by Dragon Lance
The upper edge of one of the axe’s blades cut a streak of green slime across the dragon-man’s chest. It hissed and stumbled, but Kaz could not pursue his advantage soon enough. Recovering, the creature glared at the minotaur, then suddenly leapt straight at him. Had Kaz been uninjured, he would have cut his opponent down then, but the ache in his shoulder slowed him. The axe struck the dragon-man in the upper arm, but the wound was shallow and, even worse, the monster now finally had a good grip on the shaft of the minotaur’s weapon.
Kaz tried to hold on, but he was too weak. The dragon-man pulled the axe from the minotaur’s grip and tossed it aside.
“Now,” it hissed, “you will die!”
Kaz, however, was already moving. Even for a creature as strong as the dragon-man, a full-grown minotaur was a very, very heavy burden. A charging minotaur was even more so. Kaz lowered his head, aimed his horns at the dragon-man.
Wicked talons cut and tore into his body, but Kaz did not stop. The dragon-man grunted in agony as the minotaur’s horns caught it near the chest wound. The horns pierced its hard, armored skin.
Propelled backward by the minotaur’s attack, the dragon-man stumbled and fell. Kaz almost fell, too, but managed to free his horns just in time.
The wounded monster began to shift again. Less and less it looked like a man and more like... like nothing in the minotaur’s experience. The dragon-man roared and struggled to its feet. Kaz wondered wearily where the abomination continued to draw its strength. The wounded minotaur was virtually finished. He barely had the power to stand, much less renew the battle.
The dragon-man hissed. Out of the corner of his eye, the minotaur tried to estimate his chances of reaching his battle-axe. Those odds were not what he would have hoped, but if the continual magical transformations had slowed the dragon-man even a little bit...
The creature also glanced in the direction of the axe.
Kaz started for the weapon. The dragon-man sought to intercept him. The monster moved with more speed than Kaz could muster. The battle had worn down the minotaur. His legs and arms felt like lumps of iron, and with each step the room seemed to whirl.
Then the dragon-man stumbled again. Not much, but enough to give Kaz two or three precious seconds. Just enough time to grab the axe and barely roll out of reach.
Kaz turned back in time to see a hideous sight. The monster’s flesh dribbled off as it moved. The creature continued to howl in fury and in pain.
Summoning what remained of his strength, Kaz swung the battle-axe over Ms head and brought it down.
The blow caught the monster in the skull. To Kaz’s astonishment, the axe went clean through the skull into the body.
Literally cleaved in two, the dragon-man collapsed.
Then it disappeared. Kaz saw only a tiny remnant of Brenn’s creation. The minotaur studied the head of his axe, but found little trace there, either. As far as he could gather, the dragon-man had dissolved the moment Kaz had killed it.
A shuffling noise caught Kaz’s attention. He whirled, thinking the dragon-man had somehow returned from the dead. He saw the battered form of Brenn instead. The mage had dragged himself to the center of the patterned floor. His face was taut. One leg dragged uselessly. Seeing the minotaur, Brenn managed one of his ghastly smiles.
“My gratitude for... for cleaning up that little mess.” The mage glanced around anxiously, as if searching for something on the floor. “I shall endeavor to avoid such an occurrence the next time.”
Kaz snorted. “Next time?” He hefted the axe.
Brenn pointed at Kaz.
The warrior’s movements slowed. He was reminded of all those times during the war when he and the others had been forced to wade through hip-deep mud. He moved as if in a dream.
Brenn saw that his spell had only half succeeded. For the first time, the mage’s eyes looked a bit frantic.
Kaz suddenly knew what Brenn was seeking. The mage was looking for his crystal talisman. It must have been torn off when the dragon-man tried to grab the gaunt sorcerer by the throat. Both Brenn and Kaz saw the crystal at the same time. Brenn was closer; he would have the talisman before Kaz could reach him.
Fighting against the spell, the minotaur swung the axe to one side. As he did, he saw the mage’s hand hovering over the talisman.
Kaz threw the axe, aiming not for the mage but for the metal stand in the center of the room.
The flying axe struck the metal device. Sparks flew.
A bubble formed over the center of the pattern. Unlike the previous bubbles, it did not float off the ground. It was sinking, almost exactly where Brenn was trying to drag himself away.
His injuries slowed him. The bubble touched him. Suddenly Brenn was inside.
The mage struggled, but his efforts only brought him back to the center of the pattern and the bent mechanism from which the bubble had been summoned. Kaz saw frantic fear on Brenn’s face as the bubble drifted back to the magical device. The sphere froze as it reached the center.
The bubble began to contract. Brenn screamed, but no sound could be heard. The sphere now gave him little room to move. The mage locked eyes with Kaz and pointed at the talisman. Brenn was pleading.
Kaz grunted, shook his horned head. The bubble shrank, and with it shrank Brenn. All the while, the increasingly tiny figure of the mage silently screamed.
The bubble vanished. Kaz picked up the gem and tossed the talisman among the rest of the wreckage.
“Can’t say that I’m sorry, Master Brenn.”
*
The dragon was dead.
Kaz had gathered up the remaining eggs and dragged them to her cavern, only to discover the silver dragon was no longer alive. He also noted that the illusionary eggs were gone. Perhaps she had realized that Kaz had been telling the truth: The mage had tricked her and was using her own power to experiment on her children. The shock must have been too much in her injured state.
He tried not to think about that as he made plans for his departure. There were many things to be done. Kaz had his own injuries to deal with, injuries that made dragging around five heavy eggs painful. He had to find a path out of these caves. Locating the dragon’s mate would be difficult, but Kaz had some idea of where to look. His time as a dragon-rider had given him insight into where the dragons nested. One way or the other, he would locate the male and return the eggs. Kaz had the feeling that – like his mate – the male silver dragon would not leave Krynn until certain the eggs were safe.
Kaz also had to make sure that no one would be able to use Brenn’s sanctum again. The minotaur was determined to wipe away all traces of the foul mage.
The death of the black-robed mage, alone, cheered Kaz. Brenn’s experiments would be lost to the world. There were enough monsters on Krynn without adding such horrible specimens to the list. Thanks to Kaz, Krynn would never know there had ever been such a thing as a dragon-man.
Kaz envisioned an entire army of the creatures. The image was enough to make even a minotaur blanch.
Kaz snorted. Dream armies were not worth worrying about. Krynn had nothing to fear of dragon-men. Not now.
Not ever.
Kaz, The Minotaur
(1013 PC)
Chapter 1
They sat huddled around a small campfire, twelve and one. The distinction was important, because, although the twelve followed the one who was their leader, they despised him as much as he despised them. Only necessity and a matter of honor threw them together and somehow held them together for so long.
The one was an ogre, a coarse, brutish figure well over six feet tall and very wide. His face was flat, ugly, with long, vicious teeth, good for tearing flesh from either a meal or a foe. His skin was pasty and mottled, and his hair was flat against his head. He wore only a dirty kilt and belt. In a scabbard strapped to his back, he carried what would have been, for a man, a two-handed sword, but for the ogre was just fine for one: a trophy of war. Stuffed into his belt, seemingly insignificant compared to the hug
e blade, were two knives. The ogre’s name was Molok, and as he used his huge, bloody claws to tear meat from his portion of the kill, he surreptitiously eyed the others.
Most of the others, when standing, were a full head taller than the ogre, not that the fact disturbed Molok. He tore another piece of the nearly raw meat from the bone in his hand and jammed the morsel into his mouth while he watched the dozen minotaurs eat their own meals. Unlike the ogre, the minotaurs ate more slowly, carefully, albeit still with a certain savageness that would have unnerved humans or elves. There were nine males and three females, and all were armed. A couple had spears and three others’ swords, like those their unwelcome companion carried, but the remainder carried huge, double-headed battle-axes. The males had horns more than a foot long, while the females’ were a bit shorter.
The minotaurs were too at ease, Molok decided. That did not suit him. He wanted them agitated and anxious to be done with this task, if only so they would not have to travel with an ogre much longer.
“It’s been near a week, Scar-face, since you found any trail.” Molok picked a piece of meat out from between two yellowed fangs. “Is it maybe that the coward is craftier than you? Be he your better?”
At the sound of his gravelly voice, all twelve of the minotaurs looked up, the fire giving their eyes a burning, haunting look. One minotaur, whose ravaged features bespoke many fierce combats, threw his meat down and started to rise. A smaller one, female, grabbed hold of one arm.
“No, Scurn,” she said quietly. Her voice was deep, but for a minotaur, it would have been considered quite pleasant.
“Release me, Helati,” the one called Scurn rumbled. His voice was like the low, rolling thunder before a great storm. The battle-axe he used, which lay next to him, was huge even for one of his kind. Molok had seen it wielded most effectively, but was not concerned. He knew how to manipulate this band. Had he not kept the chase alive for over four years now?
“Easy, Scurn,” muttered another minotaur next to Helati. These two bore a strong resemblance to one another. Hecar was sibling, brother, to Helati. They were the weak links as far as the ogre was concerned. Over the four years, they had gone from dedicated pursuers to abject admirers of the renegade the band sought. The renegade that these minotaurs could never return home without.
The scarred minotaur settled down, but Molok saw that he had already accomplished his purpose. He had stirred things up. As always, the band began to talk about the latest setback.
“Cannot deny that Kaz is crafty.”
“Even cowards have minds!”
“Coward? He survived the lands of the Silvanesti!”
“Scurn said that was just a rumor, didn’t you, Scurn?”
The ravaged head tipped forward briefly. His horns, even in the light of only a single moon, Lunitari, were quite plainly worn from action. Scurn was a fighter, one who, if his mind had been as strong as his body, would have been leader of his people by now. Scurn was headstrong. He was perfect for Molok’s purposes.
“Kaz never journeyed into the lands of the Silvanesti,” Scurn snorted in derision. “He’s a coward and dishonorable. Just another ploy to throw us off the trail.”
“Which he be doing all too well,” added Molok casually.
Scurn glared at him with blood-red eyes. He wanted to take the ogre by the neck and squeeze until the life was gone. He could not, however. Not, at least, until their journey was over and Kaz was either dead or captured. “You’ve been of little help to us, Molok. All you are good for is telling us how bad we are. What have you done to speed up this Sargas-be-damned quest? We are as sick of staring at your mongrel face for the past four years as you are of staring at ours.”
Shrugging disinterestedly, the ogre bit off another chunk of meat. “I was told that you be great trackers, great hunters. I see nothing so far. I think you be losing your edge. Does your honor mean so little to you? What about Tremoc? Would you be less than him?”
The ogre liked to bring up Tremoc at times like this. It was a favorite minotaur tale. In the name of honor, Tremoc had crossed the continent of Ansalon four times in his quest to bring the murderer of his mate to justice. The pursuit had lasted more than twenty years. It was a useful story for two reasons. First, it reminded his bullheaded companions of dedication and what was most important in their lives and, second, it urged them to renewed efforts. None of them wanted to be doing this for twenty years.
He had stirred them up enough. Now it was time to get them thinking about the hunt. “If not among the elves, Scurn, where be he?”
It was Hecar who answered. “Whether or not Kaz journeyed to the lands of the Silvanesti elves – which he could have – he probably turned west.”
“West?” Scurn glanced at the other minotaur. “Qualinesti? That’s as foolish as entering the lands of the Silvanesti!”
Now it was Hecar who snorted. “I was meaning Thorbardin. The dwarves are more likely to leave him alone. He can go from there to the land called Ergoth.”
Studying them both, the ogre said nothing. He was interested in hearing what the scarred minotaur’s response would be.
Scurn rose, tore off a piece of fat and gristle from their catch, and tossed the piece into the low flames. The fire shot up, a sizzling, spitting sound erupting where the fat melted away. The disfigured minotaur laughed, an ugly sound.
“You are either growing stupid or you have come to admire Kaz so much for his ability to run and hide that you are trying steer us away!”
Hecar started to rise, and it looked as if the two creatures would come to blows. Many of the others began to grow agitated, snorting loudly in their excitement. Helati, once more trying to be peacemaker, quickly rose in front of her brother, facing him.
“No, Hecar!” she hissed quietly.
“Out of my way, female,” her brother muttered through clenched teeth.
“Scurn will kill you,” she whispered. “You know that!”
“My honor —”
“Your honor can take a little punishment. Remember, it is the wise minotaur who knows when to pick his battles. Another time, perhaps.”
“I will not forget this. The others —”
Despite their difference in height, she somehow managed to look him straight in the eye. “The others know full well that you can defeat any of them any time.”
Hecar hesitated. He glanced briefly toward the ogre, who appeared to be busy examining the bone he held on the off chance that it still held some shred of meat, and snorted quietly. Nothing is certain about that one. Finally he nodded and sat down. Helati joined him. Scurn gave him as much of a triumphant grin as a minotaur’s bovine features could. What his expression mostly consisted of was a showing of sharp teeth. Hecar could barely contain his fury.
“Kaz will not go west, nor will he go east. He will stay in the south, hoping to evade us.” Scurn turned toward Molok for agreement.
The ogre gazed at the minotaurs around him as if only just now remembering he was the instigator of this heated argument. It was time to settle things, Molok decided. Wiping his hairy paws on his kilt, he reached down to a pouch between his feet and pulled out a crumbled piece of parchment. With one fluid motion, he tossed it at Scurn. The startled minotaur succeeded in catching it before a sudden burst of fire scorched both paper and his own hand.
“What is this?”
Molok cracked open the bone he had been picking over and began sucking the marrow. Frustrated, the minotaur unfolded the sheet and tried to make out the markings in the dim, flickering light of the flames. His eyes widened, and he looked angrily at the ogre.
“This is a proclamation signed by the Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia himself!”
There was renewed muttering on the parts of the assembled group. After four years of pursuing their quarry through the lands of humans, they now knew more about the Knights of Solamnia than any others of their race did, save Kaz.
“What does it say, Scurn?” one of the other minotaurs asked imp
atiently.
“The Grand Master offers a reward for several beings of various races. One of them is Kaz!” The last was said with total disbelief. “He is wanted, it says, for conspiring against the knighthood, specifically, the planned assassination of the Grand Master himself. There is also mention of murder here, but it does not specify whose and when.” Scurn’s tone indicated that he was a bit confused about what he had just read.
“Then he is wanted by the knighthood as much as he is wanted by us,” someone stated.
“Where did you get that proclamation?” Hecar snapped at the ogre.
Molok shrugged. “I find it yesterday. It had … fallen … from the tree that someone had posted it on, I think.”
“Why would the knights demand Kaz? He was their comrade!” one of the other females asked the group as a whole.
“As are some of these others,” Scurn added. He tossed the parchment to one of the other minotaurs, who started reading it slowly. The minotaurs prided themselves on the fact that, of all races save perhaps the elves, they were the most literate. While physical strength was the final arbiter in their society, knowledge was the tool that honed that strength.
“The knights are mad!” Hecar muttered. “Have they given a reason?”
“Have they given a reason for anything we have seen in the time we have pursued Kaz?” Scurn glanced around. “They may have a reason; they may not. There are names on that proclamation that were their staunchest allies in … in that time.”
“That time” was a war that the minotaurs were doing their best to wipe from their memories. More than one gave Molok a look of bestial hatred. The minotaurs had been slave-soldiers to the ogres and humans who had followed the dark goddess, Takhisis, in her struggle against her counterpart, the lord of light, Paladine. The Knights of Solamnia had represented that god, and in the end, it was one of their number, a Knight of the Crown named Huma, who had literally forced the goddess to capitulate. Only one other who had witnessed the costly victory had survived.