The Legend of Huma

by Richard Knaak

  He was still pondering when something of tremendous power struck him and Gwyneth. What seemed to be a giant hand plucked him from the saddle.

  The world vanished.

  He awoke in a narrow hall. Only one torch lit a dim corridor. The walls were cold stone, and the place had a dank smell. It nauseated Huma.

  Why was he here? If it was a trap created and sprung by Dracos, why was the knight not locked in a dungeon cell, his weapons and armor stripped?

  Weapons. He reached down by his side and felt the hilt of his sword. After a quick inspection, he determined that he still had his knives as well. What sort of trick was this?

  The clank of metal alerted him to the presence of armored figures just down a side corridor. Huma drew his sword carefully. He did not trust these corridors enough to go racing down them blindly. They reminded him too much of the cavern tunnels in which he had been hounded by Wyrmfather.

  Sword raised, he stood on the right side of the corridor intersection and held his breath. By his reckoning, there were at least two. He could hope to get the first one and possibly the second, but not three without a general alarm being raised.

  A dark boot came into sight. The familiar ebony armor swerved to the left. A second guardsman followed the first. Huma held his breath.

  A gauntleted hand shot toward the long, wicked blade Huma had seen earlier in the hands of the dragonrider commander. The first guardsman turned around at the noise and went for his. Though the second had noticed Huma, he was unable to draw his sword quickly enough. Huma ran him through the neck before the jagged blade was even halfway out of its scabbard.

  The walls rang as Huma ducked a swing by the other attacker. The guardsman’s blade cut deep into the stone and yet slid out easily. Huma parried a second attack and then took the lead.

  His opponent was good, but not as good as a well-trained Knight of Solamnia. Defenses became more and more sloppy as the jet-black figure realized he lacked the skill to overcome the trespasser. Huma forced the other’s sword high, and kicked. Quarters were too close for the guardsman to dodge. As his opponent fell back and tried to recover, the knight ran him through.

  The noise would surely bring someone.

  Huma stared down both the corridor the guards had come from and the one they had chosen at the intersection. Both seemed to go on and on.

  As quietly as possible, he began to make his way down the corridor in the opposite direction. It was virtually dark and Huma had to feel along the walls to make sure he was not missing any side corridors or intersections.

  Where was the silver dragon? he wondered. Where was Gwyneth? the knight corrected himself. Whatever shape or form she wore, she was Gwyneth; he understood that much even if he really did not understand his own feelings. She had to be here somewhere, Huma reasoned. Perhaps, like himself, she was wandering aimlessly in some darkened part of the citadel in a fruitless search for him.

  On impulse, he withdrew the medallion from his chest and held it close. Its warmth filled him, and the medallion began to glow with an intensity akin to the Dragonlances. Just then, a voice echoed down the hallway.

  Two voices spoke in hisses. Not members of the warlord’s Black Guard, for they rarely spoke, Huma had noticed. Mages—but were they renegades or those who had sworn to aid the knighthood?

  He held his blade ready, silently cursing the lack of true light. Darkness was a magic-user’s friend, for, like an assassin, magic-users were notorious for sleight-of-hand skills. Huma hoped he could take both of them quickly.

  “He must be here!”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “The renegade had them both. He—aaaugh!”

  The first of the two spellcasters suddenly found himself standing with a sword point beneath his chin. His companion made no move to attack Huma.

  “No false moves,” the knight whispered.

  “It is him!” the other mage hissed at his comrade.

  “I can see that!” the spellcaster said, then added to Huma, “We are allies! Did not Gunther tell you?” The spellcaster’s face was difficult to read in the dark, but Huma thought his eyes were wide with fear.

  “Gunther?”

  “Slight, with animal features. Bald.”

  A simple description, but fairly accurate. That did not mean these two were friends, however.

  “He gave you a tiny, emerald sphere.”

  “All right.” It was risky, but Huma decided to lower the sword. The mages sighed audibly. Both were of average height and one was on the heavy side, but Huma could only guess at details.

  “Another time and we might have taught you what it is to threaten one of the Order of Nuitari,” the heavier one grumbled. “But now circumstances force us to aid you.”

  “I care for it as little as you.”

  “Dracos knew you would take the empty courtyard as an invitation to land, but he planned a surprise for you. We did not have the time to seize both of you, so we settled on you as most important. In order to prevent one of the renegades from tracing you, we were forced to fling you to a random location in the castle and hope for the best.”

  “I had a very good idea where you would land; there was no reason to worry.” The narrower of the two mages gave an audible sniff of contempt.

  “Some of us are purely lucky at times.” The words of the stocky mage were aimed at his companion, and Huma got the vague notion that they were brothers of the flesh as well as of the cloth. “Be that as it may, we want you—”

  “You want?” Huma’s grip on his sword tightened, and he waved it at the level of the two spellcasters’ throats. “I do not take orders from Black Robes. We work together, yes, but as equals.”

  Twin sighs. Allies such as these Huma could have done without, yet they had saved his life once already.

  “What happened to the dragon I was riding?”

  “That thing?” asked the first mage. “It’s frozen. In stasis. Galan Dracos wastes no raw material.”

  “What does that mean?” The thought that something terrible might be happening to Gwyneth even now nearly put Huma into a panic. The mages mistook that panic for murderous anger and quickly did their best to placate him.

  “Nothing! He’s much too busy at the moment! He has some grand spell which he claims is going to change Krynn forever. He has no time for the dragon.”

  Huma took a deep breath and calmed. “You’ve been of invaluable assistance up to now, but I think you have compromised yourselves. Surely he suspects all Black Robes by this time?”

  The thin mage sniffed again. “He does not know how great the revolt has become. He suspects it is only a few disgruntled members of our Order. He does not suspect that it is a mass conversion. We will not bow down as slaves to the cur and his mistress.”

  “Be silent,” hissed the first. “You’ll draw her attention, and that is the one thing we cannot face!”

  “Cannot?” Huma looked at both of them in disgust and wished they could truly see his expression. “So. You still intend for me to do all the work for you. Fine. Which way lies Galan Dracos?”

  “You cannot be that mad!” It was difficult to tell which of the two had spoken.

  “Which way?”

  “We brought him here,” said the first to the second. “We may as well get it over with.”

  “This is not the way we planned.”

  “Has anything we planned from the beginning gone as we thought? Sagathanus died the first time he spoke up against the renegades—and he was the one who recruited them, promised them that we would agree to coexistence with them! That they would no longer be hunted down and destroyed if they refused to join the Three Orders and obey the guiding laws set down by the Conclave!”

  “That was our mistake! We promised them freedom to continue their abominable experiments—experiments that go beyond even our tolerant limits.”

  Huma prevented the present argument from going any further by thrusting the tip of his blade between the faces of the two bickering spe
llcasters. They became stone-silent instantly.

  “Galan Dracos? Last time. Where?”

  The stocky mage listed a sequence of turns and distances, repeated it again, and then asked Huma if he had it memorized. Huma did.

  “We shall endeavor to free the dragon if we can. If not …” The mage shrugged.

  “What about my other companions?”

  “They departed when the trap was sprung. I cannot say whether they will return. Perhaps they have scurried back to Vingaard.”

  Huma ignored the jibe. He was sure the others were nearby and were planning. It would be best if he continued his present course of action.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall. The two magic-users literally jumped.

  “Go,” whispered the narrow one.

  With quick steps, Huma moved away from the Black Robes. He faintly heard the sounds of voices and realized that the two were stalling for him as long as they could.

  Ahead he saw the shadows of armored men. Huma ducked back into another corridor and waited.

  Six guards walked by silently, their attention fixed on whatever duties they had been given.

  The Black Robes were in more danger than they knew. If Huma read the situation correctly, the guardsmen were beginning the process of rounding them up—if they did not intend to kill them immediately. That would leave Huma alone to deal with Galan Dracos and his goddess of pure evil.

  Huma paused at the next turn, for he was suddenly confronted by three brightly lit passages.

  Voices. Huma crept closer—then froze as he recognized one.

  “You know what to do with the gem, Gharis?”

  “A place has been chosen, Master Galan. We will wait for your signal there.”

  “It’s merely a safeguard, Gharis. She demanded it—but it is my signal that you will obey when the time comes. Understand?”

  The one called Gharis answered with a slurring voice. Huma suspected Dracos had need to reinforce his commands with something akin to mesmerism.

  Apparently satisfied that he would be obeyed, Galan Dracos ordered the other to depart immediately. Huma stumbled back, but Gharis—seemingly a renegade like his master, for he wore a plain, brown cloak and not one of black—did not depart through that entrance. Instead, his footsteps dwindled away in another direction.

  There was more than one entrance to the chamber. Apprehensively, Huma set off toward the chamber down another corridor. Slowly, as he edged closer, he peeked into the room.

  If anything, the chamber was more a design in madness than the rest of the castle was. Huge, demonic figures lined the walls, each appearing ready to pounce upon any unsuspecting intruder. The thought made Huma shiver. Chief among the artifacts in the room was a platform seemingly made of black crystal. It rose in four tiers, upon the last of which stood a gleaming emerald sphere.

  The knight pulled back quickly. Dracos was indeed there and standing before the sphere, his back turned toward Huma. The presence of the mage had been expected, but sitting calmly behind the sphere, three times the size of a man and watching intently, was a green dragon.

  Huma had never seen such a dragon, and that was what disturbed him.

  “You see now why I have always held the upper hand, do you not, my little friend?”

  “Great is Master Galan,” the young dragon hissed. It had a cruel, sly voice even for one of its kind. What little Huma knew of the green dragons revealed them to be the most sinister, for they worked most often through trickery and deceit. Open combat was not their way, but they were just as respected for their physical abilities as their minds—their convoluted, treacherous minds.

  “Cyan Bloodbane learns much watching Master Galan.”

  The renegade’s laugh was just as cold and cruel as the young dragon’s voice. “Cyan Bloodbane will never grow to his full potential if he thinks to ever master me. You are an experiment, Cyan. Through me, you have come to understand the minds of humans, elves, dwarves, and all the other races as none of your kind has. When you are fully grown, your name will strike terror even in their dreams—but not if you cross me.”

  Something began to choke uncontrollably, and Huma wondered if perhaps the dragon had decided to end the mage’s arrogant speech. A moment later, he heard Cyan Bloodbane apologizing frantically.

  “Master Galan is all-powerful! No more! Please!”

  “This room grows too foul from your chlorine-infested breath. Depart! I will summon you when I wish your presence again.”

  “Master!” Wings flapped, and Huma realized that this chamber must have an outside entrance on a higher level.

  The sound of footsteps alerted him that Dracos was moving away. Huma dared peer around again and caught sight of the mage’s back before the latter disappeared through another archway. The chamber torches seemed to dim as he departed.

  Huma took a step into the chamber. He half expected some sorcerous trap, but nothing so much as flickered.

  With carefully measured steps, he made his way to the black, crystalline platform and stared at the large sphere. Perhaps, he thought, this was what his tiny guide had been drawn to. Perhaps this was how Dracos kept the existence of the castle from the outside world—or it might be—

  He was struck by a wave of revulsion that made him stagger and nearly caused him to drop his sword. It was coming, he realized dimly, from the globe itself. Huma closed his eyes briefly and concentrated. The hatred vanished, to be replaced with contempt and humor as someone mocked him—mocked his very existence. Huma forced his eyes open, knowing what he would see and refusing to let it daunt him.

  She was there, staring at him from somewhere, staring at him through the sphere.

  Takhisis.

  Oddly, Huma’s first thought was whether Galan Dracos knew that she could reach into this chamber. Did she suspect—as Huma was just beginning to—that, based on his commands to the mesmerized servant, Dracos plotted something against her? Surely she suspected that one as ambitious as the renegade would never be satisfied unless he controlled all. Was that perhaps why she smiled?

  Smiled? There had been no true face there at first. Now, though, the Dark Queen permitted herself eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It was a feminine face, though she might very well have appeared as an armored warrior or even a tree if it suited her fancy.

  In truth, the more he stared, the more Huma knew that he had never seen such a beautiful face. These were the sculpted features of a queen among queens, truly an immortal. A man could easily become lost in that beauty—for eternity. For such a small price. What had the knighthood given him but misery? Because of it, he had lost his parents, Rennard, and countless comrades, including Buoron. Even his love had been taken away from him—

  Lies! The fog lifted from his mind and he saw the lies behind the so-called truths. Rennard had been lost long before the knighthood; he had been responsible for the death of Huma’s mother. Huma’s father, Durac, had died fighting for something he believed in desperately, something he found worth dying for. As for Gwyneth—the thought remained unfinished.

  Rather than strike him down, the Dark Queen merely smiled.

  The face vanished. Only a touch of the evil that was the Dragonqueen remained behind to remind him what he had just experienced.

  “I think it is time to end this game,” said Galan Dracos suddenly.

  CHAPTER 30

  Galan Dracos folded his arms and stared at the knight. His thin lips were curled in a smile like a scavenger.

  The renegade mage reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak so that his face was fully visible. His hair, thin and straggly, was plastered to his skull and formed a widow’s peak on his forehead. The head itself was elongated, almost inhuman. The mage reached out and patted the bone-white head of one of a pair of dreadwolfs that flanked him; the motion revealed long, bony fingers ending in talons.

  “And so, we come to the end. I would have wanted it no other way. You had to be here to see my triumph … the ultimate triumph.”

  “
You knew I was here?”

  “The followers of Nuitari do him no credit. They are so caught up in their self-importance that they do not realize what one can do when unconstrained by the laws set by those fools running the Conclave of the Three Orders. I wouldn’t look for support from them.”

  As Dracos spoke, Huma was gauging his options—and there were not many. A plan born of desperation filtered through his mind. Huma took a step back and held his free hand over the great sphere in which the knight, only moments before, had faced the vision of the Dragonqueen. “One motion and I shatter this. Where will your dreams be then?

  “They would literally fall to pieces—if you could indeed break the globe. I offer you the opportunity to try.”

  Huma struck the top of the emerald sphere as hard as he could. His gauntleted hand bounced off. There was not even a single scratch on the globe.

  “You see?”

  Huma nodded and allowed his free hand to fall casually to his belt.

  “I think—” was all Galan Dracos managed to say before Huma pulled out a sharp blade and threw it directly at the mage.

  The dagger flew with accuracy. Yet, the renegade merely raised a finger and the blade slowed, arched—and blew back toward Huma. The knight dove forward and tumbled down the steps of the crystalline platform. The knife bounced off the huge green sphere and fell with a clatter to the floor.

  “Pathetic. I had expected more of you after all this.” Before Huma could steady himself, Dracos snapped his fingers. The knight suddenly was gripped from behind by massive hands seemingly made of stone. He struggled, trying to pry apart the thick, monstrous fingers. The unseen menace did not waver, and Huma’s armor began to dig into his flesh.

  “Against that wall.” Dracos pointed.

  Huma was whirled around and lifted up. Something cold and rocky caught hold of each wrist and then his ankles. The knight was trapped.

  The rapid, precise movements had given Huma no opportunity to glimpse the mage’s servant. Suddenly, Huma could see with dismay that his captor had actually been one of the gargoyles lining the room. As Huma watched, the gargoyle slowly returned to its niche. Over his shoulder, Huma could see that another gargoyle, little more than arms, held him tight against the wall.