Realms of Infamy

A Matter of Thorns

It was a meaningless little castle, perched on a high hill overlooking an insignificant spur of the Immerflow River, protecting nothing. The military minds of neighboring Cormyr didn't consider the keep – known as Castle Stone – worth the troops it would take to occupy, so they left it alone and labeled it strategically useless. The sixty-odd souls who lived in the village that squatted around the castle walls thought otherwise. They were fiercely proud that Castle Stone had never been defeated in battle. Small wonder: the granite towers and oaken gate had never been attacked.

In truth, Castle Stone's unusual garden was the fortification's only real claim to fame. Two hundred years past, wild rose hips planted in a small bower at the center of the main courtyard had grown into stunningly beautiful roses, red as new-spilled blood and thorned like morning stars. More luck than skill had allowed them to prosper and bloom over the decades, but their remarkably deep color caused the castle lord to claim them as his own. From that day to the present, the lord's banners all bore the blood-red rose as their emblem.

Those same banners had been flying at half-mast for two days now, ever since death had come for the old lord of the keep. The new Lord Stone, filled with the foolishness of youth, thought himself a builder of empires. He reorganized the sixty-man army, set his accounts to right, and replaced all his father's advisors with younger, more farseeing men.

This wasn't to say that the new Lord Stone's thoughts were focused only on matters far afield. Musing, the young nobleman wondered if there shouldn't be a new symbol for his domain, a unicorn or great dragon, something to gain him respect-or even fewer snide remarks-from his enemies. At the very least, it was time to get rid of the gardener. The old sot had been at his post for five decades, at least.

Pleased with his decision, Lord Stone sent his young chamberlain with the appropriate orders. The head of the household hurried to obey his lord's wishes, his scepter of office thudding against the stone floor in staccato rhythm. For his part, Lord Stone turned his mind toward another matter vital to the keep's continued prosperity-the menu for dinner.

He had barely decided upon a choice of soups before the seneschal's scepter came thudding quickly back.

"There is a slight problem, milord," murmured the head of the household. "Goodman Grim… refuses to retire."

"What!" Lord Stone bellowed. "When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out!"

"I understand, milord. I agree."

"Well, why wasn't it?"

The seneschal toyed nervously with his heavy chain of office. "I tried to tell Grim your command honored him, that you were rewarding him with retirement. He didn't see it that way." Swallowing hard, he added, "He's still out there, digging at the roses. I could hardly have him hauled away from his post. Grim has-begging your pardon and with all due respect-been in your father's and grandfather's service. He's rather popular with the rest of the staff, and such a scene might cause unrest in the household."

"Unrest indeed!" The young nobleman jumped from his throne and stomped out of the chamber. "We'll see about this!"

All Grim had ever wanted to do was tend Castle Stone's roses. Forsaking all other possible careers-including a promising apprenticeship with a traveling mage-the frail, bent gardener had grown up, grown wise, and grown very old working with his lord's beloved plants. He fondly remembered his father, who had been the gardener before him, bringing him to the castle to view the prized plants. Their huge buds and gentle fragrance had entranced him even at that tender age; the young Grim had cultivated a garden of his own, nursed with loving care and the little magic he'd picked up almost instinctively, but none of his hundreds of blooms could ever equal one of the castle's roses. He'd sworn then and there that growing the special flowers would be his life's work.

"Now, after all these years, they want me to go. If old Lord Stone were alive, he'd give them what for. There was a man for you. There was a man who appreciated the care it takes to raise roses."

Grim dug his hoe into the earth with more force than usual. Each stroke of the tool punctuated a colorful but silent insult he directed toward the new Lord Stone.

The sound of footsteps in the garden finally drew him from his angry reverie. Turning, he saw his new lord and the new lord chamberlain. He bent his head in respect, but didn't kneel, as he would have to the old castle ruler.

The lord was a well-fed strapping young man, full of the strength of youth. The run from the throne room to the bower hadn't even winded him. That couldn't be said for the chamberlain. Of the same age as his master, he was bent over, gulping in huge breaths. It took both hands gripped tightly on his scepter just to keep him on his feet.

"Grim, what's this I hear you won't retire?" Lord Stone began without prelude. "Listen, everyone needs to retire sometime or other. It's time for new blood here at Castle Stone, men with new ideas-in every office. That's what Progress is all about." He waited for Grim to nod his agree-ment. When the old gardener merely stood there, staring blankly, he continued. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear. Be a good fellow and run along. We're giving your job to someone else. There, that's an end to it"

The lord turned to leave, smiling at a job well done.

'That's far from the end!" Grim wailed. "After all these years of service, I'm not going to be thrown into the dung heap just because your lordship is foolish enough to think he's done with me!" Each word was louder than the last, until the gardener was fairly shrieking. "I've worked for this castle and the lords of this castle since before you were born! You've no right to set me aside this way!"

Old Grim's face grew perilously red, almost the hue of one of his prized buds. He could see the anger growing in the young lord, too, but he didn't care. He raised his hoe to punctuate his words. "I'll not-"

That was the last straw for Lord Stone. No subject of his-especially not this withered old weed puller-was going to raise a weapon against him. He picked up the skinny old man, lifted him effortlessly over his head, and threw him with great force into the cold stone wall of the arbor. Grim's body made a crunching sound as it hit, then slid wetly down the wall. Skin broke, ancient bones broke, and the old man's heart broke.

But as his blood pumped from his torn flesh, into the ground of his beloved rose garden, Grim raised his eyes to his murderer. "Curse you and your li-"

Grim's final words went unheard. The lord was already on his way out of the gardens. He was a busy man, after all, and the matter of the dinner menu was far from resolved.

"Clean that mess up," Lord Stone called over his shoulder to the chamberlain. "And make sure none of Father's roses were damaged."

"Yes, my lord. I'll see to it right away"

The chamberlain dutifully made a circuit of the rose garden, thankful not to find one damaged flower. He made a mental note to find a new gardener to start the next day, then hurried to his other tasks.

It took nearly an hour for the guards to get around to removing Grim's body-Lord Stone had sent most of the troops to the village, scurrying like trained hogs after truffles. By then, everyone in the castle and village knew what had taken place. And those who predicted nothing good would come of Grim's untimely death were absolutely right.

Grim's blood, tainted by his curse, oozed over the freshly turned earth and sloshed against the inner wall of the castle garden. Soaking into the well-tilled dirt, the crimson fluid bathed the roots of the largest rose bush. In brief hours the root system had fed on the wetness and transformed. Root hairs and root tendrils thickened and grew coarse. The earth began to ripple and shift in the rose bed.

No apparent change occurred in the exposed part of the bush until later that night, when the moon's light caressed the plant's leaves. A soft rustle of its pliant vines marked its pleasure. Thickening, the rose's leaves and stems spread at unnatural angles and lengths to claim as much of the moonlight as possible.

Growing, doubling, even tripling in size, the cursed rose bush spread it sickness swiftly. It joined itself to the other roses in the garden, melding the root systems together into a gigantic, pulsing network beneath the soil. Rose thorns became huge hollow daggers along the pliable vines. The outside of every rose petal grew thorny teeth that sucked the life from the flies, moths, and bugs that ventured too close. The root system was busy, too, searching out and spearing every worm, grub, and beetle in the earth.

A smooth, melon-sized gall developed at the monstrous plant's center. The gall's white markings pulsed in the last rays of the setting moon. The thing could sense the many life-forms contained in the castle, life-forms that offered more sustenance than the insects it had consumed until now. Slowly, stealthily, it sent creepers out to investigate.

The rising sun, however, with its harsh and unpleasant light forced the leafy spies to retreat before they could learn anything of value. The monstrous rose shrank back against the walls, shifting its bulk into the shadows. It was considering some other way to investigate the castle when voices just outside the garden gate drew its attention; it didn't really understand what the creatures were saying, but that didn't matter. Its interest in the creatures was more basic than conversation.

"The roses and the garden are behind that gate. It's never guarded, so you'll be able to come and go as you please."

"Yes, Lord Chamberlain."

"Take your duties seriously. You've been given a great honor."

"Yes, Lord Chamberlain."

"Do a good job every day. Lord Stone and everyone else here at the keep takes those roses very seriously."

"Yes, Lord Chamberlain."

"Now get to work." The chamberlain thudded off to attend to several hundred other less-than-thrilling assignments given him by young Lord Stone.

Foley Cornbottom, left standing at the garden gate, was not a happy man. He'd been plucked from his fields and informed that he was the new gardener of Castle Stone. Not that he wouldn't enjoy the position in and of itself, but Lord Stone didn't pay enough for him to abandon his farm completely, and he couldn't imagine how he was going to manage both jobs. And then there was the manner in which his predecessor had been hurried on his way to the Realm of the Dead.

Still, there wasn't a thing to be done about it. When confronted by armed guards who tell you the lord will be very upset if you turn away his offer – well, you can only nod a lot and smile. With a sigh of resignation, Foley set about surveying his new domain.

"What do we have here?" At first, Foley's eyes grew huge at the impossibilities around him. His mind filled with wonder at the size and color of the plants. He'd heard about them from old Grim, but no commoner was ever allowed in the lord's gardens to see the legendary roses for himself.

And these were truly marvelous. Each blossom was the size of a man's head, and the flowers all faced the garden path. It was almost as if… well, they seemed to be looking at him! A shiver of fear scrabbled down Foley's spine.

"Never mind that, Goodman Cornbottom. You've got a job to do and you'd better get to it." He tapped his chin and looked about. 'There's where you should start. That obviously doesn't belong here."

Foley's rough hands reached into the shadows for the melon-sized gall. Lifting it, he noticed an unusually thick tangle of thorny vines connecting it to the earth. One of the thorns scraped along his palm, but it didn't draw blood; he'd been tending plants for over a decade now, and his hands were tougher than thick leather.

"A gall like this should've been cut clean long ago. What could old Grim have been thinking?" He turned the gall roughly. "Maybe he just never noticed you, eh?"

The cursed vegetation tried to shrink back; the gardener only gripped it tighter. The rose monster ached to absorb this creature, but the skin on its hands was like stone. Perhaps there was another way…

Vines with long, hollow thorns reached out behind the gardener. They quickly snaked up Foley's legs, wrenching his hands away from the gall, pinning his arms to his side. The thorns penetrated at the neck and began to draw out the man's life. And with the blood and marrow, the thorns drained something else from the gardener-his will and his intellect.

Shocked at the sudden insight Foley's mind afforded it, the plant paused. It did not kill the gardener as it had the flies and earthworms. It only drained enough of his life-force to sustain itself, enough of the man's mind to leave him a helpless slave. Then the plant fell back, sated.

Weak from the effort and reeling from its new perception of the world, the monstrous rose rested. As it did, Foley cleared some bothersome rocks away and watched for intruders until the sun set and the soothing light of the moon bathed the garden.

Refreshed and certain it could protect itself once more, the plant sent the glassy-eyed Foley away, but ordered him to return with the sun-along with more of his kind.

Late the following morning, Lord Stone took a stroll past the garden. He'd just finished debating the captain of the guards about the color of his troops' new uniforms. Earlier he'd had a row with the chamberlain over the finer points of menu-planning. He talked to himself as he walked; it was a habit he'd fostered since the day he'd proclaimed himself the only fit conversationalist in the keep.

"Well, that's a good morning's work!" The nobleman laughed to himself. He couldn't see how the domain had survived all those years without his enlightened rule.

"A little sword practice is just the thing right now," he announced. "I mustn't let myself get too out of shape – though it would be easy enough to do, sitting on a throne all day. Off to the practice field with me, then. It'll be good for the troops to see their leader working – "

It was then that the smell hit him.

"What in Tyr's blind eyes is that? It smells like someone built a slaughterhouse in the rose garden. Foley!" Lord Stone bellowed as he flung open the gate and stormed into the arbor. "What do you – "

Foley and the castle cook had just upended a barrel of blood into the garden's earth. They stood there, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, staring at Lord Stone.

The nobleman shared their dumbfounded expression, though his was born of shock. His father's beloved roses had turned into monster things with thorns as long as daggers. Half-eaten pigs and chickens lay everywhere, entangled in vines. Then he saw three of his castle guards and the blacksmith spitted on thorns, expressions of horror on their ripped faces.

A watermelon-sized gall lifted on a thorny tendril and moved toward Lord Stone. The nobleman raised his sword and swung powerfully at the gall, but hardened rose vines caught the blade midswing. Other vines smashed thorns into Stone's bare arms and neck. Like Foley and the cook before him, Lord Stone gained a new appreciation for roses. "This plant must prosper and be properly fed, Foley," Lord Stone said dully when the plant had finished with him. "I'll order you more helpers. We'd best double the guard around the castle walls, too. Can't be too careful, eh?"

"Stop right there!" The gate guard called. "Who do you think you are, trying to enter Castle Stone without so much as a by-your-leave?" The gruff soldier, backed by three of his equally gruff fellows, raised his pike to stop the riders from crossing the wide drawbridge.

The smaller of the two travelers was a squire, dressed all in red and feeling rather self-important. He rode a few paces ahead of his lord and stopped. "Since when is it necessary to answer questions before entering Stone Keep-especially for such an important knight as my master? Any king or baron worth the title would gladly welcome him at table!"

The squire glanced back, looking for approval, but found only a frown on his master's face. He probably should have waited for the knight to speak, but the upstart gate guards had irritated him so!

"Back off, spratling!" The commanding gate guard snorted his disregard, then flourished his pike. "Your master will speak to me, or I'll run you both out of here in a heartbeat. Now, who are you and what do you intend with the folk in the castle?"

"Who am I, you ask?" There was a forced sense of wonder in the knight's voice. He spurred his massive war-horse forward. The mount's snort seemed as dismissive as the guard's had been. "Is this Castle Stone?"

"It is." The guard planted the butt of his pike in the ground, aiming the blade at the armored chest of the great beast in front of him. Stop the mount and you stop the rider, his father used to say.

"Is this still Castle Stone, ruled by my good friend, the ancient Lord Stone?" Before the guard could answer, the knight turned his handsome features to the sky and added, "And is it not now highsun, the one time of day this castle has always allowed travelers entrance to escape the heat?" Now there was a note of genuine incredulity in the warrior's voice.

"Things have changed here," the guard said coldly. "But I'll not be discussing that with you until you tell me what your business is with the castle." The gate guard signaled a brace of crossbowmen to appear on the upper wall.

The knight tipped his war visor down, preparing to deal out a few bruisings if necessary. The squire mirrored his movements and unsheathed his morning star.

"I'm Sir Ganithar, known as 'the Hammer Knight* to some, or simply 'the Hammer.' I'm a member in good standing of the High Moor Heroes' Guild. I have just returned from three years of highly successful adventuring in the ruins of the Fallen Kingdom, if you must know. I now intend to spend at least a month in the tubs of this castle's only inn. I'm going to eat something other than trail rations and spend my afternoons looking at every pretty woman bold enough to pass my way. Do you have a problem with that?" The last was said hopefully, as if the knight wanted a challenge.

The guard quickly lowered his pike and handed it to one of his fellows, then signaled the archers away. His disdainful expression was one of bemusement, if not outright fear. If what he'd heard about this warrior was true, he didn't want to be the one responsible for bringing about the ruin of the castle's front gate. "The Hammer," he said lamely. "Er, sorry I didn't recognize you."

The guard knew the tales of Sir Ganithar the Hammer as well as his own life story. It was said that the knight's enchanted warhammer was a thing of the gods. Others said Ganithar could walk unseen into any well-guarded place and take whatever he wanted.

The guard bowed and backed away, but at that precise moment, a group of mounted soldiers appeared in the gate, heading from the courtyard out on patrol. Spotting the leader of the troop, the Hammer waved a friendly greeting. The young Lord Stone led these men on patrol. Now he would get to the bottom of this situation.

"My lord, how goes the realm?"

The young warrior ignored the greeting and made to ride past, ignoring Ganithar and his squire completely. The knight bristled at the insult. The boy owed him civility, at least; he'd rocked the mewling little whelp on his knee all those years ago. This insult just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all.

With a flourish, the knight raised his hammer. A flurry of magical lightning bolts lashed out of the clear sky and struck the ground around Sir Ganithar's war-horse. The battle-hardened mount reared majestically, an impressive move that the squire's smaller war-horse mimicked.

The patrol's horses were not so hardy; they screeched in panic at the lightning and retreated. Only Lord Stone's mount stood its ground.

Ganithar raised his visor and shouted, "Now you recognize me, eh? It's good to see you again. I'm looking forward to drinking with your father. You're looking well." This last was a lie-well meant, but still utterly false. The young castle lord looked haggard, years older than his true age.

"Oh… Ganithar. Well met," Lord Stone said vaguely. "I didn't see you before. I'm glad you're alive and well. The castle can use all the bold adventurers it can get right now."

"What's wrong? Is there some attack coming? My hammer is always at your service."

"No, no attack. My father died five days ago. It was quite sudden. His heart just stopped." The young lord advanced as if to ride on, but Sir Ganithar was far too perplexed to let that happen. The knight spurred his mount to block the nobleman's path; the squire followed his master's lead and hemmed the lord in.

From his high war saddle, the Hammer looked down on the new ruler of the castle. "Friends usually invite friends to dinner when they haven't seen each other in years. Let's sup together and drink to your father's honor."

The expression on the young noble's face was a pained one. He obviously wasn't thrilled at the thought of dining with Ganithar, but found it difficult to refuse.

"I don't get out much these days. The castle and the things in it demand more and more of my time. I'm sure some of your old village friends will be wanting to hear your latest tall tales."

"I'm sure that's true, but there's no one I'd rather break bread with than you."

Lord Stone winced as if he'd been struck. "So be it. Please come to dinner with the rising of this night's moon. I should be back from patrol by then. We can raise a glass or two and speak of my father."

"It's a pact then!" The Hammer grinned. "Let me introduce you to my squire. Tomkin Woodsmanson, front and center."

The squire, all of fifteen and not very worldly for his travels with Sir Ganithar, was quite pleased to be introduced to this particular nobleman. He'd come from the lands around Castle Stone and seen the young lord during high market days. He bowed as low as the jousting saddle allowed.

"Ganithar, I didn't think you were the type to take on a squire." The castle lord looked the lad over with an appraising eye.

"Oh, I admit he's rough around the edges, but he saved my life."

The look of surprise was plain on Lord Stone's face, so the Hammer elaborated: "It's a rather longish story. Suffice it to say I was in the woods when a wyvern surprised me. It knocked me right off my horse and pinned me to the ground. I would have been a corpse had this foolish boy not put a woodsman's axe clean through the monster in one swing. In return for the deed, he asked me to make him as good a warrior as I am. I couldn't say no-not after he'd saved me." Ganithar smiled warmly. "But we'll talk about it more tonight. I want to get the road dust off my old hide. Tonight, my lord?"

"Tonight-if we must." Lord Stone turned to find his patrol reassembled. He nodded to both knight and squire, then pushed past them and rode away.

"Is he a great lord, like in the old tales?" Tomkin asked eagerly.

"His father was. That lad riding off has been a bit of a bully in the past. Only time will tell what type of ruler he makes." The knight narrowed his eyes as he watched the patrol ride away. "But something is terribly wrong with him. I think you and I will ferret it out during dinner."

"He wouldn't want me dining with the likes of you both."

"It doesn't matter what he likes. You're my squire and go where I go." Ganithar patted the boy on the shoulder. "You must learn to serve me. Loyal service is as important to a squire as the arts of war. Do you understand, boy?"

"Yes, sir, I'll always serve you to the best of my ability. I'll do whatever you tell me to do, Sir Ganithar."

"No, no, lad. That's not what I want. Try to anticipate what I need. Anticipation is vital in a warrior, too. Figure out what I need and respond to me before I ask. I'll teach you to do the same to your foes. That's the way of a good warrior. Now, let's prepare ourselves for some fine food. You know they grow some excellent watermelon here. It boasts some of the best in Faeriin-though the roses make a better symbol for the castle, eh, Tomkin?"

The squire nodded, only half-listening to what his master said, his mind caught up in the lesson the knight had imparted.

"Anticipate, that's what I need to do," Tomkin repeated softly as, now unchallenged, they rode into the castle.

"Two plates. Lord Stone obviously doesn't want me to dine with you." Dressed in full livery, with a two-handed broadsword strapped to his back, Tomkin felt decidedly overdressed and more than a little foolish as he gazed through the garden gate at the small table within.

"Nonsense, lad. Lord Stone has taken the time to serve us dinner in his fine garden. Admittedly, the garden has gotten rather smelly of late, but we'll both find out why at dinner. Another plate is easily gotten."

"No!" the squire squeaked for fear that the castle lord could hear them while they whispered outside the garden gate. "I couldn't eat in front of him. I'd be afraid of dribbling soup down my surcoat. Couldn't I just eat my meal with the horses?"

Ganithar, remembering his days as a squire, took pity on Tomkin. "All right, lad. You don't have to attend the dinner. But I want you to stay outside this gate and guard it with your life. No one is to disturb our dinner without my permission. I want to get to the bottom of the strange goings-on around here."

Much relieved, Tomkin took his post as the Hammer strolled into the garden and met Lord Stone.

"Anticipation, anticipation, anticipation," the boy muttered to himself over and over. "Should I draw my sword, I wonder? Or maybe I should stand inside of the door, not outside. Should I call for help if attacked, or die silently, defending my lord?" Sweat began beading on the squire's forehead as he looked in all directions, ready to sell his life dearly for the Hammer.

Standing just outside the garden, the woodsman-made-squire craned his neck this way and that, trying to see both the Hammer and the doorway into the keep. So caught up in his duty was the boy that he could barely hear the words of the two men in the arbor.

"I no longer rule this castle," Lord Stone said. "I serve another, and here it is!"

Tomkin caught a glimpse of a large melon resting on several rose stalks. It was unusual all right, but wild roses alongside melons were nothing strange in the forest. Tomkin didn't like roses very much, but he did like watermelon.

The leaves on the melon vine looked larger than normal, spear-shaped things as big as plates. Inch thick vines spilled out all over the plant. The bloated, blood-red roses seemed to be fashioned of impossibly thick petals coated with oil.

Tomkin tore his gaze away from the garden. Even the weirdest of plants must not distract him from his duty. If the Hammer wanted to eat dinner surrounded by weird plants, that was his choice. They'd both seen many stranger sights than that on the trail.

After surveying the area around the garden, Tomkin once again glanced into the arbor; he saw his master tugging at a rose vine connected to the melon. There were rose vines wrapped around his back, too.

The squire shook his head. What a silly game this seemed to be. He and friends held such contests of strength in the woods, but they used small trees to bend and snap; this melon-stalk didn't seem like much of a test for what he knew of his master's considerable strength. The scene also confused the squire, for the knight had laid strong prohibitions against playing with food-and that melon looked ripe for the picking.

Again Tomkin shook his head. Strange were the ways of his betters, and he was nowhere near experienced enough a warrior to judge them silly for it. He sighed and turned back to his watch.

"Anticipate, anticipate, antici-"

A shove from behind sent Tomkin reeling. Sir Ganithar and Lord Stone pushed through the garden gate, barely noticing that they'd knocked the boy down. The squire glanced back into the garden and saw the plates still heaped with food. A glance back at his master revealed a terrible look on the Hammer's face. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy.

Their contest of strength must have become a squabble, Tomkin decided. Sheathing his sword, the squire followed his master away from the garden.

Sir Ganithar dismissed the boy's concern with a stiff-limbed wave. "No, nothing's wrong. You and I will be sleeping in the hall tonight. Tomorrow we have much work to do-and a trip to take."

That was decidedly odd. Just a few hours ago the squire had heard the Hammer order special baths to be prepared every day for three tendays. Ganithar had also ordered the fixings for a huge party. Tomkin himself had carried the invitations to all of the knights' local friends, and sent off even more to the High Moor Heroes' Guild.

Tomkin hoped that he hadn't done something to cause the argument between Lord Stone and his master. Perhaps, the squire realized grimly, I failed to anticipate something Sir Ganithar needed at the dinner. The knight must surely have been furious, for he left without eating a bite.

Sir Ganithar's chilly silence as Tomkin helped the knight prepare for bed only confirmed the boy's suspicions. Tomkin was miserable as he went about his chores: though he could barely lift the magical hammer, it was his duty to stow it so Ganithar could reach it easily if an attack came upon them at night. The special cloak of silence, boots of leaping, and belt of invisibility were entrusted to the squire every night, as well. The Hammer figured no one would ever suspect the young squire of holding such fabulous items.

Before he dozed off, the Hammer ordered his squire to sleep on a pallet outside the room's only door. Tomkin did as he was told, but only pretended to sleep. A short time later, hearing the snores of Sir Ganithar, he rose from the pallet. He donned the cloak to prevent the guard from hearing his movements. The boots would allow him to spring great distances and move as lightly as a feather over any floor. The belt, activated with a magic word only Ganithar and he knew, made his form vanish from the sight of man, plant, and animal. Thus girded, he could set about "anticipating" his lord's needs.

The dreams of Ganithar the Hammer and all the other minions of the rose were the same. Huge vines of enormous size twisted around their bodies and squeezed the life out of them. The twenty entranced men and women sleeping in the castle all twisted and turned in their beds, caught up in the nightmare images filling their minds. Thorns plunged into their bodies, ripping out their still-beating hearts. They tried to cry out, but vines filled their mouths.

Then, quite abruptly, the dreams ended, and each of the rose minions fell into a deeper, less-troubled sleep.

"Sir Ganithar! Wake up! See what I have anticipated for you."

Ganithar leapt up, his warhammer in hand. At first he saw only the stupid grin of his squire. "You have on my cloak," he rumbled. "And my boots and belt!" Then he noticed the huge covered silver platter in his hands.

"I'm sorry something spoiled your dinner with Lord Stone last night," Tomkin said. "And since you went to bed without eating, I anticipated you'd be hungry this morning. I found this serving thing and got your breakfast ready before you woke up." He lifted the tray's lid to show his master the lovely great melon he'd chopped off the rose vine in the garden.

Seeing the look of shock in his master's face, he reddened. "You're upset about the piece I cut out of it, aren't you?" the squire asked sadly. "I'm sorry, but I only wanted to make sure it was ripe. It tastes rather good, but not like any melon I've ever had before. And it smells a bit like roses. I suppose it's from growing so close to them."