The Legend of Huma

by Richard Knaak

  It was a hollow triumph. “Obvious. For such effort, I can think of only one you would protect—but why would Magius be out here?”

  “I didn’t—” Huma could think of nothing to say. How did Rennard even know about his childhood friend?

  “You are a fool, Huma. A brave, competent knight, but you have too much humanity in you, too much trust in others. A mage, especially. You cannot trust mages. They will always turn on you. They are treacherous.”

  Despite his respect for Rennard, Huma stiffened at this insult. “Magius is none of those things. We grew up together. He would not betray what he believed in.”

  Rennard shook his head sadly. “You will not understand until it is too late.” Then, as if all had been said that could be said, Rennard dropped the subject. “Come. We’d best return to camp. I think this is something Lord Oswal should hear about.”

  The pale warrior returned the sword to Huma. Without waiting to see if Huma followed, Rennard began walking. Huma hurried after him, wondering what the other knight would report and what Huma himself would say, knowing all too well that one of those who listened would already know he had lied.

  What would the Oath and Measure demand?

  CHAPTER 7

  Once there had been an instructor, Garig, who was determined that the young squire Huma would fail the preparations for knighthood. Garig was a beast of a man who more resembled a bear in face and form. Some wondered that he was a knight at all, brutal as he could be. As a matter of fact, Garig intended to wear Huma down inside of a month.

  Huma had stayed, though. Stayed, learned, and excelled, though Garig frightened him immensely. Lord Oswal, the High Warrior, had encouraged him. Like Rennard, Lord Oswal had seen something in Huma that he was determined to cultivate, despite the boy’s dubious bloodline. At last, the squire stood up to the overwhelming instructor and defeated him soundly in what could only loosely be called a mock combat. That was a victory as much over fear as over Garig.

  Now, Huma was afraid again as he stepped into the presence of the man who had helped him overcome that earlier hurdle.

  The High Warrior was dressed and fully awake. Huma marveled—as did many others—that the elder knight never seemed to rest. The commander of the military expedition sat on a plain wooden stool that contrasted sharply with his elaborate uniform. His helmet lay on the table beside him, and more than a dozen charts lay scattered on the same table. Huma felt as if the helmet, too, were inspecting him, somehow.

  Only two other knights were in the room. One was a shorter, round man whose very appearance belied the strength and intelligence within. Very little hair graced his head, save for a small goatee and a few wisps in the back. Arak Hawkeye was not a man of much humor. His latter name had come from his precision as a bowman. Even the nomadic tribes of the southern regions knew of Hawkeye. He could outride and outshoot any of them. It was his personal goal to teach a band of knights to ride and shoot much in the manner of the plainsmen. He wore crests representing the Order of the Crown, of which he was ranking commander for this campaign.

  Between them, and only barely noticing the young knight, stood Bennett, son of the Grand Master, nephew of the High Warrior, and the representative of the Order of the Sword. Bennett’s presence here unnerved Huma the most. The personification of knighthood, Bennett could recite every line of every volume of the bylaws put down by Vinas Solamnus so long ago. He lived by them, which was why Huma had been able to remain in the order so far. Despite his influence, Bennett would do nothing that went strictly against the Oath or the Measure. When charges concerning Huma’s parentage had failed to oust the new knight, Bennett did not turn to more unsavory methods, as some, even in the knighthood, would have done. Instead, the Grand Master’s son treated him as a necessary evil, to be ignored whenever possible. Influential as Bennett was, Huma found it difficult to make any friends as time went on.

  Bennett was much like his father and his uncle in appearance, though he was definitely more like the former. Those who had known Lord Trake in his younger days swore that there was no difference between sire and offspring. Both had the same hawkish features, the look of a bird of prey. The House of Baxtrey was of the oldest royal blood. The same features could be found on many of the nobles of the Empire of Ergoth. As Bennett turned away, his mind supposedly on the business at hand, Huma’s eyes briefly met his. The glance was cold.

  “You may leave or stay as is your desire, Rennard.”

  Rennard stiffened. “I will stay, if it pleases the High Warrior.”

  It did not please Bennett, that was obvious. Trake’s son hated Rennard almost as much as he hated Huma, but for different reasons. Only one person other than Lord Oswal could defeat the Grand Master’s offspring in mock combat. Soundly, too. For someone like Bennett, who prided himself on perfection, it was almost intolerable. These two rivals stared openly at one another now, Rennard with as much regard as he would give a blade of grass.

  Lord Oswal turned to Huma. “Normally, Lord Arak would take your report, but seeing as we are dealing with situations that change from one minute to the next, I would like us all to hear it immediately. Both Arak and Bennett have agreed to this.” Bennett glanced at his uncle and then away again. “If you would begin, then?”

  “Milord.” Huma cleared the lump from his throat. After the first few words, his uneasiness fell away and he poured out the details of the attack in crisp, precise sentences. The three commanders listened carefully. Huma did not omit the presence of Magius, though he did leave out most of their conversation.

  When he was done, he stood there silently, his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing, his body at full attention. The Lord Knights turned to one another and discussed some of the points. They whispered, preventing Huma from knowing what had caught their attention.

  Lord Hawkeye stepped away from the other two and turned to Rennard. “Knight Rennard, have you anything to add?”

  “Only that I have men searching the woods for any sign of infestation and that I appointed a new captain of the guard in Huma’s absence.”

  The urge to react was nearly overwhelming, but Huma’s training enabled him to resist. Rennard had stood by him.

  “I see,” said Lord Oswal. “That will be all, then. Knight Huma, it is my recommendation to Lord Arak Hawkeye that you be allowed a second chance. It is obvious that you were pitted against magic of exceptional magnitude and that your leaving the camp without giving warning was due to this.”

  Bennett’s stare was deathly, but Huma was too relieved to care.

  “Thank you, milord—milords.”

  The High Warrior waved a hand. “You two are dismissed.”

  Lord Hawkeye added, “Knights Huma and Rennard, you are both relieved from duty for the night. Get some rest.”

  Rennard merely nodded as if he had known all along how the meeting would turn out. They left as the three commanders turned to one another. Bennett’s voice was rising in anger. He apparently felt that the Measure demanded far greater punishment for what was to him an obvious act of deadly thoughtlessness. Both Huma and Rennard, however, were out of hearing range before any reply was made.

  “That went well,” Rennard added casually.

  Huma could not look at him. “Thank you, Rennard.”

  “For what? That? Someone must save you from yourself. Besides, I would not give Bennett the satisfaction. Not even for the Oath. Or the Measure.”

  His words left Huma hanging. Rennard lived by a code of his own, it seemed.

  They walked in silence the rest of the way.

  A great bronze tower loomed before Huma. It hung on the edge of nothingness, and that nothingness was known as the Abyss. The tower, though metal, was crumbling from great age.

  Huma felt himself drawn unwillingly toward the single gate of that tower. Things that should have been dead offered to lead the way. Lepers gave lipless smiles. A plague victim, once a woman, reached out to take his hand. With a convulsion of horror, he saw that it was
his mother. Huma cringed, and she vanished.

  The mold-enshrouded gate descended for him. From within, a hand beckoned him forward. A tall figure awaited, dressed in tattered clothes with a rusting crown upon—its head? There was no face beneath that crown, only two red orbs in a sea of infinity.

  Behind him, the gate closed silently.

  Huma awoke sweating. The camp had not risen yet, although the knights would be stirring soon. Huma was thankful for that. After the dream, he had no great desire to return to his slumbers.

  Such vivid dreams had never plagued him before. There were those who said such dreams held significance, although what this one meant was beyond Huma. Not that he did not recognize the bronze tower and the evil that dwelled within it. It was a vivid page from his education, when a cleric of Paladine had introduced him to the gods who would throw down light. The name by which this particular evil went was Morgion, and he thrived on decay of the world.

  If ever a god had profited by this endless war, it was Morgion. Decay was everywhere, even in those cities untouched by the war itself—and if not physical decay, moral decay, as in the jaded city of the Ergothian emperor himself, a man who, it was rumored, was so pampered he did not even know there was a war on.

  If decay was rampant, disease had become a natural way of life. Huma hugged himself at the memory of his mother. Her death by plague had changed everything. Alone, he heard the calling of his father, the man he had never known but who controlled his very existence. The price, though …

  Shaking off the dream, he rose and readied himself for the day ahead. Rennard had promised to speak with Lord Hawkeye about increased command for Huma. The incident concerning Magius was forgotten as far as the gaunt knight was concerned. There were more important things to attend to.

  A muffled groan made him look down. Kaz, waking from the noise, blinked and revealed two blurry eyes. The expression was so much like that of a farm animal awakening that Huma could not suppress a brief smile.

  The minotaur settled back down to sleep. As of yet, Kaz knew nothing of the night’s events. Satisfied that they had finally drained him of all information possible, the commanding knights had finally allowed the minotaur a decent night’s sleep.

  Yawning, Huma gazed out beyond the fringe of the camp to where the first glint of dawn was revealing itself between the trees.

  His eyes locked in gaze with the sightless orbs of what could only be the creature Magius had called a dreadwolf.

  In some past time, it might have been a true wolf. The general body structure conformed, but it was as if some perverse necromancer had raised it from the dead and only partially succeeded. Not one hair graced its bone-white body. There did not even seem to be skin. It was like the ghost of some animal killed and skinned by a hunter. Although it was a good twenty feet away, Huma could smell the odor of the night before. The stench of decay. Of death.

  It knew he was there. Despite the obvious sightlessness of its eyes, it sensed him, knew him. Behind the dead eyes was a cold, evil intelligence that seemed to mock the knight.

  Without taking his eyes from it, Huma leaned toward the minotaur. “Kaz.”

  He felt Kaz stiffen. A husky whisper came back to him. “Huma?”

  “Roll over. Look beyond me.”

  The minotaur did so. The eyes opened—barely—and at first Kaz did not see it, as blurry-eyed with sleep as he was. Only when he dared to open them farther did Kaz notice the horrid creature. The stench filled the minotaur’s nose.

  “By my ancestors,” Kaz hissed. “A dreadwolf, Huma!”

  “I know.” The minotaur knew of them, then. What was the wolf creature doing here? the knight wondered. Magius had said they would leave when they discovered him gone. Why was the foul creature still here, and daring the dawn as well? How had it made its way past the sentries?

  The dreadwolf continued to stare at Huma with its dead eyes. It was here for him, there was no doubt about it. It was, he realized, a messenger of some sort.

  “I must go closer.”

  Kaz rose quickly, ax in hand. The creature, though, scarcely glanced at Huma’s unusual companion. It seemed to grow more eager as Huma took a couple of tentative steps toward it.

  “Huma, no!” Kaz was speaking loudly now. That no sentry came running disturbed Huma. Was the beast’s master so powerful that he could lock an entire camp into slumber?

  Huma shrugged off the minotaur’s hand and moved even closer to the dreadwolf. The tail of the abomination wagged back and forth in a lazy motion. It opened its jaws and Huma now could make out the rotting, yellow teeth still sharp enough to tear the flesh from his arm. The dreadwolf licked its jaws, and the mouth settled into what Huma feared was a knowing grin.

  When the knight had dared to step within ten feet of it, the creature opened its maw again. What came out startled Huma so much, he was almost ready to turn and run.

  “Huuuuumaaaaa …”

  Behind him, Kaz swore an oath. Huma steadied himself. His sword was out, but he did not know how much good it would do against an unliving thing like this.

  “Huma.” His name came more clearly now, and it was followed by dark laughter.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The dreadwolf seemed to contemplate him before it spoke again. When it did, the amusement was more than obvious. “You gave us a merry chase, Knight of Solamnia. Cost us a valuable servant, too. We think you be as great a danger as your treacherous friend, Magius.”

  “Magius.” Huma showed no reaction to the foul creature. Did they have Magius?

  “We know where he is now. He will learn what it is to betray Galan Dracos.”

  Galan Dracos. Leader of the renegades, Servant of the Dark Queen. Huma knew the name and knew the evil behind it.

  As if in contempt, the dreadwolf sat on its haunches. Huma wondered briefly whether it had any reasoning of its own or whether it was merely a puppet of a controlling force.

  “Crynus was very taken with you after that brief clash. He was very near to capturing your friend when you happened along. No surprise when we realized who you were. Your good friend Magius used you as a decoy, young knight. Did you realize that?”

  Heavy footsteps beside Huma told him that Kaz had moved closer. The dreadwolf turned its sightless eyes toward the minotaur briefly and then ignored him, resuming its speech.

  “It was the desire of Crynus to pluck you from the camp personally and remove you to his citadel, there to battle with you at his leisure.”

  Huma’s throat felt dry. “I was lucky.”

  “Luck is a skill. Were you to live much longer, you might learn that.”

  Both knight and minotaur tensed. Each expected the forest to overflow suddenly with the ghoulish forms of countless dreadwolves. Nothing materialized, and the single creature mocked them again with its nearly human smile.

  “You have nothing to fear from me. No, if anything, you should fear yourself, Knight of the Crown. At the moment, you are your own worst enemy.”

  With another laugh, the dreadwolf sprang to its feet. Kaz swung at it, but the creature merely spun around and sprinted off into the woods. Both knew there was no following.

  “What was that all about?” the minotaur wondered.

  “He came to mock me, it seems.” Huma sheathed his sword. “But why would Crynus even bother with someone like me?”

  “Perhaps he is more interested in this friend of yours. Perhaps this friend is not so close to capture, and this is merely some ploy. Who is this Magius?”

  Huma briefly related the details of the night’s incident. The minotaur’s face darkened as he realized all this had happened while he slept. As Huma finished, some of the other knights began to stir.

  “What should I do?”

  Kaz shook his head. “I know what I might do, but your ways are not mine, Knight of Solamnia. I suggest you try the walking corpse. He seems to be your ally.”

  Kaz was right, Huma decided. Maybe Rennard could explain the words
of Galan Dracos.

  Suddenly a great wind picked up and several huge shapes seemed to materialize out of the sky itself. All around the camp, knights were looking up into the sky at a sight that could only inspire them. Majestic, winged creatures circled the camp several times; gold, silver, bronze, copper, the dragons were magnificent in their glory. A few brass dragons flew alongside, but only a few. They much preferred the heat of the deserts.

  Huma estimated some thirty to forty of the creatures, quite a massive force, especially if organized. That was the one advantage they had over their dark cousins; the dragons of Takhisis were apt to fight among themselves, sometimes even in battle. The dragons of light were always quick to take advantage of such incidents.

  With the coming of the dragons, Huma momentarily forgot his fears. The presence of dragons always filled him with an almost childlike delight. He began to hurry to where they were landing, ignoring the shouts of Kaz, who had no desire to confront dragons so soon again.

  Huma was not the only one running. Even the veterans came rushing, for a visit by the dragons often meant news of great importance.

  When Huma arrived at the place of landing, he saw that the three commanders of the army were already engaged in conversation with an immense dragon of gold. Despite its massiveness, the dragon spoke in quiet, almost scholarly tones. The creature’s news must have proved troubling, though, for Huma noted the dark look on Lord Oswal’s face.

  Huma spotted Rennard. The knight seemed even more pale than usual and looked surprised when Huma called to him.

  “What news, Rennard?”

  “The eastern forces are in retreat.”

  The tonelessness of Rennard’s voice caused Huma to miss the magnitude of the gaunt knight’s statement. When realization did hit, Huma could only stand and gape before finally drawing enough breath to spit out the same words he had just heard. He repeated them once more, then shook his head.

  “It’s not possible! The knighthood has never suffered such a defeat!”