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
'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.'
