The Legend of Huma

by Richard Knaak

  The sky suddenly was filled with dragons, more than any person possibly could have imagined. They had been gathered, slowly and quietly, just for this moment. As the darkness retreated, they boiled out of the cloud cover. There were far more than those who fought alongside the knights. Red, black, green, blue—the sky was filled with colors of death.

  Although outnumbered, the dragons of light rose to face them. They were not enough. The Dragonqueen’s children quickly began to penetrate the ranks of the knights. Their ultimate goal lay beyond. They were flooding the hilly regions with their numbers, protecting the ogres and other landbound allies who even now flowed forth in greater numbers from within the hills themselves. Already beset by far too many foes, the sorely beleaguered knights looked to the party of newcomers for respite.

  Swords high and lances straight, Rennard’s patrol regrouped into charge formation. The dragons racing above them did not faze them. The line would hold.

  Huma was among those without a lance, but he knew that his sword would find an opponent soon enough. Eager to break the stalemate, the ogres already were pushing forward. The first wave had chosen to strike even as Huma and his companions had reached the fighting. The hilly ground slowed the warhorses. Huma saw one man go down as his horse lost its footing, and several more stumbled. Then they were striking at the fore of the ogre assault.

  Metal flashed all about him, and everyone seemed to be screaming at full pitch. Huma desperately fought off each weapon hurtled at him and struck down several of the ogres while barely realizing it. An ogre face peered into his; it was hairy and savage with long sharp teeth like the minotaur’s, and a broad, flat visage with red-rimmed eyes. The ogre’s breath was fetid. Huma kicked the attacker away.

  Laughter, oddly appropriate because of its ferocity, assailed Huma’s ears. Among the combatants, his ax swinging to and fro, the mammoth Kaz was an avenging force of chaos and death. Each swing took its count. Bloodlust glittered in the hulking creature’s eyes and then Kaz was lost from sight as more ogres sought the young knight’s life.

  An ax nicked Huma’s leg. The only thing that saved him from losing a limb was that his strike had been first and true. The creature had been dead even as it retaliated. Shock, though, caused Huma to briefly lose control. He nearly dropped his sword and would have been cut down then and there if not for Rennard. The tall knight was cutting through the enemy at a methodical rate. The ogres attempted to flee this killing machine, but Rennard sought them out. Huma stared. At that moment, there seemed little difference between knight and minotaur.

  Even so, the charge was insufficient, and it looked as if the knights would be routed. Then more huge forms joined the battle—this time from the Solamnic side. Reinforcements had arrived. The ecstasy was brief. Another ogre hurled itself at Huma.

  As abruptly as it had been created, the stygian blackness vanished. Resistance from the Queen’s magic-users lessened. The knights pushed forward with renewed hope. Huma saw the ground erupt, and he shivered inwardly as countless enemy warriors were thrown high into the air, only to come crashing down seconds later.

  “Huma!”

  The voice was Rennard’s, and it seemed to be warning him. Huma turned toward the voice as shadow resurged abruptly. Someone grappled with him. Huma succeeded in manuevering his blade between them and thrust it through his adversary’s throat.

  Huma turned his horse in the murk, seeking out his companions by hearing alone. It proved his undoing, for something heavy flew through the night and struck him soundly on the back of his helm.

  He crumpled forward and slipped from his steed.

  Huma had not known death would be so beautiful or kind. She reached forward and mopped his brow, then lifted his head slightly so as to allow him to drink a little water.

  The water cleared his head slightly, and he knew that he was not dead. The face above him was not death, but that of a young, beautiful woman with white—no, silver hair. The hair fascinated him so much that he attempted to reach out and touch it. To his surprise, the agony that this simple motion produced was enough to whirl him back into unconsciousness.

  “Are you ever planning to wake up?”

  The gruff but concerned voice broke through the haze in Huma’s mind. His eyes fluttered open, then shut tightly against the light.

  “A little light shouldn’t kill you, not after ogres and dragons failed to.”

  Huma dared to try again, more slowly this time. A tiny amount of light filtered through his eyelashes.

  He opened his eyes a little further, and forms began to take shape around him. Chief among those was the ugly, inhuman face of a minotaur.

  “Kaz?” His voice frightened him; it was little more than a croak.

  “A good guess.”

  Huma stared at his surroundings. He was in a tent used by the knights for their wounded. Most of the other cots were empty, and the few that were not contained figures deep in sleep—or perhaps deeper than sleep. He shuddered. It brought the pain back.

  “What happened to me?”

  The bestial face broke into a near-human grin, and Kaz let out a deep chuckle. “What didn’t? First, you nearly looked right into the flat of an ax—don’t worry, it only creased one side of your head. You slipped and fell and nearly got trampled to death. The good news is that you were unconscious all of the time. It’s a wonder you didn’t break any bones, friend Huma. You certainly are bruised enough.”

  “Everything hurts.”

  “It should. Tell me, are you usually this careless?”

  Huma smiled, but the smile, like everything else, proved to be painful.

  “He is awake?”

  He turned his head quickly toward the melodious voice, forgetting the pain, and gazed on the vision from his dreams. The silverish hair swept around her head. She wore a gown akin to that worn by healers of Mishakal, save that no medallion graced her smooth, ivory-colored neck. The gown did not hide her feminine attributes, and Huma forced himself to look away before embarrassment ruined all.

  “Awake, alive, and in less pain than he thought, apparently.” The minotaur rose. “I shall leave you in the hands of this healer, Huma. While you have been resting, I have been put to work identifying what I can of my former masters’ battleplans.”

  “They allow you freedom of the camp?” It was an astonishing gesture on the knighthood’s part, if true.

  Kaz snorted in contempt. “Only as long as I am accompanied by two armed guards. They deigned to allow me to visit you privately.”

  “You wrong us, Kaz.”

  The man-beast shook his fearsome head. “No, I may wrong you and a few others, but I do not wrong the knighthood.”

  Kaz stalked off without another word. Huma watched him leave. The inflammatory words had taken their toll on him. Did the knighthood deserve such scorn? It could not be.

  “You have interesting companions.”

  Huma turned his attention back to the woman. “What?”

  She smiled, and there seemed to be only perfection in that smile. Her lips were full and red, and above them, perfectly positioned, was a pert nose and two almond-shaped eyes. The eyes were like sunlight in color, a direct contrast to her glistening mane. Overall, she did not look quite human, and Huma suspected she drew much of her beauty from elven ancestors.

  “Are you quite through?” she asked in apparent amusement.

  He realized that he had been staring at her in abject fascination. His face reddened, and Huma began to study the ceiling.

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to annoy you, milady,” he said, reddening more deeply as he stammered slightly.

  The smile broadened and became—impossibly—more perfect. “I never said I was annoyed.” She took a moist cloth from a bowl near him and began to mop his head. “I am also no ‘milady.’ Gwyneth will do nicely. It is my name, after all.”

  He dared to smile back to her. “My name is Huma.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I know. Both the minotaur and knight who brou
ght you in used your name several times. I’d never seen a minotaur before this one.”

  “Kaz is a friend.” Huma decided to leave it at that. He lacked the energy to explain further. A thought occurred to him. “You said a knight. Do you know which one?”

  “I could not forget.” A shudder ran through Gwyneth. “He was much like a dead man in form and voice. I felt, though, a certain sadness within him.”

  Huma had never heard Rennard described quite like that, but he knew that somehow the pale knight had delivered him from the field of death.

  “Are you better?”

  The pain seemed less now. “Yes. Do I have you to thank for this miracle?”

  She blushed. “No, I am only assisting the healers.”

  Huma attempted to rise and discovered he was still too weak for such a maneuver. He grimaced in pain. Gwyneth eyed him as one might eye a bad child.

  “Do not try that again.”

  “I do not think I could. Did not one of the clerics heal me?”

  “There are only a very few of them in camp. You will have to accept what little aid they could give you. Even healers have their limits.” Although she still smiled, Gwyneth’s tone indicated that she thought the clerics overtaxed.

  “Where are we?”

  “In part of the westernmost woods of Solamnia. You were unconscious for a day’s ride. We are about that far from the front.”

  “We won?” Huma could not believe that the lines had held.

  “No one won. It was the same as always. If not for your group, the ogres might have broken through. Fortunately, they have failed again.” She paused, deep in thought, and then resumed in a new vein. “Enough of this war talk. Do you feel like eating something? You’ve not had food for the last two days.”

  Huma agreed readily to some nourishment. He was dismayed, though, when Gwyneth began stirring a chalk-colored paste. She looked up, saw his expression, and smiled pleasantly. The spoon came out of the bowl. Gwyneth leaned down to feed some to Huma. He glared at the substance.

  “It is not as bad as it looks, Huma. Taste some.” Feeling like a child, he gingerly opened his mouth. It was true, he discovered; the paste tasted better than he’d imagined. He forced himself to continue eating, more because he did not want to look foolish in her eyes than because of any desire for such food. Huma was quite pleased when the last of the stuff was gone.

  Gwyneth also seemed pleased as she put the bowl away. “I’m sorry to leave you, but I do have other tasks. I’ll look in on you from time to time, I promise that.”

  He reached out a hand to her. “Thank you again.”

  She hesitated, and Huma dropped the hand out of embarrassment. They were saved any further awkwardness by Rennard’s appearance at the tent opening. Gwyneth gathered her things and whisked out of the tent. Huma’s eyes watched her leave, then focused on the knight.

  “The minotaur said you were awake and recuperating. I was pleased to hear that.” The flat level of Rennard’s voice made it sound as if he were reading off a supply list, but Huma believed his words. Like Gwyneth, he knew that there was something behind Rennard’s perpetual mask of indifference.

  Rennard’s visor was up. Huma had no trouble now staring into the face that so many turned away from. Rennard’s presence here was important. Few other knights cared enough about Huma to visit him.

  Rennard kneeled next to him. “Keep your guard up at all times, Huma. It is your one failing.”

  “That and being struck on the head.”

  The thin lips pursed into a slight smile for only a moment. “Yes. You must put a stop to that as well. It could prove detrimental.”

  Had he not know better, Huma would have taken the statement as serious. “What goes on? Gwyneth—?”

  “The young woman?”

  Huma reddened. “Yes—she said that we were back at a stalemate once more.”

  Rennard sighed and reached up to remove his helmet. The act revealed frost-colored hair plastered to his head. Rennard was one of the few knights who chose not to sport the long, thick mustaches but rather to go clean-shaven; he was also one of the few who kept his hair cut short well above his collar. No one questioned these decisions; Rennard was Rennard.

  “For the moment, that appears to be where things are. Bennett claims this is a sign that victory is ours. He repeats over and over that the big push by Crynus has crumbled. No one has seen or heard of Crynus since your brief battle with him. Bennett has even gone so far as to praise you in his own fashion.”

  “Praise me?”

  “I quote: ‘Thanks in part to that one’s astounding luck, the warlord Crynus may be dead or at least incapacitated.’ ”

  Huma turned away. Bennett was right, though. He had been lucky. A true knight would have made better use of the opportunity and assured himself of the warlord’s destruction.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Huma. Stop it. You are every part the knight that Bennett and his lapdogs are. More so. You’ve not lost sight of the true world.” Rennard lapsed into an uneasy silence as Huma turned back to him.

  “How long before they release me?”

  “When you’re ready, no sooner. There’ll be more than enough waiting for you when you’re fit.”

  “Lord Oswal—does he have anything to say?” Huma felt a tremor of fear. The elder knight was like the father Huma had never known.

  Rennard stood up and replaced the helmet on his head. He nodded. “The High Warrior wishes you the best and speediest of recoveries. He says he still has the utmost faith in your abilities.”

  Which was the High Warrior’s way of stating how proud he still was of Huma. It was a rare boost for the young knight’s confidence.

  “Rest well, Huma. I will attempt to see you when next I’m free.”

  Rennard departed, leaving Huma to his own thoughts. He wondered whether he would ever truly be a knight such as Bennett, Lord Oswal, or Rennard. He thought of the evil warlord Crynus and wondered if that dark figure would bother to seek personal vengeance on an insignificant person such as Huma.

  Something padded softly by the tent where Huma lay. Not a horse, more like a hound. A slight stench wafted to his nostrils. He heard something scrape against the wall, as if to test its strength. The light of the gray day allowed Huma only the vaguest glimpse of something.

  A cleric of Mishakel entered the tent to check on the conditions of the wounded. The form on the other side of the wall scurried away, nearly silent despite its sudden movements. The odor quickly dissipated.

  “Cleric?”

  The mere presence of the elderly cleric soothed Huma. The cleric was short and slightly rounded. There could have been no more than two dozen hairs on his entire head.

  “I am Broderin. May I be of assistance to you?”

  Huma thought carefully before speaking. “Are—are there any wolves near the camp? Wolves or large dogs?”

  Broderin stiffened as if he expected some great beast to come lunging through the tent flaps. Then he regained his composure. “Wolves? Dogs? There may be a few of the latter, but not anywhere near here. As for wolves …” The cleric chuckled nervously. “A wolf among the ranks of Paladine’s knights? I think not. There are no wolves save those on the other side of the field, my son. Regrettably, most of them are of the intelligent kind. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I saw one.”

  This sent the old man into another fit of anxiety. Though this voice was more or less steady, his eyes darted hither and yon, as if seeing wolves everywhere. “You must be mistaken, my son, or perhaps you are suffering delusions due to your wounds. Yes, that must be it.”

  “Are you positive?” It had seemed very real.

  “I will have someone take a look around. Perhaps a stray hound escaped from somewhere. It is always possible.” The cleric turned to one of the other wounded, indicating that the conversation was at an end as far as he was concerned. Huma watched him momentarily and then closed his eyes.

  His sleep was, thankfu
lly, restful and uninterrupted save for one brief dream in which something pale stalked him through an endless forest. The stalker was always just out of sight and just behind him.

  As with most dreams and nightmares, he did not remember it upon waking.

  CHAPTER 6

  Huma stepped outside the tent to view the camp for the first time. He did not know his exact location, but he could see that command had moved once again, nearer the border, apparently. This close to Ergoth, the land was dotted more regularly with trees—healthy ones. For reasons that could only be guessed at, the ogres had been more careful about avoiding the destruction of the landscape nearer the mountains. It could hardly have been due to the beauty of the land; as far as anyone knew, the ogres were not the most appreciative of races when it came to beauty. In some areas there was actual forest—tall, ageless trees that perhaps remembered quieter times, perhaps had even seen the first elves.

  Huma estimated that two to three hundred knights were encamped in the general area. The men stationed here were a mixture, consisting of the personal guard of Lord Oswal, wounded knights in various stages of recovery, a few outriders who were assisting the knighthood with their knowledge of the region, and even a few mages to add to the clerics. The mages and clerics remained as far apart as possible. Mages distrusted most clerics as religious zealots, while the clerics, albeit more tolerant, still did not trust the independent ways of the magic-users, who concentrated more on power than on belief in the gods.

  No one really trusted the mages. That was why they were not allowed to carry arms. That left them vulnerable in at least one way.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  Huma’s face lit up briefly, but he quickly masked it with an expression of brave seriousness. Gwyneth, a bucket in one hand, came over to him. Despite his best attempts, Huma could not help smiling.