Dornay gasped. "I know you! I know the tales that they whisper, even now!" His handsome face twisted. "Rennard the Oathbreaker!"
Bowing, mocking, the ghost replied, "I thought myself forgotten. Yes, I have the dishonor of being him."
Erik snatched his sword from the ground, held it before him. His eyes were narrow slits, his breathing rapid. He began muttering under his breath.
Rennard recognized the litany and was amused. "Exorcising demons? You are not so well-versed for one of your rank. I doubt I will be so easily dismissed, even if you should happen upon the proper chant."
"Why does the ghost of a traitor and murderer visit me? Do the gods think you will stop me in my chosen course? Lucien's death demands justice! He was murdered needlessly, and I will see that his killers pay! Now begone!"
Rennard turned his horrific face toward the mortal. "I would very much like to be gone, Erik Dornay, but not to where I have been since my death. Peace is what I ask… peace and a sip of water." He stared into the flame, recalling the past. "I want nothing to do with you, but something has drawn me here. This is not the first time I have heard the song you sang tonight, a song about him. Huma never would have believed it. He would have shaken his head — "
"Do not speak his name!" Erik pointed the useless sword at the ghost as if he still intended somehow to run Rennard through. "He was everything that you were not, traitor! He was everything that I wanted to be!"
Wanted to be? thought the ghost. "And so you no longer desire to be like him?"
The young knight stiffened, then lowered his sword. "I cannot, not now, not after I kill them." His gaze strayed to the woods beyond. "So much has changed since the Cataclysm. At first they begged for our help. Then, with a swiftness unmatched even by the wind, the rumors began! Some of the rumors were not without foundation, but to blame the knighthood as a whole is unthinkable! If we were spared the brunt of the disaster, surely it meant that we were Paladine's chosen! We should have been their guides on the path of recovery. Instead, the scum we tried to protect turned on us. 'Look!' they cried. 'Ansalon shakes and quivers, people die, and the knights are untouched!' "
The young Solamnian laughed harshly. "Some even claimed we had conspired with the gods, for it was Ergoth, our ancient tyrant, and Istar, our magnificent rival, who suffered most. Lucien tried to reason with them — the ignorant offal. And they dragged him down from his horse and murdered him!"
None of this made much sense to Rennard. "And was the knighthood responsible for this… this Cataclysm?"
Erik glowered. "How can you ask that? You were a knight!"
"Yes," said Rennard dryly, "I was a knight."
"I swear that we were not!" Dornay's voice shook. "It could never be!"
"I see"
After a pause, Erik asked, "Did you really know him?"
"Very well." Rennard stood silently, his mind a whirlpool of memories. He stared at the mortal before him and saw Huma. The similarities were more than skin deep.
Am I supposed to turn him along the proper path? Rennard asked whoever had sent him. I was a puppet in life. Am I to be one in death? Better he make his own destiny, whatever the consequences! At least the choice will be his!
Rennard saw, to his surprise, that the young Knight of the Rose was staring at him, not in fear and loathing, but in desperate need. "Huma… What would he have done? Would he have understood? Lucien was my friend, more than friend… he was dearer than any brother. Please, specter, tell me, what would Huma — ?"
"Huma would have done what Huma would have done," Rennard interjected quickly. Thinking of Huma stirred memories and emotions that the ghost refused to acknowledge. "Just as you will do what you will do."
"That is no answer!" Dornay said angrily. "Would he have understood my need for vengeance? Tell me!"
I will not do this! Rennard told those who'd sent him. Dornay's path must be his own! What course his life takes will be his choice, not that of some interfering deity!
The ghost thought he heard whispers then, but perhaps they were only his own thoughts, speaking back to him:
Would you condemn anyone, even your worst enemy, to a fate such as yours?
A fate such as mine? Erik's thirst for vengeance could hardly be as great a crime as those I committed. But, Rennard could not help wondering, once he's done murder, he might sink lower still. One day, he might find himself trapped in a futile flight from those he killed and who, because of him, would never be able to rest either.
The "Song of Huma" ran through his mind.
"Huma," Rennard whispered. The man who was now legend never abandoned me, he even looked up to me. Huma — the man, not the legend — had been there in the end, trying to save me from myself. Rather than face him, I took the coward's way out. I slit my own throat.
Rennard turned his eyes briefly to the murky heavens. "I will do this for you, Huma… of the Lance. I will do it for you, not the gods. Never them."
Pale eyes narrowing, the ghost answered the young knight's question. "He would have understood VERY well what you were doing, Erik Dornay. You have my oath on that. Unlike you, however, Huma would have understood the meaning and the consequences as well. And, therefore, he would never have considered your dark course." Rennard shifted so as to allow the fire to illuminate his features. "Huma would have known that such a course can lead one only to a fate… like mine. Each life I took follows me, punishes me." Rennard shivered, the flickering shadows caused by the fire too lifelike at that moment. "The number still horrifies me, when they begin to gather."
"But they killed Lucien! They don't deserve to live! I have to… to…" Backing away, Dornay stumbled over to his horse. He untied the animal and wearily mounted, ignoring the fact that his helm still lay on the ground.
"You may deny me, mortal. You may even deny Huma, whom you claim to admire. Can you, though, deny yourself?"
Erik Dornay did not respond. He turned his horse and urged the animal on with a harsh kick to the ribs.
Rennard materialized in front of him. "Huma — the squire I trained, the knight I fought beside and against, the legend that led you to the Solamnic orders — watches us. He had a way of affecting others, Erik Dornay, even me. For that reason and that reason alone, I will not let this end. I will haunt you day and night if I have to."
The Knight of the Rose kicked his protesting charger again, forcing the horse to ride through Rennard.
The ghost disappeared, made himself reappear in front of the startled animal. The horse tried to turn away, but Erik once more forced the terrified beast to keep to the chosen route. Snorting in frustration and anxiety, the mount again raced through the apparition and galloped down the path.
Rennard followed. He'd wait until the horse could go no farther, which couldn't be very long. What would Erik do when he realized it was impossible to escape the ghost? Rennard did not know. The young knight was wavering in his desire for revenge, but it was at such an emotional junction that the greatest danger lay. Erik might go through with his dark plan merely to prove to himself he was not a man of weak resolve, that he kept his promises to his friends. The ghost was all too aware of what people had done for lesser reasons.
Dornay's flight took them into thickening woods. A number of the trees had been uprooted, but most had more or less survived intact. The forest should have meant nothing to the ghost. Yet, for some reason that made no sense to him, he was reminded of Morgion. Rennard grew more cautious, even drawing his sword, just in case.
Ahead of him now, the Knight of the Rose suddenly reined to a halt. The flatter land gave way again to hills.
There was a campfire in the distance.
The refugees? Those he pursued? Dornay evidently thought so, for he moved with more stealth now.
Rennard debated with himself. He stared at the not-sodistant flame and decided it would be wise to take a closer look. Erik would not reach the camp for several minutes, whereas the ghost could flit in and out in less time than it took to draw a
breath.
It proved easy to pick out a spot near, but not too near, the encampment. As a precaution, Rennard was careful to hide behind a gnarled oak, on the off-chance that he was visible to all, not merely Erik.
In the dim light of Solinari, the ghost saw the terrible mob that had murdered the knight Lucien.
These wretched people looked little more alive than Rennard. They hardly seemed like a dangerous lot: sick old men, desperate young men, worn down women, crying children. With not enough to eat or wear, they were lost, with no knowledge of surviving off the land.
They will not survive their journey. If Erik doesn't kill them, they will wander around in circles until they all fall from disease and exposure and starvation.
Without raising a finger, the knight could sentence them all to death. With Erik's help, the group could survive.
Rennard returned to Erik, materialized next to him. The young knight had found another corpse.
In the light of the moon, the dead man's visage was nearly as horrible as that of the ghost. Rennard shivered, though not from fear. There was no doubting that the peasant — a man younger and much more burly than the previous corpse — had not died easily. He had struggled until the end.
"Do not touch him!So" Rennard commanded.
Erik looked up, his surprise giving way quickly to nervous annoyance. "What are you doing here, phantom?"
"Saving you. This man died of plague."
Dornay quickly backed a respectable distance away. Rennard moved closer, noted the man's contorted features, the red splotches on his hands and face. A dusty film that sparkled a bit in the moonlight had already settled on the upturned visage. It had been a cruel death.
"Did you touch him?" Rennard demanded.
"No, thank Paladine, but I was almost ready to do so."
Rennard turned from the corpse, Morgion's legacy.
Legacy? Rennard turned back.
He thought of all disease as originating from the dark lord, but some had origins more human than godly. Rennard leaned close and studied the film on the unfortunate man's visage. Even in the dim moonlight, the dust shimmered with a metallic gleam.
"So some accursed things continue," Rennard muttered.
The victim had not died of plague. To the unknowing, it would seem so, but Rennard recognized the dust. The other symptoms, too, made sense, now that he knew the truth.
The legacy of Morgion had indeed killed this man, but it was human hands that had done the work — an evil powder, a poison, whose signs mimicked the plague. The ghost knew its uses all too well. The powder was a favorite tool of those who served the Master of the Bronze Tower. It was sacred to them, as if they held the very power of their god in their hands. The poison could be created by anyone with the knowledge. The Lord of Decay was not a trusting god, even with his followers. Only the most devout learned the secrets of his worship. Morgion's powers were reserved for those who guided the cult, the Nightmaster and his acolytes.
Any loyalty Rennard had ever owed to his dread master had* died with his body. Morgion rewarded failure with death. Rennard had failed to kill the Solamnic warrior who had discovered that there was a traitor in their midst. Rennard had failed to kill Huma.
Rennard knew then the fate of the doomed peasants. They would die, a few at a time, in the name of the faceless god he once had called master.
"What do you see, specter?" Erik demanded.
"I see that your sword would be a kind fate to these folk, Erik Dornay. They are being culled and sacrificed in the name of Morgion."
The Knight of the Rose gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "You are certain?"
"I think I know well enough. The poor wretches are easy prey for the cultists. Look at what lies here. They do not have the strength to bury their dead anymore."
The young knight was grim, pale. He sheathed his sword. Slowly, Erik returned to his horse.
"What will you do?" Rennard asked.
Dornay would not look at him. "I am leaving. I have no need to stay. You should be pleased. I won't kill them"
As the Knight of the Rose mounted, the wraith appeared before him. "You haven't spared the people. You merely have given their deaths into the hands of others."
"They are no more concern of mine." The young Solamnian Rmounted his steed, trying to depart. "I'm finished with the knighthood, Oathbreaker. I have sung the 'Song of Huma' for the last time."
He sounded resolved, but he was shaking. Rennard knew that a battle was going on inside the young knight, one that in some ways was as painful as the one Rennard himself constantly fought.
"Very well," the ghost knight told him. There was only one thing he could think of to do, and he prayed that both his memory and the spirit of Huma — who seemed to have a hand in this — would guide him. "I will stand aside."
Erik began slowly riding away. As he passed the wraith, however, Rennard began to sing.
"Huma's death calls me!
His death!
Temper me with such death!
Paladine, lord god of knights!
Huma's life is all our lives!
Dragon-Huma survives!"
Dornay halted. The cursed knight continued to sing, finding that the words — or words enough — were given to him. The melody would forever play in his mind.
Erik pulled tightly on the reins, turned the horse around, and gazed at the phantom. Rennard continued to sing softly, his own memories of Huma adding a vibrancy to the saga that made it come alive, for his memories were tinged with truth, not stretched by time and legend.
"You — " Dornay began.
A stone whistled through the darkness and struck the young knight soundly on the side of the head.
He grunted and fell from his mount. His charger hesitated, but when Rennard ceased singing and started toward the fallen knight, the terrified animal shied away.
Rennard stood over Erik, wondering what had happened, what a ghost could do to help. Even if he were able to touch the mortal, he might do more harm than good. He might infect Dornay with the plague he carried. Morgion would laugh at that.
When the shadows began to move, the ghost drew his sword, prepared to face his own enemies. Then he saw that these were not the ones who hunted him, but mortal men, well-versed in hiding from their victims.
"The armored one is down," said one.
Someone else spoke, but his words were too quiet for the ghost to hear. Then there came an answer.
"Crazy or not, he is a Knight of Solamnia! No, I have something different in mind for him. Perhaps HE will please our lord."
Seven figures, more like ghosts than the ghost himself, gathered around the fallen knight. They did not see Rennard, who stood among them.
"Take him," said one whose voice was a harsh rasp. He turned to another, who was trying to catch the reins of the horse. "Forget the beast! If he causes trouble, a little dust will settle him!" The hooded figure rolled Dornay over, peering at his armor. "A Knight of the Order of the Rose! This must be a sign, that one of the servants of the Great Enemy should fall into our hands so easily! Our infernal Lord Morgion MUST find this sacrifice satisfactory."
"What of the others, Nightmaster?" The newcomers were covered from head to toe in enveloping cloaks and hoods. Only the Nightmaster's features were visible. He had a long, vulpine face, and his skin looked mottled.
"This one will die this eve. The rest are sheep and will be sacrificed as needed. The knight is of utmost importance. For him, we must plan a ceremonial death, a slow, debilitating death, with one of the slower, more intricate poisons."
"But, Nightmaster," pleaded another, "we've tried before and failed. Some are saying the gods have all abandoned Krynn — "
"Blasphemy!" The leader's shout silenced the questioner. Under the cleric's baleful gaze, the other cultists reached down and took hold of the knight.
"Bind and gag him… just in case."
The acolytes obeyed with cold efficiency.
Desperate, Rennard sw
ung his sword at the closest, but his weapon passed through the man without harm. Rennard stared at his hand, thinking how useless it was despite the heavy gauntlet. To all living things, I am less than the wind!
A wave of agony sent him to his knees. His frustration had left him open to the curse. The plague was coursing through his body. He fought back the pain. Through blurred eyes, Rennard watched the cultists carry Dornay away.
"Paladine… great lord… you cannot want this! I do not want this and neither does Huma, your most loyal servant! Will you give another victim to the foul, faceless Master of the Bronze Tower?"
This plea, however, went ignored as far as he could tell. The cultist had spoken of a rumor of the gods leaving Krynn. Was that so? Was there no one, then, who could save the young Solamnian?
No one… except a ghost…?
"It seems I am always too weak! To save my life, I gave myself to Morgion. Later, I killed myself, as Huma watched. Now, I must let Erik die."
Unbidden, the "Song of Huma" came to his mind. Try as he might, Rennard could not drive the melody away.
"Huma," the ghost whispered, "why must you, of all people, continue to have faith in me?"
He struggled to his feet and started to follow, each movement sheer torture. Every dead muscle, every longdecayed organ, every broken joint in his body burned with pain and fever. What he hoped to accomplish, the ghost did not know. Rennard knew only that he could not yet give in.
He could hear the acolytes whisper.
"… death of another knight…"
"… Morgion reigns…"
"… another soul to add to his collection…"
Rennard doubled his pain-filled efforts to keep pace with them. Fortunately, the servants of Morgion were hampered by Erik's armored body.
Too soon, the Nightmaster signaled his acolytes to stop.
"This will do." The leader pointed to a small, cleared patch of ground by a stream. Morgion's servants preferred privacy for their work. It would not do for some peasant to stumble on them. He might escape and warn the others.
The cataclysm t2-2 Page 15