she whispered as she rose to her feet. Her tree’s empathic response mixed sorrow with hope.