"Warn me? About what?"

"Only this morning—" The other knight looked around. "—the Grand Master, Lord Trake, passed away, victim of some foul, wasting disease." No! Huma nearly shouted. The Grand Master dead! Trake had never cared for Huma—in fact, despised him as did his son, Bennett—but Huma could not help feeling the grief, as would all his fellows at the death of the head of the knighthood.

"I did not know. The people in the village seemed uneasy, but they did not—"

"They do not know!" the other knight hissed. "Lord Oswal has decreed that no word shall pass from the Keep until a new Grand Master has been chosen! If word should leak out that we are in such disarray, our last defenses will crumble!" Last defenses? "Tell me—"

"Garvin."

'Tell me, Garvin, what happened when the darkness overcame our lines? Where do we stand now?" Huma clutched at the arms of the other knight.

"Didn't you come through it?" Garvin eyed Huma curiously. 'The front is no more than two days' ride either east or west. The warlord's Black Guard moves untouched through the south. Most of our outposts are cut off. We are cut off."

"Is there no hope?"

Garvin stiffened. "We are Knights of Solamnia, Huma." Huma nodded, knowing they would fight to the end, regardless. His mind turned to the cavern, the challenges, and, mostly, to the sword. He yearned for it now. In his hand, it would cleave through the Queen's evil forces. Solamnia would be victorious. Huma might even carve for himself some tiny kingdom—

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He shook his head violently, and Garvin frowned in puzzlement. Huma forced the ungodly thoughts from his mind. The sword was not Paladine's legacy to the knighthood. For all its majesty and power, something about it sickened Huma even as he yearned for it. Not that it mattered; he had lost everything when he had fallen through the mirror. It was hopeless. No! He straightened and gave Garvin an apologetic smile for his odd actions. There was still time if he could make someone listen.

"Garvin, where might I find Lord Oswal?"

"Now?" The other knight stared at the darkened sky from the shelter. "It is past supper, I know that. He would be in his quarters. He is preparing for the Knightly Council tomorrow night."

'They are going to wait until tomorrow night before choosing a new Grand Master?

The Queen's servants could be at our gates tonight! The dragons at the very least!" Garvin nodded. "So Lord Oswal said, but the Council will be the Council."

"I must speak with him now, then."

Huma hurried out into the rain.

It had never really rained like this since the war's beginning, Lord Oswal decided. In the past, it had always been nothing more than a mist. Now, it was almost as if the rain could wash it all away.

The High Warrior started from his daydreaming. He was becoming senile, he decided, to be thinking of rain when the fate of the knighthood and of the world might rest on getting the dunderheads of the Council to speed up their decision on who would be Grand Master. He had ruined his own chances by admitting to his indecision at the rout. It had been only a momentary lapse, shock at the sudden turn in events and the realization that they could not fight this attack. The losses had been costly.

Oswal's nephew Bennett was maneuvering his own faction. He always remained within the bounds of the Oath and the Measure, but he was ambitious and would try to manipulate the decision. Logically, one of the three heads of the Orders should be the late Grand Master's successor. But Bennett believed he should follow his father. Trake had always desired that. Only Oswal stood in his way, now.

"Lord Oswal?"

He looked up to see Rennard watching him intently. The pale knight stood next to the only other chair in Oswal's room.

Rennard. Despite his cold exterior, the High Warrior had almost as much regard for Rennard as he did for Huma. Only—Huma had been lost in the debacle. Huma apparently had stood fast in the end.

"What is it, Rennard?"

"You've still not formulated your plans. I think it might be wise—" There was a commotion outside as the two guards stationed at his chamber doors argued with someone. The newcomer was insistent, and there was something familiar about his voice.

"Rennard, what—?"

The pale knight had opened the door and—the elder knight could scarcely believe it—

now gaped open-mouthed at a bedraggled knight struggling with the two guards. It took only seconds for Lord Oswal to recognize the newcomer, and then he, too, was staring in surprise and delight.

"Huma!"

The sentries immediately stopped struggling as they noted the tone of their superior. Rennard recovered also and, typically, simply said, "Let him by." Released, Huma burst into the room. "My Lord Oswal, Rennard—" 102

"At attention, Huma," the gaunt knight interrupted.

Huma immediately stiffened. Rennard turned to the High Warrior, who nodded. To the guards, Rennard said, "Resume your posts; that is the High Warrior's orders." Once the door was closed, Lord Oswal stared at the trembling knight. Huma had something to say and wanted to say it before it burst from his head, it seemed.

"At ease, Huma. Come and sit down. Tell us about the miracle that allows you to return from the dead."

Huma knelt before the elder knight. Relieved at last, the story spilled from him in a torrent.

Lord Oswal and Rennard listened intently as each part of Huma's tale unfolded. The quest of Magius—the chase of the Black Guard—the ever-present dreadwolves—the mountains, the cavern, the dragon, the sword ... Had it not been Huma who spoke, neither of the knights would have believed a word. As it was, they truly believed. The great clang of metal upon metal, so much like the sounds of the Keep's own forge, interested Lord Oswal most. He asked Huma his opinion of the noise.

"A workplace of the gods. There is no other way to describe it. If it is not Reorx who shapes the metal somewhere within that mountain ... I can add nothing more, save that I feel I must go back," Huma said, adding, "If Paladine wills it."

"Well." It was all the High Warrior could say at first. Rennard simply nodded. Lord Oswal thought for a moment. 'This sword sounds fascinating. Could it—?" Huma interjected immediately. "I fear it is lost to us. Wyrmfather acts as its tomb." His tone was cautious. He wanted them to forget the sword, not only because of his wariness of it, but because of the temptation Huma felt to grip the blade and wield it. The High Warrior took his words at face value. "I'll trust to your judgment." He looked from Huma to Rennard and then back again. "It seems to me that we cannot let this matter sit for very long. Time is running out for all of us." Nervous enthusiasm in control, Huma quickly spoke. "I need only transportation. A horse—are the dragons about? One of them, maybe?"

The High Warrior frowned. "There is nothing I can do for you anyway, Huma. Not at present. If I send you off on some wild quest, I lose the chance of keeping the knighthood from the hands of those more interested in power and esteem than the Oath and the Measure. You will have to wait until a new Grand Master is chosen." Huma looked perplexed. "But, surely you—"

"I have been found wanting. It may be another."

"But—" Huma could not believe his mission was to be delayed—possibly denied—for such a petty reason.

"I believe I can win my case, Huma. I'm sorry, but you will have to wait. Rennard, he is one of yours. See to it that he is cleaned up, fed, and allowed to sleep. I'll want to see a clearer head on his shoulders come the morrow."

"Yes, milord." Rennard put a friendly but firm hand on Huma's shoulders. The younger knight stood up reluctantly.

They parted silently. Huma's depression deepened. Not only was his quest threatened, but so was the life of a man who had been the closest thing to a father he had ever had. No one but Lord Oswal could lead the knights in this time. Bennett, for all his prowess, lacked experience. Even Huma knew that. The Knights of Solamnia needed strong leadership, leadership that only Lord Oswal could provide, Huma believed. Without Oswal, the knighthood would splinter.

Without the High Warrior in command, Huma suddenly realized, he could never return to the mountain.

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CHAPTER 18

The rain did not let up that night. Exhausted as he was, Huma could not sleep. Like Lord Oswal, he saw some significance in the sudden change from perpetual cloud cover to the incessant rain that so affected nerves as time passed.

He heard horses trotting past. Even in the dead of night, there was always activity. Some men slept, others worked. Vingaard Keep would never be caught off-guard. A returning patrol, he decided. The sounds dwindled off in the direction of the stables. Huma wondered what news, if any, they would bring. Had the lines backed up even farther?

Would the knights soon be able to view the front from the Keep itself? How long before the pincer finally closed upon the cradle of the knighthood?

Huma stood up slowly, so as not to disturb those around him in the common quarters shared by Knights of the Crown. The building was essentially one great room with row upon row of hard, flat beds and small storage areas for each occupant. As the knights slept in shifts, the room was never full. Also, many were away from the Keep for one reason or another. Only the higher-ranking knights had quarters of their own.

A breath of fresh air, he decided, would do him good. With careful steps, he maneuvered around his fellows and eventually made his way to the door.

The air was cool and the wind a little more brisk than he had imagined. He breathed in deeply, thankful for the moment when he could briefly relax from all the sorrows and confusion. Huma prayed that all would go well tomorrow.

He blinked. His eyes began to play tricks on him, and he was sure for a brief moment that a dark figure had moved near Lord Oswal's chambers, just behind the two guards. He considered alerting someone, but neither guard seemed disturbed, and when he looked again there was no sign of the supposed intruder. Huma had no desire to bring ridicule upon himself. Not now. He stared out into the night and, after a few minutes, retired. Sleep came more swiftly this time.

The next day passed far too quickly. It had been Huma's intention to steer clear of the other knights, at least until the question of leadership was resolved. Too much had happened to him, and he did not trust himself to remain neutral on the subject. What he said, he knew, would be a reflection on Lord Oswal, who had always stood by him. Even Rennard might be affected.

Yet Lord Oswal summoned Huma just two hours before the Knightly Council was to meet. The Knight of the Rose who brought the message eyed Huma with great curiosity, but, loyal as he was to the High Warrior, he asked no questions.

As Huma was crossing to Lord Oswal's quarters, he was confronted by the very figure he had intended to avoid.

"They told me you were alive. I had my doubts, though, until I saw you just now." Bennett was clad in formal attire, including a purple cloak bearing the standard of both the knighthood and his family's personal holdings. A black sash ran diagonally across his breastplate. Even now, with the rain still lightly falling and the true night almost upon them, he seemed to gleam. Regardless of all else, Bennett was his father's son. The hawklike features were a copy of the elder knight.

"My apologies, Lord Bennett." The family holdings had been ruled equally by Oswal and Trake until the latter's rise to Grand Master. Now, as Trake's heir, Bennett held that title with his uncle. As Oswal had no heirs of his own, the holdings would someday be under the rule of only one man. "I had meant to offer my sympathies sooner—"

"Do not play me for a fool, goatherder," Bennett rejoined. "You have stayed away from me because we have ever been enemies. I still do not believe you belong among us, but 104

my own good heart has made your ouster all but impossible now. Little did I know when I praised you—posthumously, I thought—that you would return." Huma's entire body felt taut, but he would not allow himself to be provoked by Bennett. He was sure much of the anger in the son of the late Grand Master was due to his father's untimely death.

"I have never been your enemy, milord. Rather, I have always admired you, despite your protest over my selection." Bennett's face actually evidenced mild surprise as Huma spoke. "Your bearing, your skill, your ability to command under the most adverse conditions—you are what I strive to be, what I may never be. I only ask for the opportunity to do my duty."

Bennett's mouth clamped shut. He stared at Huma briefly, then muttered, "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Huma raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" The newest Lord of Baxtrey, though, had already turned away. All Huma could do was watch him vanish into the midst of the Keep.

Huma proceeded to meet with Lord Oswal.

Rennard was there. Huma interrupted them as they inspected a map. Lord Oswal was pointing to a spot near the north. They looked up as Huma was admitted, and the High Warrior smiled thinly. Rennard merely nodded.

Lord Oswal rolled up the map. "Were you away from the Crown's general quarters?"

"No. I had the misfortune of confronting your nephew, milord." The elder knight shook his head. He was looking much more drained than he had the night before. "Yes. Pay him no mind, Huma. He is unsettled by the fact that you've seemingly come back from the dead."

"He still hates what I am."

"Then he is a fool," Rennard suddenly interjected. "You have proved to be ten times the knight he is."

"I thank you, though I do not believe that."

"Then you are also a fool."

Lord Oswal interrupted. "The last thing we need is to fight among ourselves," The High Warrior put a hand to his forehead, nearly knocking over a lit candle in the process. Huma reached for him, but Oswal waved him away. "I'm fine. Didn't seem to get enough sleep last night, though. A bad night for insomnia, I should think."

"Will you be able to go through with the Council meeting?" asked Rennard.

"What choice have I? Perhaps it's only my personal opinion, but if my nephew—who I must point out thinks he is doing what is best—has any control over the next Grand Master, we will be plunged into disaster."

The intensity of the High Warrior's opinion of his nephew surprised Huma. He had known they did not get along, but this . . . "Why so?"

"Bennett, like many of us, is too caught up in the legends of the knighthood. He is the kind of leader who will have every able knight in Vingaard Keep attacking in one massive, heroic charge that will end in the death of all."

"Would he?" Huma's tone was doubtful. Even against the darkness, Bennett appeared calculating and in full command of his senses.

"He would. You never see Bennett in a command meeting; he is the one for lighting strikes or waves of destruction, never solid, long-term strategies. Since Trake's death, I think he is even more determined to do something momentous—to honor his father's memory."

"Huma may have trouble believing that, but I have known Bennett longer. I would concur," added Rennard.

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Lord Oswal looked up at Huma. "Another thing. He would never believe your story of enchanted swords, imprisoned dragons, and god-created challenges that hold the key to victory. I do. Call it faith in Paladine, but I do."

The elder knight leaned forward suddenly, holding a hand against his head.

"Rest. I need some rest," muttered Oswal.

"Help me with him, Huma."

Together, the two knights led the High Warrior to his bed. As they helped him lie down, Lord Oswal took hold of Rennard. "You must see to it that I am awake in time for the Council. Is that understood?"

The pale face turned toward Huma and then back to the High Warrior. With the same lack of emotion he always displayed, Rennard said, "Of course. You know I will."

"Good." Lord Oswal was asleep almost immediately after that. The two knights stepped away quietly. When they were backed up by the door, Rennard turned to Huma.

"He wants you at the Council meeting."

"What about him?" Huma feared for Oswal's health.

"He'll be there. I've promised to take care of him." Rennard actually smiled slightly. "I have everything in hand. You'll see."

Huma made sure that he was one of the first to arrive.

Not all Knightly Councils were open to the population of the Keep. Most consisted only of the ruling knights and any persons involved with some portion of the agenda. There was also a set pattern to events, steps that were followed under normal circumstances. It was the feeling of the ruling body, though, that selecting a replacement for the Grand Master was something all should be involved with and, while not everyone could fit into the chamber, the knighthood as a whole would be well represented.

The masters of the Orders of the Crown and the Sword were already seated. Arak Hawkeye tugged at his tiny goatee and stared rather arrogantly at his counterpart of the Sword. Huma did not recognize the man next to Lord Hawkeye. It was not the same knight who had commanded the Order of the Sword these past four years. The former commander had died in the war to the east, and his replacement had been chosen on the battlefield out of necessity. The knight's angular face reminded Huma of an idealized statue more than a man. His mustache was long and trimmed narrow, his eyes nearly invisible under a thick, shaggy brow. When Bennett entered, it was clear who was the true ruling power in the Order of the Sword, for the other stiffened.

Eventually, the chamber was filled and the waiting began. Only two people of consequence were missing, Rennard and Lord Oswal, The Knightly Council waited patiently, members constantly conferring with one another during that time. At last, Bennett stalked imperiously over to Lord Hawkeye and spoke sharply in an undertone. Hawkeye responded in kind, and the argument raged for several minutes. Regrettably, they were not speaking loud enough to be understood, and Huma could only guess at what might have passed between them.

Just then, Rennard rushed in, out of breath. There was intense strain on his face, and the image of the normally placid knight in such a high emotional state was enough to cause more than one person to rise in expectation of bad news.

Rennard whispered quickly to Lord Hawkeye. Bennett and the other Councilors listened in as best they could. Bennett's face turned white, and he gripped the nearest chair tightly. Arak Hawkeye stood up to face the suddenly anxious crowd.

"This meeting is postponed until further notice. I regret to inform those assembled that Lord Oswal of Baxtrey, High Warrior and master of the Order of the Rose, has been stricken ill—by the same disease that claimed the Grand Master."

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"A quarantine has been imposed on the Keep. Lord Oswal is not expected to live through the night."

Rennard was still shaking.

"I came to wake him as he requested and found him unconscious and shivering in his bed, despite being covered by two or three blankets. I administered what aid I knew and then fetched a cleric."

Huma had never seen him in such a state. It was almost as if the pale knight was reliving his own brush with the plague.

"What did the cleric do?"

"Little. The disease baffles him. Another gift from the Queen, I suppose, damn her existence."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Huma suddenly felt weak. Lord Oswal was his mentor, his friend, the closest thing to his father. He must not die!

"We can only wait and pray." Was there a hint of bitter mockery in Rennard's voice?

Huma could not really blame him. He himself felt so powerless. The Dragonqueen, Crynus, and the renegade mage Galan Dracos must be laughing at their fate, he supposed.

"Huma." Rennard laid a hand on his shoulder. The pale face was still strained. How much Rennard had cared for Oswal! "Get some sleep."

They were in the outer chamber of the Keep's Temple of Paladine, where the High Warrior had been carried in the hopes that the gods might influence Lord Oswal's recovery. At present, the clerics treating the elder knight were in a quandary. One moment they would believe they had beaten the disease, the next moment it would come back, stronger than before. Time was running out. Lord Oswal's body could not stand many more severe swings in health.

Rennard smiled faintly. "I promise you, I will alert you should there be any change." Despite his good intentions, Huma suddenly felt sleepy, almost as if the mere mention of it had made him recognize that fact. He nodded to Rennard and stood up.

"You will wake me."

"I promised Lord Oswal that," Rennard replied bitterly. As Huma departed, he could still hear Bennett's voice coming from the side chamber where the clerics conferred. Bennett seemed to care for his uncle almost as much as he cared for his father. At news of the High Warrior's sickness, it had been Bennett's voice that had prevented the panic and organized the temporary quarantine and the shifting of the ailing noble to the temple. Now, the Knight of the Sword divided his time between praying for his uncle and arguing with clerics, whom he thought were reacting too slowly to the crisis. What of the war? It was as if forgotten by those who cloistered themselves within the walls of the Keep. The thought nagged Huma all the way to his cot. He woke abruptly, his mind startlingly clear. Lord Oswal was his first thought, and Huma immediately assumed the worst. Others slept on, far more used to the daily loss of precious life, it seemed to him.

Huma slipped out into the night and peered around. In the dim torchlight, he could make out sentries keeping vigilant watch on the walls while others patrolled the courtyard. Guards still stood before the doorway leading to the High Warrior's abode. That was a good sign.

Unable to sleep, Huma decided to return to the temple. That Rennard had not come for him did not surprise-him; the pale knight evidently meant to keep vigil through the entire crisis, if at all possible.

The rain had still not let up, and the courtyard was turning into a bowl of muck. The temple of Paladine seemed oddly dark as he neared it. No one stood guard, which did not surprise him. But as he made his way up the steps and was about to knock upon the 107

temple doors, he noticed that one was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he discovered the main corridor also dark. That, he knew, was not as it should be. Here there should have been a sentry or at least a cleric.

Suddenly Huma found himself before one of the Knights of the Rose whose duty it was to act as honor guard and— for this crisis—guardian for the ill High Warrior. The knight stood at the doorway, looking quite stern, and Huma almost hailed him until he realized that the man would not be standing in darkness unless there was a very good reason. Stepping cautiously, Huma made his way across the marble floor and did not stop until he was face-toface with the guard. The Knight of the Rose stared back, but did not see.

Huma held a hand before the other's face. He could feel and hear the man's breathing, but it was the breathing of one deep in sleep. Huma dared slap the knight lightly on the cheek. The guard did not stir.

Leaning closer, Huma inspected the open eyes. They were glazed. He had seen men like this before, men who had been drugged for one reason or another. Huma suspected the Knight of the Rose would remember nothing about his lapse of duty. He also suspected something similar had happened to the rest of the temple's inhabitants—including Rennard. With a prayer to Paladine, Huma drew his sword. He followed the darkened halls until he came to the place where Rennard had sat, only to discover that the gaunt knight was gone. The doorway to the room where Lord Oswal lay resting also was partially open, and Huma discovered two more guards in the same comatose condition.

Huma feared the worst. Rennard and Lord Oswal had both been overwhelmed, he decided quickly.

With measured steps, Huma slowly opened the door to Lord Oswal's chamber. The darkness disoriented him for only a second, then his trained senses located the even darker blur—Lord Oswal standing by the makeshift bed.

Standing? Huma blinked and allowed his eyes to adjust. No, it was not the High Warrior. Oswal was, indeed, lying on the bed. What then? A shadow?

Huma stepped forward and the darkness seemed to shift. He blinked. The figure—or what he had thought was a figure—was no longer there. With some trepidation, Huma moved forward until he was standing next to the still form of Lord Oswal. He was relieved to hear the regular breathing of the High Warrior.

Huma's foot bumped against something. He peered down and found himself staring at the inert body of one of the clerics. The cleric slept as the guards had slept, his eyes glazed and wide. Huma shook him hard in an attempt to wake him, but the man did not even stir. He felt, rather than heard, the darkness stir behind him. He hesitated and that hesitation might have nearly cost him his own life, for something metallic struck his breastplate and would have cut deep into his throat if he had moved any slower. Cursing himself, Huma parried another vicious jab by a tiny, twisted blade. He had his first glance at his attacker, a figure in flowing darkness from which two red, glaring eyes peered. The figure threw the blade at his head, forcing Huma to duck. Even as Huma dodged the weapon, the specter brought forth a small pouch and raised it. The knight scuttled back quickly. There was no denying what he faced now. The actions, the appearance—he was surprised he had not recognized the intruder immediately—

were those of a cultist of Morgion, Lord of Disease and Decay. One of the vermin had made his way into Vingaard Keep—and had so far succeeded in killing one, and possibly two, of the most important figures in the knighthood.

The ragged figure hesitated before throwing the contents of the pouch. Huma leaped forward, his broadsword up and before him. The flat of the blade slammed into the pouch, which burst, but not before the sword's momentum pushed much of 108

it back at the hooded intruder. Huma stumbled back, avoiding the deadly shower that rained on the other. The assassin coughed and hacked as dust flew into his face. He stumbled back, but Huma dared not step forward. The cultist fell toward a pew and then, slowly, pulled himself back up again.

"If you think—" the voice was rough and strained, but familiar "—to kill me with my own tools, know that Morgion protects his own. Besides, I only wished to put you to sleep. Now you leave me no choice."

It was all Huma could do to keep from dropping his sword as the hooded figure's throat cleared itself of dust and his identity was revealed. Huma took a desperate step back, even as the cultist pulled out a broadsword hidden in his robe.

"The knife point would have nicked you, and again you would have slept. I fear, though, that this is all I have left now." The blade came up, its point directed at Huma's neck. Huma could not bring himself to fight. It could not be happening like this. It could not be true. This was some terrible nightmare from which he would awaken!

The assassin laughed quietly. The sword lowered slightly. The laugh seemed to echo through Huma's mind, mocking everything he had ever believed in.

"I had tried to protect you from this. I am sorry, Huma." And though Huma could not speak the words at first, they pounded in his head, cried in his heart.

Why, Rennard?

CHAPTER 19

"Have you nothing to say?" Rennard asked. "We have time. All sleep here. The walls are thick. They will not hear our swords. Yes. I think we have time."

"In Paladine's name, Rennard. Why?"

Huma could almost see the face, despite the hood and darkness. He could almost feel the bitterness as Rennard spoke.

"When I lay dying of plague all those years ago, I pleaded with Paladine, with Mishakal, with all the gods of that house for release. They did nothing. I lingered, wasting away. My visage shocks many now; it would have horrified them even more had they seen it then. I had contracted the Scarlet Plague, you see."

The Scarlet Plague. Of all the forms unleashed over the years, the Scarlet Plague had been the worst. The knighthood had been forced to burn whole villages when the greatest healers could not keep the disease under control. The victims wasted away, but each day was agony and many killed themselves long before the disease had the chance. The name came from the redness of the skin as the victim eventually burned up from the sickness. It was a frightening thing, still talked of in whispers.

'Then when I was sure the agony would finally kill me, I was visited—not by the gods I had pleaded to, but by the one god willing to take away my pain, for a price." The point of the blade rose again. "Morgion. Only he cared to answer my prayers, though I had never looked to him. He was willing to take my pain from me, make me whole if I would become his. It was no difficult decision, Huma. I accepted immediately and gladly." Huma prayed for something—Lord Oswal stirring, knights coming to investigate the darkness, something—but all remained quiet. How long had Rennard planned? How long had he waited for this moment?

Huma heard more than saw the blade coming at him. That other knight moved confidently in the dark. Yet Huma managed again and again to counter each strike, though he 109

knew that Rennard's skill in personal combat was considered second to none. Especially now, when he faced a Huma who also fought within himself.

Then, as suddenly as he had attacked, Rennard ceased. He chuckled quietly. "Very good. Much like your father."

"My father?"

They had worked their way farther from the doors, toward where the clerics stood when they offered ceremonies. Rennard pulled back his hood, and even in the dark Huma could make out the pale, drawn skin. "Father. Oh yes. That was why I protected you, you know. The mark of Morgion, even on an unsuspecting person, is a sign that that one is not to be harmed by any who serve Morgion."

Huma remembered the words of the cultists in the ruins. They had seen the mark and had argued about it. Skularis had not known the reason for its existence.

"What a sentimental fool I am," Rennard continued, "for wanting to save my kin." Kin? Huma shook his head in growing horror.

"You are so very much like my brother was, Huma. Durac was his name—Durac, Lord of Eldor, a land overrun soon after he and I joined the knighthood. Nothing remains of Eldor today, save a few pitiful ruins. Just as well. Unlike the Baxtrey domains, where Oswal and Trake ruled jointly, I would have inherited nothing. As eldest son, your father inherited."

"Stop it!" Huma swung violently at the man who had betrayed all he believed in. A man who had once been a friend.

Rennard defended himself easily. After several moments, they parted again.

"I belonged to Morgion long before our father sent us as squires to Vingaard Keep. From the first, I tried to protect Durac. He was family, after all. The others who followed Morgion might not understand that, so I planted within him the same invisible mark that protected you from them. It proved to be a futile gesture. Your father died in battle only a year after becoming a knight. He stayed back with a handful of others to block a passage through the eastern mountains in Hylo—the only passage that would allow the Queen's forces to attack from the rear. The rest of us rode to warn the main army. There was nothing I could do. Ironic, is it not? I wanted to tell him the truth about me at that last moment, but of course I could not. Little did I know at that time that he had left a wife and son." Huma quivered, part of him yearning to hear the story, part of him repulsed.

"You must ask Lord Oswal about Durac sometime—when you meet him on the other side!" Rennard charged Huma, catching the anguished knight off guard. They struggled together, and Huma found himself staring into a face half-twisted by madness. Gone was the emotionless facade that he had always wondered about, the mask behind which Rennard had hidden his treachery. Huma succeeded in pushing the other knight away.

"What was her name, nephew? Karina? I saw her only once, years later, when I finally located the village he had frequented before his death. She was a beautiful woman— wheatcolored hair, elfin face, slim—a woman full of life. I thought of wooing her, but then I saw you—Durac all over again, though only a lad—and knew that she would shun the horror that I was. I was a fool to think of anything other than my promise to my true lord." Rennard's sword cleaved the air as it came down at Huma. The younger knight rolled to the side and into a squatting position.

"You killed her, didn't you?" Huma's voice was cold and lifeless as he finally relived the days of his mother's fatal illness, which had seemed to come from nowhere.

"You should thank me. I thought of you. I wanted you to be the knight Durac should have been. I believed I could keep you unaware of the truth." Rennard smiled obscenely.

"The dream. I had a dream about your foul god."

"I thought I might draw you to my side, make you a comrade and spare us this."

"What by the platinum dragon goes on here?"

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Both combatants froze as light streamed into the room. Bennett stood in the doorway, flanked by two of his fellows from the Order of the Sword. A quick glance showed Rennard's realization of his mistake; Bennett must have retired on his own or at least have departed, and Rennard had had no chance to treat him as he had treated all those unsuspecting others.

"Rennard? Huma?" Whatever his faults, the son of the late Grand Master was not slow. He took in the scene, saw the tattered cloak and hood that covered Rennard's armor, and knew what the knight represented.

Bennett pulled out his sword and pointed at the traitor. "I want him!"

"How quickly the veneer of dignity vanishes in the face of petty emotions," Rennard comment wryly. Without another word, he took a savage swing at Huma—who dodged—and then Rennard bolted over the pews.

"He has nowhere to go!" Bennett's resemblance to a bird of prey was even more obvious now. His eyes were wide and burned intensely, yet they caught every movement, studied all angles. His movements were fluid, calculated. Bennett was a hawk about to dive upon its prey. He stalked Rennard now.

But Rennard stepped into the shadows of the wall—and slid through. Huma reached the walls before the others and felt the spot. He did not think that Rennard had used sorcery to get away, as Magius had done once. No, it might— yes! Huma's fingers found a slight indentation, and the wall suddenly gaped open to swallow him. Behind him, he could hear Bennett shouting for the other two to follow, then the wall closed once more. Huma had no time to wait for them.

Where did Rennard hope to go?

The elder knight's rapid footsteps were barely audible, moving upstairs. What did Rennard hope to find up there?

This was not an ancient, hidden stairway as Huma first suspected; he passed two windows on his way up to the next level.

The stairway ended at a trapdoor in the ceiling. Cautiously, he reached up and, with his blade ready in his other hand, pushed it open. Wind and rain rushed to meet him. The attack he expected did not occur.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of Bennett and his two companions. Huma did not want them to be the ones to face Rennard. That was reserved for himself. Slowly, Huma stepped up and out, into the rain.

The roof was empty. There was no place to hide, no place to flee to. The knight walked to the nearest ledge and peered over. Knights were beginning to gather below; Bennett had sounded the alert.

The first of Bennett's two companions lifted himself out onto the roof. "Where is he?

Did you catch him?"

Huma shook his head. Where was Rennard? The newcomers also combed the roof, but they could not discover a trace. Rennard had simply vanished.

Bennett refused to believe this. Knights searched all the nearby buildings and, when that failed to turn up anything, searched the rest of the Keep as well. Rennard's belongings were gathered and inspected, but they offered few clues.

The clerics had rushed to Lord Oswal's side the moment they learned of the attack. To their amazement, he appeared to be recovering. As one cleric explained to Huma, Bennett, and the others who had assembled, Lord Oswal's body was throwing off effects of the dose that Rennard had administered earlier—thus the assassin hoped to effect a second dose before the High Warrior had recovered.

As the knights dispersed, some to continue the search for the traitor, some to their various duties, Huma felt a hand on his shoulder. He started, his first thought that Rennard had come to finish him off. The figure behind him spoke.

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"It's Bennett."

Huma turned slowly around, and the two faced one another. Oswal's nephew seemed to be fighting several emotions all at once, for his face registered traces of embarrassment, anger, and confusion. At last, he reached out a hand.

"My gratitude for all you've done."

Uncertain as to how to react, Huma simply took the hand in his own and shook it. "I failed to capture your father's killer."

Bennett forced his face into immobility. Huma knew that the other knight was very uncomfortable. "You unmasked him. You saved my uncle. Even—even fought that pale traitor to a standstill, something I never could have done." The hawk-faced knight saluted briefly and departed. Huma watched him disappear, a brief smile playing on his lips before he, too, turned and left, hoping to find some trace of Rennard.

It came as no surprise, two days later, that Lord Oswal became the new Grand Master. He had remained isolated before that decision, with only the Council members speaking with him. All possible opposition by Bennett had vanished; in fact, the new Grand Master's nephew was petitioning to step up to the Order of the Rose. There was every likelihood that he would be recommended. It was also likely that he would be wearing the trappings of High Warrior himself before long.

Huma struggled to get through those two days. When he was at last granted an audience with Lord Oswal, Huma shook visibly. To him, the Grand Master was a figure almost as revered as Paladine, for he was, after all, the living symbol of the Triumvirate's desires.

As Huma knelt in supplication, an odd sound reached his ears and he dared to look up. Flanked by an impressive honor guard consisting of veterans from all three Orders, the Grand Master was sitting on his throne and chuckling.

"Get up, Huma. You don't have to stand on ceremony with me. Not now." Huma rose and came closer. "Grand Master—"

A sigh. "If you must be formal, make it Lord Oswal. I do not have the pretensions of my brother—not yet."

"Lord Oswal, before I start, tell me of Durac of Eldor."

"Durac? I've known two or three. Eldor . . . I'm not sure—"

"Please. You know which one. Rennard's brother. My— father." The new Grand Master, stared open-mouthed. "Father? Durac? Then, Rennard—"

"My uncle." Huma forced the unsavory word from his mouth.

"Paladine!" Lord Oswal's voice was little more than a whisper. "Huma, I am sorry."

"Sir. My father?"

The Grand Master wiped something from his eye. "I'm sorry, Huma. I wish I could tell you everything, but I honestly don't remember much. Durac was a good knight, although a little overenthusiastic. He was a brilliant, almost natural fighter, picking up skills as easily as I might pick up a knife. I remember that he spent much of his time west, but I never knew it was because he had a family. I do remember, though," Oswal said, rubbing his chin, "him shouting to us as we left him and the others to hold the pass. Now I realize what he meant. When he said 'watch over them,' I thought he meant the men. What a fool! He meant his family, and only Rennard really knew."

There was little more the Grand Master could add, which disappointed Huma, though he did not show it. It was Oswal who broke the uneasy silence by saying, "You have my permission to start out for Ergoth and your mountains. How many knights will you need to accompany you?"

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"None."

"None?" The Grand Master leaned forward, his hands gripping the throne tightly. "As you yourself mentioned, this is a matter of the utmost importance. I want to ensure your success. Paladine has seen fit to give us this chance, but I will not let you take unnecessary risks."

"What Paladine seeks must be from me alone," Huma replied. "I feel that now. I cannot explain how I know. It simply feels right."

Oswal sighed and leaned back. "You say that with great conviction. My head tells me that you are wrong, but my heart listens to you. I think, in this matter, I will go with my heart, for that is where belief begins."

'Thank you, milord."

Lord Oswal stood. Huma followed suit. The Grand Master clasped Huma on the shoulders. "Regardless of your birth and who your parents were, I shall always consider you my son."

They held one another briefly, then Oswal broke away. "Go on. Get out before I become even more a sentimental fool than I am."

Few knights were around the courtyard when Huma chose to leave. He had wanted it that way. It would make the departure easier, at least for him. A part of him felt as if he were running out, that he should remain in Vingaard Keep until Rennard was found and punished. Yet Huma no longer wanted any part in the other's capture. He had known the gaunt knight far too long to simply forget all those past times, when the two had been friends. One figure he did note. Bennett, standing on the parapet and scanning the Keep. The Grand Master's nephew was still searching for his father's murderer. The search through Rennard's belongings had uncovered ancient plans for the Keep that had been thought lost forever. They included two passages within the temple that not even the clerics knew about. The dour Bennett turned from gazing out at the lands surrounding Vingaard and noted Huma. He nodded slowly and then turned away. That was all.

Huma's path took him through another half-dead village. He had been riding for an hour. Twice, Huma had met patrolling knights, and each time he had brought them up to date on the futile search going on in Vingaard Keep for the traitorous Rennard. The inhabitants of this particular village eyed the lone knight differently than those Huma had passed in other places. There was a tension in their very movements, a great sense of fear, as if they expected to see the Dragonqueen herself swoop out of the sky at any moment. Slowly, they began to mill around Huma and his horse.

The warhorse slowed nervously, its nostrils flaring as it stared at possible enemies. Huma pulled tight on the reins, re-exerting mastery over the beast. He did not want to have the lives of innocent commonfolk on his hands.

It soon proved impossible for the horse to proceed, so concentrated had the small crowd become. The villagers enveloped animal and rider in a wave of human fear. Huma began picking up muttered questions, dealing with the events in the Keep. A grimy, bony claw touched his right leg. A rasping voice asked, "Is it true? Has the Grand Master been murdered? Are we no longer safe?"

"I heard that the Council wants to surrender!" cried out a voice that the knight could not locate.

That last statement increased the anxiety of the villagers. They crowded even closer, oblivious to the danger they faced from the hooves of the trained steed. Huma tried to wave them back.

"Stand aside! Let me through! If you don't, the horse might hurt you!"

"He's fleeing!" cried the same voice. "The knights are lost!" 113

"We're all lost!" shrilled an old woman. She fainted and was lost in the press of bodies.

"You can't leave us!"

"You're tryin' to save your own skin!"

"Get back!" Faces filled with anger and confusion moved through Huma's vision. Hands clawed at him. The horse, spooked, reared. Those closest to the animal's front came to their senses and turned to escape. But those who had been behind them continued to move forward.

An elderly man fell. The knight succeeded in calming his mount and then sought to clear a path so that he could help the old man.

"He's betrayed us all! He struck the elder down! Take him!" Ragged, gaunt figures surged on Huma. He pulled out his sword and threatened them with it. The villagers backed away but were by no means ready to give up—not when they feared the Knights of Solamnia were abandoning them to the tenderness of the Dragonqueen. This time, Huma spotted the instigator, a figure clad in the garments of a simple farmer, standing off to the side. The man made no move to run when he realized he had been seen. Instead, he drew a broadsword and revealed once more the face of evil. Huma directed the horse through the crowd, forcing people back with his sword and thanking Paladine that no one had yet dared him to strike. He reined the steed to a stop less than six feet from the figure.

"Bennett still thinks you might be in the Keep."

Rennard smiled briefly. "I was until Lord Oswal's appointment became official. Then I came here to give them the news."

Huma leaped off his mount, never taking his eyes from his uncle nor sheathing the sword. 'To put fear in their hearts, you mean. To break down trust, make us fight among ourselves."

"It is—my calling. But not just these. Villages all over this area. I've not slept since yesterday."

'They finally found your secret passages."

"I know. I left the maps on purpose. I had no more need of them."

"This is insane, uncle."

"Uncle. A word I never thought you would use. Yes, it is insane. The whole world is insane. I strive to make it less so." Rennard pointed at the villagers, speaking quietly enough that they would not hear him. "The fear will spread. They will march on the Keep in their desperation, and the knighthood will be forced to drive them away, with at least some loss of life, I believe. The great Knights of Solamnia will suffer both the notoriety of their actions and a terrible blow to morale. I need not go on."

"This has all been planned."

"Of course. I could have killed the entire Council, but that only would have strengthened the knighthood's resolve. That is why I have traveled the near lands, in disguise, stirring the pot." Rennard straightened and the sword swung slowly back and forth. "My only remaining duty is you, Huma. I knew you would choose this route. I cannot allow you to return to this—cavern. It may be a madness on your part, but I think not. I cannot risk being wrong about something like that."

His sword came up swinging. Huma immediately blocked the thrust. The villagers stepped away as the two knights fought, but the people's horribly expectant looks showed Huma that they were waiting to see one of the knights die, so completely had they become Rennard's pawns.

The gaunt knight swung and gave Huma an opening. Rennard's skill allowed him to parry much of the blow, but Huma's blade still slipped under and struck a glancing blow on 114

the other's right side. The blade clanged off a solid surface beneath Rennard's tunic, however, and a cunning smile flashed briefly across the pale knight's features. Beneath the cloth, he still wore his armor.

Their blades clashed time and time again as they struggled through the rain-soaked village. The human wall that surrounded them bent and twisted, but never revealed a gap. Huma wondered what would happen to him even if he defeated Rennard. The villagers might very well fall on him.

"Very good!" hissed Rennard. "I trained you well!"

"Well enough." Huma said no more. He knew he needed to save every ounce of strength, for Rennard was living off his madness and fighting with daunting power and ferocity.

Huma slipped in the mud just as Rennard's blade flashed past his throat. The traitor fell forward, and Huma caught him sharply in the leg. Rennard did not scream, though his leg was awash in blood almost immediately. He hobbled away from Huma. They turned to face one another again. Huma was on the verge of exhaustion, while Rennard was becoming faint from the terrible wound across the front of his right leg. Huma's blade had just missed the muscles and tendons that would have cost Rennard the limb.

"Surrender, Rennard. You will be treated fairly; I swear it." The pale knight looked more drawn than normal. "I think not. A traitor such as myself, who has killed one Grand Master and almost another, could hardly expect fair treatment from the knighthood."

Huma knew that his strength would return the longer they talked, while Rennard's would only continue to seep away. Even now, it was difficult for the other to stand.

"Come, nephew. Let us finish this." With amazing stamina, Rennard charged Huma, attacking with a variety of moves. Huma stood his ground and slowly began to move on the offensive. Rennard's face became blurred as all was reflex, and the lessons—ironically, Rennard's lessons— allowed Huma to counter each and every move. A thrust broke through Rennard's defenses. It caught him in his sword arm and the traitor almost dropped his weapon as the injured limb jerked uncontrollably for a moment. He was left wide open, and Huma's blade came within an inch of his face. They were both caked with mud now. Rennard had lost the madness that had possessed him, and he now seemed to realize that he had all but lost. Huma was better than he; his eyes knew it even if his face revealed no emotion. Now, it was all Rennard could do to prevent the killing blow.

Huma broke through his uncle's guard again, and Rennard suddenly wavered on two badly bleeding legs.

He collapsed to his knees.

That broke the spell. Huma blinked, looking down at Rennard, whose life fluids were mixing with the muck. A look of disgust spread across Huma's face.

"It's over, Rennard. I won't kill you. It would serve no purpose." Rennard tried to stand. On one knee, he waited, his sword at shoulder level, ready to defend.

"I will not go back, Huma. I will not suffer the mockery of a trial." Huma lowered his sword. "Let me help you. You were a good knight. One of the best."

The laugh that Rennard responded with became a hacking cough. The cultist barely kept from toppling over. "Do you not understand? I've never been a knight! Since that day, my life has been in the hands of another god, and I have failed even him. Look at me!" Rennard smiled feebly and Huma was shocked to see that his former companion's pallid skin 115

was slowly turning scarlet. "My reward for failure. I never truly have been cured, I've merely lived day by day."

"Rennard. A patrol will be by. They can locate a cleric."

"No cleric will touch me."

Whatever spell or nightmare the former knight had cast upon the village was gone, for now the people were screaming and crying at the sight of this, one of the worst plagues. Within seconds, the two armored figures stood alone.

"Rennard—"

It had become a strain for the other knight even to speak. The plague was coursing through his body.

"Don't come near me, Huma. It spreads through touch." Rennard was smiling.

"There'll be nothing left when it finishes. They'll be lucky if they find more than a shell." Where was a patrol? Huma scanned the horizon in frustration.

'or whatever it is worth, nephew," sputtered the dying figure, "I hope you find what you are looking for. Perhaps there still is a chance."

There! Huma spotted distant figures on horseback. They were moving too slowly, though. Much too slowly.

"Huma . . ."

The young knight looked down. Rennard's face twisted with pain. "Pray to Paladine, Rennard! The patrol is nearing this village. When I explain—"

"There is nothing to explain, save that they must burn my body where I lie." Rennard straightened and gripped the hilt of his broadsword with both hands, to steady it. With a speed that belied his sickness, Rennard ran the edge of his blade across his throat.

"No!" Only the realization that he would carry the plague prevented Huma from wrenching the sword from the ragged figure. It was too late already. No cleric could bind such a wound in time.

Rennard's limp hand released the sword, which fell and buried itself in the mud only a moment before Rennard's lifeless form did the same. Huma dropped his own weapon and fell to his knees.

"No." His voice was less than a whisper. Huma put his face in his hands and let his battered emotions run their course. Faintly, he heard the clattering sound of many horses, and then all was silent.

CHAPTER 20

Silence.

The intermingled cries of the oncoming horses and the terrified villagers who believed that the worst of plagues had been released in their midst, the tumult of hoofbeats— even the wind—all turned to silence.

The silence was interrupted by the distant beating of metal against metal. Slowly, unbelievingly, Huma raised his head from his hands and stared wide-eyed at the world around him. The weary lands outside of Vingaard Keep, the entire outdoors, for that matter, were gone.

What stood before him now was the mirror—the same mirror that he had fallen through days ago. Now, all it revealed was the disheveled form of a worn knight who looked scarcely alive.

He was back in Wyrmfather's cavern.

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Had it truly happened? It seemed unlikely at first. More conceivable that it had been an illusion. But Huma still felt the pains that had been inflicted on him in that so-called dream. A nightmare, then. One very real nightmare. For Rennard was indeed dead. Huma leaned back and removed his gauntlets. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the cursed mirror.

He was both angered and relieved—angry at feeling like a puppet, relieved that he was going to be permitted to continue on his quest and perhaps reunite with Kaz and Magius. Where had they been all this time?

Huma continued to stare at the mirror. The shock of Rennard's betrayal and death was still with him. Rennard was dead and Huma would pray for him, but the knighthood— no, all of Ansalon—still had a chance, if what Huma had been told was truthful—that somewhere in these mountains was the key to victory.

His reflection stared back at him from the mirror, and Huma's mind finally registered what he was seeing.

He stumbled forward quickly. Huma had momentarily forgotten what had taken place in this chamber, what had happened to him. He had, as difficult it was to conceive, almost forgotten Wyrmfather.

If time passed here as it had at Vingaard Keep, the huge form should be ripe. Carrioneaters of all shapes and sizes should have established their territories. But neither was true. The gigantic head and neck lay exactly where they had fallen, true, but Wyrmfather's gigantic bulk had turned to metal, metal of the purest nature, more brilliant than silver. At the same time, it resembled that other metal more than any other. He ran his hands over it, feeling the smoothness and marveling at how great a quantity there must be. For lack of a better name, he called it dragonsilver.

He stumbled awkwardly around the great mass, his interest suddenly magnetized by the object that had destroyed Wyrmfather. Somewhere within its massive jaws, the huge corpse concealed the sword that had spoken to Huma. He was sure it had called to him,

just as he was sure that he had to have it. If Huma gained nothing else from this experience, he wanted the sword.

The head of the dead titan was twisted upside down, and Huma discovered that the lower jaw rested firmly atop the upper. That meant that the sword was buried within a tremendous mass of pure metal, with no way to retrieve it. Angered, Huma banged his hand against the snout of the creature; the shock brought his senses back, and he briefly wondered at his obsession with the ancient blade. Best if he-He kicked something with his foot. It made a metallic sound, and Huma looked down to see the very object he had been seeking. With a startled cry, he fell to his knees and practically cradled the weapon. It was to be his. This was a sign. From the moment his hands touched it, the blade had begun to glow again. Huma basked happily in that glow, for it soothed him and made him forget the terrible events of the past few days. Reluctantly, he sheathed the sword and crawled on top of the great beast. Wyrmfather's sloping neck proved to be an excellent ramp from which Huma could climb to one of the upper tunnels that dotted the cavern and seek the mysterious smith. That was, he believed, his logical destination.

Neither the endless mounds of gold nor the gleaming caches of jewelry interested him, now that he had the sword. The mirror still intrigued him, but he could not carry it with him through the cavern. He consoled himself with the thought that he could return for it if he succeeded.

With a proper blade in his hands for once, Huma was soon feeling rested and confident as he strode up the amazingly long neck of Wyrmfather. 117

The tunnels immediately above were naturally lit, though not to the degree that the lower ones had been. Gazing down one, Huma could see no difference between it and the passages he had traversed originally. Dark shadows were everywhere. Emboldened, now that he held a weapon worthy of him, Huma stepped off the neck of the petrified Wyrmfather and entered the closest tunnel.

He became impatient as time dragged and he found only more corridors. Where were the challenges? Wyrmfather had been one, but Huma knew there must be two others. Still, he thought, they could not possibly compare to his brush with the huge beast. Perhaps having faced Wyrmfather was test enough.

One hand stroked the pommel of the sword. Maybe there was no actual need for whatever else lay within this mountain. The sword alone was worth an army, and Huma controlled the sword.

His impatience grew as he continued to follow what seemed like endless tunnels. All Huma wanted to do now was leave. Challenges no longer concerned him. The blade was all he needed. What could the cavern offer that would better a weapon of such power and perfection?

The thought of a flank under his command occurred suddenly to him. After all Huma had accomplished, Lord Oswal surely would reward him. Not only had he brought back a weapon of great value, but he had exposed Rennard and saved the elder knight's life. A major command position had always been Huma's dream. From there, it could not be long before he would command an entire army.

A smile began to spread across his face.

"Step no further."

At first, Huma had not noticed the figure standing before him. Clad in a long, flowing cloak of gray, the figure blended in well with his surroundings, especially with the shadows now dominating. The figure's face was gray, as were his teeth and tongue. The only noticeable change from the previous encounter with the gray man was that he was not smiling in the least this time.

"You again!" Huma was happy to see the odd mage—if mage he was—because he now could boast to someone other than himself. "I have beaten your challenges, easily! I've come to claim my prize—not that it seems so important now."

"Certainly. Leave your sword where you are and walk forward."

"My sword?" The gray man might have asked for his arm.

"Your sword. I always assumed the acoustics in here were fairly good. Am I wrong, then?" At the moment, the mage's face was as unreadable as Rennard's had always been.

"Why?" Huma did not care for this suspicious move. The gray man was a servant of the Dragonqueen after all. It must be that the gods now feared Huma's power—and why not?

"That thing there is not allowed within these chambers. It should not be allowed anywhere."

"This?" The knight held aloft the magnificent sword, admiring the way it glowed so strongly. He had thought it well-made before, but the radiance of its fully awakened beauty was something to behold. Give it up? Huma would fight first!

"That 'wonderful' blade you bear is known as the Sword of Tears. It's a relic from the Age of Dreams. Through it, Takhisis seduced the ogre race, twisted them from beauty, until all but a handful strayed from the path. It is said to be the weapon with which the champion of darkness will challenge light on that final battle before the last day. It is pure evil, and should be banished. If there is any true choice."

"You're wrong. This is the key to our victory. Look at it!" The gray man shaded his eyes. "I have. Many times. Its wicked travesty of illumination still irritates after all these centuries."

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Huma lowered the blade, but only so he could point it toward the man barring his way.

"Is it that? Or are you one who shuns the light in general? I think it is you who are the danger."

"If you could only see your face."

"My face?" Huma laughed arrogantly. 'The Sword of Tears, you say. Could it actually be called that because of the tears that the Dragonqueen will shed when at last faced with a power stronger than she?"

The gray man's face screwed into an expression of disgust. "I see the horrid blade has not lost any of its charm."

Holding his sword possessively, Huma folded his arms. "I've listened to your little tirade long enough. Will you let me pass now?"

The guardian brought his staff up to eye level. "Not with the sword." Huma only smiled and thrust the sword into the rocky wall to his left. The blade sank in as if the tunnel were made of curdled milk rather than stone, and the weapon flared with emerald light. With similar ease, the knight drew it out. The blade looked unscratched, while that portion of the wall had lost its natural glow.

The gray man only curled his lip and said mockingly, "You had better strike it again. It may have some fight left in it."

Huma glared at him. "Your last chance. Will you yield?"

"Not unless the sword is forfeited."

'Then I shall slice a path through your body."

"If you can."

The knight raised the Sword of Tears, which seemed to glow more brilliantly—as if in anticipation—and stepped forward. The gray man stepped out of his defensive position and—

threw his staff on the tunnel floor. Huma stood there, arm raised, momentarily stunned.

"Have you surrendered, then?"

The hooded figure shook his head. "If you would continue, you must strike me down." Strike him down! a voice shouted in Huma's mind. The green glow of the Sword of Tears dominated the tunnel now. Strike him down! the voice repeated.

"This is—" Huma struggled to complete the thought. The voice became insistent. Strike him down and gain your prize!

"—wrong!"

"Give up the sword, Huma. Only then will you be free."

"No!" The word issued from the knight's mouth, but it was not he who had spoken. Instead, the source seemed to have been the blade itself, which now caused Huma's arm to rise as if he were intending to smote the gray mage.

"No!" This time, it was Huma who spoke. He collapsed against the side of the passageway and regarded with sudden disgust and horror the thing he held in his hand, despite the brilliance that caused even the gray man to turn away.

Take me! Wield me! I was meant to glory in blood! I was meant to rend the world for my mistress!

"No!" The denial came more firmly now as the shock in Huma's eyes gave way to anger. He had torn free from the malevolent artifact's spell. The blade had asked the impossible of him—to purposefully strike down one who neither deserved it nor sought to defend himself. Huma had not been able to do so with Rennard, and he could not do so now with the dun-colored guardian.

Power surged from the sword, and Huma screamed. The shockwaves threw the knight to the floor. It felt as if every fiber of his body were being torn apart. He could see only green, could feel only the pain, and could hear only the incessant command of the Sword of Tears as it sought to overcome his will.

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"Huma!" Another voice, familiar, sought to assert its influence on him. He took the lifeline and concentrated.

"You must be willing to part from it—totally—or the demon sword will have your body and soul!"

Totally? Huma struggled against the pain. He saw now that the Sword of Tears worked only for its own wily purposes and would never truly be anyone's servant. That realization gave Huma the willpower he had lacked.

"I deny you!" He held the sword at arm's length, sickened by it. "I will have no part of you and, therefore, you have no power over me!"

The pain diminished and Huma pressed his advantage. Slowly, he forced the outside presence from his head, reviling it, confident now that it had no true power. The presence seemed to shrink back from his determination, and the emerald brilliance diminished dramatically.

“Master,” it called. "You are truly master.”

It cowed before his mind. Huma's confidence grew, until a thought flashed through his head. Now that he had defeated it, could he not use it safely?

No! Huma pushed the thought away. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His skin had gone white.

Huma threw the demonic blade wildly across the corridor. As he did, he thought he heard, or felt, a maddened cry. The sword clattered against the opposite wall and dropped to the ground. The glow had all but vanished.

"Never," Huma panted. He leaned against the wall, his hands on his knees. "Not for all the power in the world."

Slow footsteps indicated the near presence of the gray man. A strong hand fell on Huma's shoulder. 'There is no more reason to fear. The Sword of Tears is nothing. No more than smoke in the wind. See?"

Huma looked up. The demon sword was wavering and beginning to fade, to sink through the stone to nothingness. Within seconds, there was no trace of its physical form or the sinister presence within.

"Where is it?"

"Hopefully, back where it belongs. The thing has a mind of its own, but you know that. I think I've put it in a place where it will take some doing for it to break free." The knight looked up. "You saved me—and my soul."

"I?" The gray man looked slightly amused. "I did nothing but make a few friendly suggestions. It was you who had to face the real battle. You persevered, though."

"What happens now?" Huma stood slowly. His body ached. His head ached. He did not think he was capable of anything just yet. Huma slumped against the wall.

"Now?" The gray man sounded amused. Huma could not see what was so funny.

"Now . . . you step through and claim your prize. You have defeated all three challenges."

"Defeated—" The knight shook his head sadly. "You're mistaken. I barely escaped with my life, much less my soul."

"You live. Yes. That is the purpose of everything. To strive for life, for purpose."

"Wyrmfather. The Sword of Tears. That makes only two challenges. Unless—" The truth struck Huma forcefully.

The gray man smiled a sad, gray smile. "Your trip through the mirror was no accident. A dark stain had spread itself deep within the fabric of the knighthood, and who better to cleanse the knighthood of that foulness than one of its own? Most, I think, would have been pleased to slay Rennard without permitting him a chance to surrender. You wanted to save him, even then. That—the passion for life—is what the knighthood truly strives for, above all else."

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Huma straightened, stared at the seemingly endless tunnel behind the gray man, and then turned back to the hooded figure.

"Are you Paladine?"

The gray mage smiled mischievously and tapped the side of his nose. "I could say I am, but I won't. Let us just say that the balance between good and evil must be maintained and I am one of those chosen to see to it—much like yourself, though I fear my part is small compared to your own." He gave Huma no opportunity to reply. "It is time you went through this last tunnel and claimed your reward. As I said before, you must go weaponless. Weaponless, save your faith."

As Huma stared, the gray man raised a hand, which held two daggers, gingerly, by the tips. Huma reached instinctively to his own belt, but his daggers were gone. They belonged to the gray man now, only the gray man was gone, too. Only the gaping tunnel stood before Huma.

He took a step toward the darkened passageway.

Huma said two prayers—one to Paladine and the second to Gilean, Lord of Neutrality—and walked into the darkness.

Huma could not judge time, but he was sure that he had been walking for a long period when the first echoes of the hammer reached him. They seemed neither far nor near, and the intensity never changed. It was not as it had been in the great chamber, where the towering, maddened leviathan had shrieked out at such torment. Rather, the familiar sounds of a smith at work put the knight at ease as he recalled a point in his training where he was taught the basics of the trade. All knights had some knowledge of the craft, for each might be called upon to mend armor or shoe a horse. A good smith, as the knighthood dictated, could do virtually anything with an anvil, a hammer, and fire-red metal. Whoever worked at the anvil had to be a mighty man, Huma decided, for the fall of the hammer went on with such regular rhythm and for such a great length of time that most men would have fallen to their knees by now. At that, who said it must be a man? Might it not be Reorx himself? Here, he knew, was a place of gods and power. Anything might lie ahead. Then, when he had not noticed it somehow, Huma found himself standing in the massive armory.

Countless implements of war and peace hung, stood or lay from wall to wall, as far as he could see in the dim light, and even from the ceiling high above. A sickle whose blade, if straightened, would be at least the length of Huma's body. Swords of all shapes and sizes, some curved, some straight, some thin, and some heavy. Jeweled and plain. One-handed and two-handed.

Here he saw even more suits of armor than in the chambers below. The suits ranged from the most primitive breastplates to the latest full armor as worn by the Ergothian emperor. Shields hung above the suits, representing every crest ever created, including that of the Knights of Solamnia.

There was so much more, and Huma longed to see all of it. He felt as if he had stepped into the lost tomb of some great warrior. Yet this was no lost resting place of the dead, for the weaponry and artifacts here were devoid of dust or any sign of age. Each piece he inspected might have been made only yesterday, so sharp were the edges and smooth were the sides. No rust infected the armor; the wooden handle of the sickle had not rotted. Huma knew, however, that these creations were even older than the chambers below, that before all else in this mountain maze, this set of chambers had been first. He could not say how he knew, just that he knew.

The fall of the hammer had become a pattern in his ears, and he did not notice at first when it stopped. When he did, he had already wandered midway through the armory, his gaze flickering back and forth. Huma paused then, momentarily unsure. It was at that moment that 121

he saw the flicker of light from ahead and heard the unknown smith resume his work. Only two massive doors barred his way.

Huma reached forward to knock upon one of the doors, even as it swung open. The slight movement was accompanied by a tremendous squeak, and it amazed the knight that the hammer kept falling as if its wielder had heard nothing or did not care. It was a smithy of godlike proportions. A huge tank of water that could only be for cooling the product. A massive forge where—Huma had to squint—shadowy figures stoked the furnace with might and gusto.

The hammering ceased with finality. He wrenched his eyes from the sun-hot forge and turned.

The anvil stood as high as Huma's waist and would have weighed half a dozen times his weight in full armor. The soot-covered figure that stood beside it, a two-handed hammer held easily in one hand and raised high above his head, turned to study the newcomer. The figures at the forge ceased their activity, as did two others near the anvil. The smith lowered his arm and stepped forward. Huma's eyes did not go immediately to the face but were riveted instead by that arm. It was metal, a metal that gleamed like the material that Wyrmfather had become.

Then Huma looked into the face of the smith. Like the body, it was soot-covered, but Huma could see that the smith claimed no one race as his own, for the features were a blend of elf, human, dwarf, and something . . . unidentifiable.

The smith studied him from head to toe and, in a voice surprisingly quiet, asked,

"Have you come at last for the Dragonlance?"

CHAPTER 21

Huma gave the towering smith a confused look and said, 'The what?"

"The Dragonlance. Are you at last the one?" The dwarven features pinched together in outright anxiousness. The smith's eyes narrowed as he waited for a response and his thin, elven mouth was no more than a flat line across his mostly human face. That "other" gave him a frightening yet handsome appearance that was not common to any of the other three races.

"I have faced the challenges, or so I am told. That is what the gray man said."

"The gray man said it, did he? Even ancient Wyrmfather?" The hulking figure did not wait for a response. "Yes, I suppose you did, for he has been rather quiet of late. It seems so strange not to hear his rantings and ravings anymore. I cannot recall a day when he was so quiet. I shall have to adjust, I suppose." He shrugged.

"Have I answered your question to your satisfaction?" Though Huma's confidence had not yet recovered, his dignity had. He did not want to appear overwhelmed.

"Indeed you have," the smith whispered, more to himself than to the knight. "Indeed you have."

The smith let out a strong, hearty laugh. "Great Reorx! Never did I think to see the day! At last, someone will be able to properly appreciate my handiwork. Do you know how long it has been since I've spoken to someone qualified?"

"What about them?" Huma pointed at the spectral figures behind the smith. They seemed unoffended.

"Them? They are my assistants. They have to like my work. They would not understand the true use of the Dragonlance as a knight would. Paladine, I've waited so long!" The huge man's voice echoed through the chambers.

"I forget myself." The smith's voice faded abruptly, and his face became dour. Huma noted that the other's mood changes were as abrupt as his features were unique. "I am Duncan 122

Ironweaver, master smith, armorer, and student of Reorx himself. I have waited far longer than I wish to remember for your coming. For many a year, I worried that you might never set foot near here, but I should have known better." Duncan Ironweaver reached out a hand to Huma, who took it without thinking and found himself grasping warm metal. The smith noticed him staring at the device and grinned. "Wyrmfather himself took my arm years ago, when I was a foolish young man. Though it pained me, I have never regretted its loss. This works so much better that I have often wondered what it might be to have an entire forged body." He seemed to consider this for several seconds before realizing he had drifted from his subject. "Of course, without the silver arm, I would lack the strength and resistance necessary to forge the great dragonsilver into a finely crafted Dragonlance." Again, the Dragonlance. "What is the Dragonlance? If it is what I have come for, can I see it?"

Ironweaver blinked. "I've not shown you?" He put a hand to his head, unheedful of the soot spread on both. "Of course not! My mind is addled. Come then. Follow me, and we shall gaze together on a wonder that encompasses more than my simple skills and your daring." The smith turned and wound a path into the darkest depths of the chamber. The four shadowy assistants made way for their master and the knight. The helpers seemed to melt into the darkness itself by the time Huma was near enough, and the only things he could glimpse were four pairs of eyes that seemed to stare straight through him. Several yards ahead of him, Ironweaver was whistling a tune that vaguely resembled a Solamnic marching song. That made Huma relax a little, though he did wonder just what connection the smith had with the Knights of Solamnia and how far back it went. By this point, the knight would not have been surprised if he had awakened back at Vingaard Keep and discovered that all of this was a dream.

They came to another door, and the huge smith stopped and turned to Huma. "Beyond that door, only you will go. I have much work to get back to. Another will lead you back to the outside world and your friends."

Friends? How did Duncan Ironweaver know about Kaz -and Magius? "And the Dragonlance?"

"You will know it when you see it, my little friend."

"Where do—?" Huma started to ask something else but stopped abruptly when he found himself talking to air. He quickly turned back in the direction they had come, but the smithy itself was no longer visible. Only darkness. Huma took a few tentative steps in that direction and then retreated in disgust as his face came in contact with a spider's web of incredible size and thickness.

He spat the foul substance from his mouth and examined the web. It was old, the culmination of generations and generations. Dust lay thick on its surface. Here and there, it connected to rusting implements, swords, old metalworking equipment—things forgotten by their creators and users since long before Huma had been born. But he had just come that way.

An uneasy thought intruded; what spider would need a web so great?

His eyes still on the web, Huma reached a hand out toward the door. The handle, a long, jagged one rusted with age, would cooperate only after a struggle. At last the door opened, unleashing a cloud of dust. Slowly, and with great reverence, Huma stepped into the room of the Dragonlance.

He saw a charging stallion, armored in purest platinum and snorting fire as it raced the winds. He saw the rider then, a knight bold and ready, the great lance poised to strike. The knight also was clad in platinum, and the crest on his helmet was that of a majestic dragon. 123

On his chest he wore a breastplate with the symbol of the Triumvirate: the Crown, the Sword, and the Rose.

Within the visor that covered the face was light, brilliant and life-giving, and Huma knew that here was Paladine.

The great charger suddenly leaped into the air, and massive wings sprouted from its sides. Its head elongated, and its neck twisted and grew, but it lost none of its majesty or beauty. From a platinum-clad steed it became a platinum dragon, and together knight and companion drove the darkness before them with the aid of the lance ... the Dragonlance. It shone with a life, a purpose of its own, and the darkness fell before it. Born of the world and the heavens, it was the true power, the true good.

The darkness destroyed, the dragon landed before Huma, who could only fall to his knees. The knight released the Dragonlance from its harness and held it toward the mortal figure below him. With some hesitation, Huma slowly rose and stepped forward. He reached out and took the lance by its shaft. Then the dragon and its rider were gone, leaving Huma alone with the wondrous gift.

He held it high and cried out in joy.

Sweat drenched him. Nearly all energy had been drained from his body, but Huma did not mind, for it was the exhaustion felt after the joyous exhilaration of achieving one's dreams. There would never be another rapture like it in his life, he knew. He lay on the floor of the room, bathed in white, pure light. Rising to his knees, Huma gazed at the light and was awed.

Above him, life-size, stood the dragon. Its eyes gazed down upon the mortal, and it seemed to have just landed. It had been formed from pure platinum and sculpted by an artisan whose skills must have rivaled the gods. The wings were outspread, stretching far across the room, and Huma was amazed that the metal could stand the strain. Each scale of the dragon, from the largest to the smallest, had been finely wrought in detail. Had it breathed, Huma would not have been surprised, it was so lifelike.

The rider, too, might have been ready to leap off his companion of the skies, so real did he appear. Like the dragon, his gaze seemed to be on Huma, though it was difficult to tell; the visor was down. The armor was as accurate in every detail as the dragon's skin, and Huma could see every joint, every link, and even the detail of the scrollwork on the breastplate. What had lit up the room was the Dragonlance.

Long, sleek, narrow, the lance would have stood almost three times the knight's height. The tip seemed to taper off to a point so sharp that nothing would bar its path. Behind the head, nearly two feet from the tip, sharp barbs arose on each side, assuring that any strike would be costly to the foe.

The back end of the lance ended with an elaborate shield guard formed into the fearsome visage of an attacking dragon with the shaft emerging like a river of flame from the leviathan's maw. Behind the guard, the platinum knight's arm steadied the lance for battle. Huma felt unworthy to take the Dragonlance from the knight, so perfect was it. Nevertheless, he steeled himself and moved to it, climbing to undo it from the harness that held it in place on the saddle. The post of the harness pivoted, allowing Huma some flexibility, but he was unsure how to remove the metallic knight's hand from the weapon. As he touched the fingers, they seemed to loosen of their own regard and the lance nearly fell into Huma's waiting arms.

The Dragonlance was heavy, as was to be expected, but Huma did not care about that now. He was overwhelmed that this had come to him, the least of knights. That Paladine should so bless him was a miracle in itself and, when he had brought the lance to earth, he went to his knees and gave thanks. The Dragonlance seemed to glow even brighter. 124

When at last his initial awe had passed, he noted the other lances that decorated the walls around him. That he had somehow missed them perplexed him, but he gave thanks that again Paladine had foreseen things, for one lance certainly would not be enough. He counted twenty total, nineteen like his own and one smaller one that was no less brilliant and must, he decided, be for footsoldiers.

One by one, he removed the lances from their resting places, taking each into his hands with reverence. Here were tools with which Krynn could be rid of the Dragonqueen; there should be no end of volunteers.

Oddly, there seemed to be no other exit than the doorway he had come through earlier. Huma wondered how he was going to get the lances out of the mountain and back to Solamnia. Had he come this far to fail because of an obstruction so relatively minor?

Gazing around the chamber, his eyes fell upon the figure of the mounted knight. It was looking slightly off to the side and upward—as if it sought something near one of the far corners of the ceiling. So intense was the image that Huma could not help but turn and look the same direction.

He saw nothing at first. Then, Huma spied the nearly invisible outline of a trap door. Hurrying over to investigate, the knight discovered hand and footholds in the wall below the trap door. They were only indentations, impossible to make out unless one stood directly in front of them.

Huma turned and stared anxiously at the lances he had gathered together. He hated leaving them here, but he knew that he required assistance if he was to get even one of them out of this chamber. He needed Kaz and Magius.

Gingerly, he began his climb. It was not as difficult as he had expected and he was soon near the ceiling. Opening the door, however, proved to be difficult, for Huma was forced to lean back precariously in order to push properly. The muscles strained in the hand that held him back from a deadly plunge. Huma had been forced to remove his gauntlets for a better grip and now was paying for that as the skin slowly tore from his fingertips. When the door was finally open, he let out a sigh of relief. Whoever had designed this had purposely made it difficult for reasons Huma doubted he could ever guess. Still, what mattered was that the way out was now open.

He reached up and felt a cool breeze dance through his fingers. Moving his hand around he discovered that something soft, perhaps snow, covered the ground. Gripping the sides of the hole, Huma pulled himself upward.

It was daylight. No rain. No cloud cover. The sun lit the mountainside, and Huma hung there, suspended halfway in the ground, as he drank in the view. How long had it been since he had really seen the sun? Huma could no longer remember. It was a magnificent sight and a sign, perhaps, that the tide had turned at last.

A thin layer of snow did indeed cover the ground. There were no tracks in the snow around him, so he was alone unless something flew above him. The skies were clear, though. Clear and blue. He had forgotten the heavens were blue.

Huma pulled himself from the unseen hole and then took care to study the site. The knight located a large rock nearby and placed it near the hole as a marker.

"I hoped you would succeed; I prayed you would succeed. Had you not, I don't know what I would have done."

"Gwyneth!" The name burst from his lips even as he whirled. She was clad in a simple cloak of silver hue, her hair fluttering. The young woman who had seen to his recovery in the tent looked nothing like this stately—priestess? What was her part in all this?

"I have indeed succeeded, Gwyneth! Below our very feet lay the weapons that will rid this world of the Dragonqueen!"

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She smiled at his enthusiasm and stepped forward. Her feet seemed to barely touch the snowy ground, and Huma noted then that she left no trace of any path.

'Tell me about it."

He tried to, how he tried to, but the words that tumbled from his mouth were too weak, too complicated, too simple for what he was trying to describe. It all sounded so improbable as he related his quest to Gwyneth. Had he really undergone all that? How had the ancient terror called Wyrmfather been turned into a gleaming metal artifact several times the size of the knight? Had the vision in the chamber of the Dragonlance been real or the product of his own delusion?

Gwyneth took it all in, her face impassive save for an unidentifiable look in her eyes as she observed Huma. When he was finished, she nodded sagely and said, "From the moment I first saw you, I saw greatness. I saw in you what so many others before you did not have. You truly care about the folk of Krynn. That is where the others have failed. They cared, but it was little compared to their personal ambitions."

Huma took her by the arms and held her. "Will you vanish now, like the gray man and the smith?"

"I will, for a time. You must locate your companions. When you return, another will be waiting for you. One whom you have met and who will be of aid in the coming days."

"And Kaz and Magius?"

"Near." She smiled. "I am surprised that they have tolerated one another this long."

"I must find them," Huma decided suddenly. There was so much to be done. He hated to leave Gwyneth, even though they would meet again. Wouldn't they?

An uneasy look came into her eyes, and she squirmed free from his grasp. The smile was still in place, but it grew weaker, more of a mask or defense. 'Your friends are that way." She pointed to the east. "You had best go to them now. They are becoming anxious for you." She turned from him and stepped quickly and lightly away. Huma almost followed, but he cared enough for her to respect her wishes in this matter. That he might never see her again tore at him, but he let her go and turned his back.

Eastward, Huma made his way through the soft snow. The cloud cover, fie noticed, had not dispersed. It merely avoided this peak.

He had walked for no more than ten minutes when he heard the voice. There was no mistaking it. It was Kaz, angered. The knight's pace picked up. Only one person would anger the minotaur so.

"If only I had done what I had desired and ended your miserable existence there and then. You have no honor, no conscience." The minotaur stood tall. His fists emphasized each point as he battered the air as if it were the object of his reprimand. Magius sat with odd quietude on a large rock, his head in his hands, unmoving, as the minotaur continued to berate him. Huma tensed as he stepped toward the pair. It was Magius who sensed his approach. The mage's face was pale and drawn, his hair radiating wildly about his head. His eyes had sunken in. They widened as he raised his head, and his numbed mind finally recognized the figure of his only friend.

"Huma!"

"What?" Kaz jumped at the sudden shout. He saw the direction of the magic-user's gaze and turned. The blood-red look in his eyes vanished, and a toothy grin appeared on his bovine face. The anger of a moment before was temporarily forgotten. "Huma!" As the minotaur stepped forward, Magius seemed to curl into himself. The mage stared pitifully in Huma's direction, but made no move to join Kaz in greeting their lost comrade.

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The minotaur almost crushed Huma in a bear hug. Kaz looked down at him, smiling all the time, then suddenly lifted the hapless knight off the ground and spun him around. Huma felt like an infant in the hands of the huge man-beast.

"Where have you been? I sought you out, but could not find the path you had taken. I searched again and again calling to you, but only the wind and that infernal cry responded. Sarg—Gods! I finally thought you were dead." He put Huma down. Kaz turned on Magius, who stepped back as if struck. "When I told that one what had happened, he fairly shouted with glee at first."

"WHAT?" Huma gazed over at Magius. His childhood friend would not look at him. Kaz thrust a finger at the knight. "Do you know why you were so important to him? It was not your friendship. It was not your skills. His mad vision had convinced him that there was indeed a gift from Paladine somewhere here but that he would die if he tried to claim it. So he intended to send you in his place. You would have taken the attack that would have killed him! Your life was expendable!" The angry warrior laughed coldly. "Can you believe it? He claimed a knight in sun-drenched armor and bearing a lance of incredible power would run him through; did you ever hear such nonsense?

"When he thought you were dead, he believed the vision had been altered forever. He was confident that he would almost immediately find this great secret and live to use it in your memory and his glory."

Kaz paused to catch his breath, and Huma chose that moment to step around the minotaur and confront Magius. The mage looked up at him, almost fearfully, and moved back a step. Huma reached out a hand, but Magius refused to take it. The minotaur came up behind Huma. "When we found no path or cavern, he started to fall apart. I could have never believed this one could have a conscience. I suppose I helped, for I reminded him every hour of every day about what he had done. How you had talked of him as a good friend."

Huma leaned down. His voice was soft. "Magius. There is nothing to be fearful of. I do not hate you for what you did. That was not you; it was never you." The shadow of the minotaur covered them both. Magius turned away.

"What are you saying, Huma?" the minotaur demanded. "This one betrayed you, had planned on betraying you since before you and I met. All for some utter, senseless madness!"

"You weren't there!" Huma snapped. "I've heard tales of how real the Tests are. Sometimes they exist only in the mind; sometimes they are completely and terribly existent. In either case, the magic-user who is being tested can die."

"Magius," Huma whispered to his conscience-stricken friend. The spellcaster seemed to be on the edge of collapse. It must have seemed that the knight's ghost had come back to haunt the one who had betrayed him. "Magius. Forget the vision. You were right about the mountain. I've found what we were searching for!"

The mage's eyes widened and narrowed, then he began to calm down. "You found it?"

"I did. I faced the challenges in the mountain and passed."

"What's that you're talking about?" roared Kaz. "What challenges?" Huma briefly described what had taken place within the mountain. The story of Wyrmfather brought a strange light to the eyes of Magius, who, stuttering, confessed he had made a study of the design of the statuette years before, only to come up with nothing more than a few scraps of legend. The treachery of Rennard shook both listeners. Magius had grown up with Huma and often had wondered about the knight's father.

"By my ancestors twenty-five generations back! Would that I had been there when you fought the father of all dragons. Such a battle, and I missed it!" The minotaur shook his head.

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The knight grimaced. "It was more a battle for survival than anything else. Luck had much to do with it."

"I think not. I do not see luck as a factor in these challenges. How many would have taken such action? How many would have run or stood trembling before the dragon? Many minotaurs would have thought it folly."

Magius tugged at Huma's arm, almost as a small child might do. "The Dragonlance?

You have it with you? I have to see it!"

A solid, clawed fist materialized before the spellcaster's face. "You'll see nothing!" Huma dared the minotaur's wrath by pushing the fist down. Kaz glared at Huma, then forced himself under control.

"That is what I need your help for now," Huma told them both. "Another person may be waiting to aid us, but I'll need your help to pull the lances from the chamber. All but one are more than twice your height, Kaz. It will be difficult."

"We shall do it, though, and this vermin here will help." Magius paled, but he stood his ground. "I will do every bit as much work as you—

most likely more."

The wind whipped the minotaur's mane around his face, giving him a particularly wild look. "That remains to be seen, mage."

"Enough!" Huma shouted. He would drag the lances out himself if need be. "If you are coming, do so, or stay here and let the snows eventually cover you!" He stalked away. A moment later, the other two followed quickly and without comment.

He had marked the spot as well as he could. The rock was where he had left it and he stepped over it and reached down. Kaz and Magius looked on in curiosity, especially when Huma's hand found only hard earth and not the hole that should have been there.

"What's the matter?" Kaz asked.

"I can't find it! I can't find it!"

The others fell to their knees and began searching the ground.

'There is no need to search further," a voice suddenly said. "The Dragonlances are safe and ready for their journey out into the world."

The voice came from above them. A great wind buffeted the trio, forcing them to step back. The voice apologized and the great wings slowed as the majestic dragon came to stop on a nearby outcropping.

"I heard the summons," said the same silver dragon who had given aid to Huma and Kaz, what seemed so long ago. "The lances are ready, awaiting us in a safe place." She gazed—fondly?—at the knight. "The next step in their journey, Huma, is up to you."

CHAPTER 22

"You? Gwyneth sent for you?"

The silver dragon's head bobbed in acknowledgment. "This was the area of my birth, long ago. I still come here; it is part of my duty, part of my destiny to stand watch here, waiting for the day the Dragonlances will be revealed to the world."

"How did you fare against the darkness?" Huma asked. He remembered the dragons as they waited for the magical blackness to envelop them. At that time, he had wondered whether they would live or die.

"We were vanquished." There was very human bitterness in her voice. "It was more than just the work of the renegades. We could feel the presence of the Black Robes, though 128

they were reluctant to be involved, for some reason, and something else. Something so malevolent that two of our number died there and then, merely because of its presence. We suspected and by the time we had lost, we knew." She hesitated. 'Takhisis has come to Krynn itself."

They were all stunned. The minotaur's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Magius was shaking his head again and again, as if he could deny it. Huma just stood there, the stony look on his face masking well the fear and anguish he felt. The Dragonqueen on Krynn—

hope, it would appear, was lost.

Or was it? Immediately, Huma remembered the vision of the platinum knight who had vanquished the darkness with the glory of the lance.

He cut off any comments by stating flatly, "This means nothing. We have the Dragonlances. Hope remains."

Kaz shook his head while Magius simply absorbed every word. The dragon looked on in satisfaction. She seemed quite pleased with Huma's reactions. The wind was beginning to pick up, and neither Huma nor his companions had any intention of staying on the mountain any longer than necessary. They needed food and rest. Huma asked the silver dragon, "Where are the lances?"

"They are far down below with your horses. I could carry them all, perhaps, but it would leave me barely able to maneuver, much less keep aloft. It would be best if I remain unhindered should we be attacked en route."

A thought occurred to Huma. The knight turned to his companions. "Kaz and Magius, you will take the horses. I would like to trust the two of you to work together. Is that possible?"

Kaz glowered at the mage, who, having been relieved of his guilt, was rapidly returning to his former arrogance and thus returned the glare with equal dislike. They would work together, though, because this goal far transcended their pettiness. Satisfied, Huma continued.

'There was a saddle on the dragon statue in the chamber of the lances," he told the dragon. "It enabled the rider to maintain control of his weapon. I would like to create a makeshift version of that saddle. Then, if you permit, I can ride upon your back, a Dragonlance ready should we be attacked."

She raised her head and seemed to consider. Finally, the silver dragon nodded. "An excellent thought. I must tell you that when I first arrived in the mountains, I ran across one of the dreadwolves of Galan Dracos and immediately slew it, but rest assured that Galan Dracos will send his lackey, the warlord Crynus, to deal with you." She extended her lengthy talons.

"I would not dislike a second confrontation with that obscenity called Charr. Too many of my kind have fallen to that black dragon and his warlord companion." That said, the silver dragon spread her wings, rose into the air as briefly and gently as possible, and then dropped to a point low enough so that she was almost eye level with the trio. "Climb aboard. I can take the three of you to the lances. Be prepared for many turns, however. The winds can be fierce in the mountains."

When they were securely upon her back, the leviathan spread her wings again and launched herself into the sky. At first, the trio saw the earth far below rushing up to meet them, then it seemed to be pulled back, as the silver dragon rose higher until she was able to maintain a proper balance.

Huma stared at the peak they were leaving. So much had happened there that he would never fully understand. He had not even climbed to the top, as he had first thought. At least a full quarter of the mighty giant still loomed above them.

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Below lay the cloud-enshrouded world. As they entered the misty ceiling over Ansalon, Huma shuddered and prayed that, despite his victories in the mountain, he was up to the challenges ahead.

"There." The silver dragon indicated a spot on the southern base of the mountain. Huma looked down and saw the horses and a wagon. The silver dragon had planned well for the difficult journey.

Only when they were on the ground did Kaz argue. "You cannot expect horses such as these to pull a wagon! They have not been trained for such labor. They are beasts of war, not burden."

'They will do what they can," replied the majestic leviathan. Huma, meanwhile, was fast at work on his own idea. He had removed the saddle from his mount. With the aid of a dagger borrowed from Kaz—his own still lay somewhere within the mountain—he cut the saddle on each side so that it would fit more comfortably on the dragon's back, which was much wider than that of any horse. As the straps would not reach around the midsection of a dragon, Huma was forced to employ rope. Fortunately, the skin of a dragon was much stronger and harder than that of a horse, so the coarse bonds would not irritate or hamper her.

There was little Huma could do about the post on which the lance should have pivoted. The most he could really do was carve away part of the pommel so that the lance could at least rest in something. Then, he strapped the Dragonlance securely to that side and tested it. Huma found he had some movement to his left, but his right had little. Satisfied that it would work, Huma removed the lance and presented the silver dragon with what he had created. She looked at it questioningly, then accepted its design.

"The saddle I saw," the knight explained, "was very much akin to a horse's saddle. It is a wider saddle since it must be worn by a dragon. Essentially, the true difference lies in the post on which the Dragonlance sits. The one on the dragon statue pivoted as I removed the lance. I cannot do that without more equipment and more time. Therefore, shaving the pommel to fit the handle of the Dragonlance was the only choice." Huma frowned at his handiwork. "I did very little actually."

"This will do," replied the winged creature.

While Huma was at work on the saddle, Magius investigated the wagon. He did not particularly care for the thought of dragging the lances by cart all the way back to Vingaard Keep—provided the Solamnic citadel was still standing—and he vocalized his doubts to those around him.

"There is no need for all this. I can transport the lances in virtually no time." The magic-user raised his hands and began to mutter.

Huma dropped the saddle as he realized what was happening. "Magius, no!" It was too late. The mage completed his spell—and nothing happened, except that the Dragonlances seemed to gleam a little more brightly. Magius looked at the cart and then at his hands, as if the latter were somehow responsible for his failure. Kaz let out a bellowing laugh.

"Don't ever do that again!" Huma practically shouted. "You are fortunate; the Dragonlances are impervious to your magic. There's no telling what might have happened if you had tried a more powerful spell."

The saddle was secured to the dragon shortly thereafter. It fit—barely. The cuts Huma had made into the sides of the saddle let it flatten out. The ropes were tight, but did not bind the dragon uncomfortably. When that was finished, the knight separated the original lance from the others and, with Kaz's help, tied it loosely to the left side of the saddle's pommel. It was decided that Magius would drive the wagon and Kaz would ride along as escort on the remaining horse. Above them, Huma and the dragon would act as scout and protector, 130

Huma paused before mounting the dragon, and he stared at the peak. "Gwyneth? What of her?"

The silver dragon turned her head and peered at him with great interest. "You care for her?"

Though admittedly not the best judge of his own emotions, Huma finally nodded.

'Though it's been a short time, I feel I have never known someone as well. Is she not coming with us?"

The dragon opened her massive jaws to speak, paused, and then visibly changed her mind about whatever she had planned to say. "There are things that she must do. It is possible you will see her again when you least expect it."

It was not what Huma had wanted to hear, but the knighthood needed these lances; there was no more time to waste.

"We may come across some of my kin on the way," the dragon commented. "If so, we could transport everything in the air and save much time." Huma secured himself. He checked the Dragonlance. It felt right in his hand. "Let us be off."

A lone figure astride a massive warhorse awaited them when they departed the chain of mountains. From the distance, it was impossible to make out whether this was friend or foe, and so Huma, on the back of the silver dragon and high above his other companions, moved on ahead, low and swift, to investigate. Midway there, he saw the figure raise a hand and shout a greeting. Recognition came to Huma a moment later.

Buoron watched wide-eyed as the dragon landed before him. He saw the knight sitting high atop the back of the giant creature, the gleaming lance poised for use.

"Huma?"

"Buoron." Huma did not dismount. "Why are you still here? Has something happened to the outpost?"

The bearded knight shook his head. "No ... I felt that someone should wait here, just in case."

The faith of the other knight touched Huma. "I appreciate your perseverance, my friend. We are on our way back to Solamnia. I fear we have little time to stop at the outpost, but we will have to do so in order to gather supplies."

"There is no need." Buoron indicated several large, heavy sacks attached to his saddle.

"I have enough here for four for a week. The horses can graze; there is plenty of good land. Water is also no problem. I can show you a number of streams." Huma squinted. "You speak as if you are going with us. I appreciate the thought, but we could not ask that of you."

Buoron smiled slightly. "I have received permission from Taggin to return with you to Solamnia. He feels that a report should be made of activities at the central command and to see if there is anything Grand Master Trake would have of us."

'Trake is dead. Oswal is now Grand Master."

"When did this happen?"

Huma opened his mouth to speak and then paused. He still had not quite convinced himself that it was all true. "I will explain later. If you are free to join us, I doubt if my comrades will have any complaint."

The other knight made a face. "The minotaur—and the mage?"

"Both are helping."

Kaz and Magius arrived at that point. Huma turned to them and broke the news that his fellow knight would be joining them. The minotaur greeted him as a fellow warrior while Magius seemed to regard him as a necessary adjunct.

131

They made little more distance that day. Though the war-horses performed excellently as substitute draft animals, they grew weary as the day lengthened. Eventually, Huma and the silver dragon landed ahead to supervise a camp for the group.

Later, as they settled down, Huma raised his head in alarm at a sound from the distance. It was faint, quite faint, but unmistakable. He caught hold of Buoron and asked, 'Tell me, are there many wolves in this region?"

Buoron shrugged. "Enough. Other than ourselves, there really is not much in the way of civilization—at least as we know it. I daresay the elves would differ with me on that question. Why?"

Huma shook his head wearily. "No reason. Just nerves." With Kaz and Buoron riding on each side of the wagon, the group started off again the next day. The silver dragon rose high in the air. For the time being, though, Buoron, more familiar with this territory, would guide them.

They reached the forested regions, and Huma tensed. From above, it was often impossible to see what lay beneath the treetops. Worse, because of the weapons, his companions below would have to stick to whatever trails existed in the woods. So intent was Huma on maintaining visual contact with his companions that he neglected his own safety. The silver dragon, too, only barely saw the streak from above. Huma clung to the saddle as foot-long claws barely missed pulling him from the back of his great companion.

A shriek, fierce, threatening, and deadly, rent the air. A large red dragon filled Huma's view momentarily before his own silver one dove even closer to the treetops. Huma glanced up quickly. There were two dragons, both crimson red.

The silver dragon did not hesitate when Huma shouted commands. She turned around and lifted herself as swiftly as possible toward the two attackers. Huma steadied the Dragonlance.

Both beasts had riders, and the knight's mind briefly registered that they wore the ebony of the Black Guard. Then the two red dragons were arcing toward them, and all thoughts of anything else vanished.

Huma tapped the left shoulder of the silver dragon and she immediately swerved to take on the red in the lead.

The thrust of the lance went through the terrible crimson beast so quickly, so suddenly, that the silver dragon was almost dragged to earth with it when she could not pull away fast enough. The rider of the dead leviathan was able to take one swing at Huma in that brief time, then struggled helplessly as the lance was extracted, and man and dragon plummeted toward the forest below.

The second dragon, above the brief battle, dove and attempted to wrench both rider and lance from the back of the silver dragon. The silver dragon, already backing up, increased her velocity. The red beast, instead of landing on its intended victim, came to a confused halt only a few lengths in front of its opponents.

The red's rider shouted something. The enemy dragon tried to continue its descent, but it hesitated a moment too long. Unfortunately, the lance succeeded only in penetrating the outer hide. The silver dragon, though, raked the left wing of her evil counterpart as she passed over.

The guardsman on the red dragon's back turned and swung at the silver dragon with a broadsword, striking a lucky blow across her snout. The sword had cut deeply. The Black Guard was not so defenseless as either Huma or his dragon had believed. The red wobbled away, the damage to his wing severe. But it turned in a swift, jagged arc and came charging back.

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At that moment, two more dragons broke through the cloud cover. One was red; the other was huge, bigger than the reds—and was coal black.

The black shrieked angrily—not at Huma and his companion, but at the wounded red dragon. The red ignored the call, so intent was it on avenging itself. To the surprise of all, the black dragon—it was indeed Charr, Huma could finally see—unleashed a fearsome blast of liquid. The rider of the red turned just in time to see it coming.

The liquid engulfed both rider and dragon. They became one single burning mass, and Huma gasped. Acid. Charr's own desire for vengeance was so great that he destroyed the two. He wanted the silver dragon, and the knight who rode her, for the wounds they had inflicted on him and his master, Crynus. The remnants of the red dragon and rider plummeted earthward.

The sole red and its rider remained in the background as Charr and the tall figure astride him, the warlord Crynus, sought the two who had humiliated them earlier. This time, Huma knew, the battle would not end until one or the other was dead. Huma chanced a look downward. As he feared, dark, armor-clad figures dotted some of the more open spaces in the woods. More of the Black Guard. He could see no sign of the wagon or his companions and prayed they could hold their own. Huma already had more than he could handle.

As if marking those thoughts, Charr dove at them.

"Be ready, Huma," the silver dragon called. "If I can, there are a couple of tricks that I can make use of, but the Dragonlance is our best hope of defeating this obscenity once and for all."

The two dragons battled for superiority. Higher and higher they rose, neither gaining an advantage. Huma felt the silver dragon shudder as she drew a deep breath. Was she tiring?

he wondered. Charr, sensing this, seemed almost to smile in triumph. Huma's companion suddenly unleashed a cone-shaped mist that enveloped the front portion of Charr. The black froze in mid-flight and began to fall earthward.

"Huma!" the silver dragon cried hoarsely. "I did not strike him directly, and he is terribly strong-willed. We must attack before he recovers from the paralysis." Even as she spoke, she slowed to dive. Huma gripped the saddle with one hand, the Dragonlance with the other, and the neck of his companion with both legs. Had he not ridden before and faced so many trials since then, he was certain that he would have blacked out long before now.

As they dove, Huma watched the black slowly return to life. Charr was already slowing his descent. Astride him, Crynus ranted and waved his battle ax and pointed at the knight and silver dragon above them. Chair's head turned slowly upward. This time the two dragons came together and fought to the maximum.

The Dragonlance pinned the sinister dragon by its shoulder. Blood dripped freely from that wound.

As the two massive heads thrust at one another, time and time again, the riders drew near enough to strike. Huma, hampered by the weight of the lance, could not draw his sword. Crynus swung his two-headed battle ax, barely missing the top of Huma's helmet. Both dragons had become splashed with blood, and it was difficult to decide who had suffered more. The necks of both bore dozens of cuts, bites, and gashes. The black dragon had been raked in the front but had managed to slice apart some of the lower membrane on the silver one's right wing.

The shoulder wound and the earlier wound to his wing were beginning to tell on Charr. He sank a little, and the silver dragon succeeded in giving the side of his neck a nasty set of gashes. Once more the Dragonlance dug into Chair's shoulder. 133

In desperation, the black inhaled sharply, and Huma, afraid that his companion did not notice it, kicked her sharply in the sides. Whether because of his warning or not, her snout came down hard on Chair's own, clamping the dark dragon's mouth shut. The acidic blast that Charr had been ready to exhale found itself stopped and reversed. The black shivered and shook, suffocating and burning at the same time.

The frenzy of his wounding sent his claws jabbing deep into the torso of the silver dragon. Charr stopped flying, as his entire system reeled from the acid and the loss of oxygen. All four combatants found themselves falling.

"My wings will slow us, but we still will strike with great severity!" the silver dragon shouted. "If I can, I will shift so as to act as a cushion for you." Crynus, meanwhile, seemed unconcerned with the fall. Even now, he struggled to reach Huma or the silver dragon. The wind prevented him from doing too much, and in anger or madness, the warlord unhooked himself from the safety of the saddle—and promptly was sucked away from the rest of the group.

He did not even scream.

Huma stared at the vanishing figure, unable to believe the insanity of the blackarmored warlord. The trees rushed up toward them. Chair's grip suddenly became limp, and the silver dragon at last was able to release herself.

By then, it was too late. They dropped into the treetops with a tremendous crash.

CHAPTER 23

When Huma awoke, he felt bruised over every inch of his body, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

He stood up and gazed at the wholesale destruction. The force of two such tremendous masses as the dragons had been enough to level much of the timber in the immediate area. Charr's inert form lay to one side, its neck snapped. The hideous face still had a toothy, upside-down smile. The deadly claws pointed uselessly into the air. There was no sign of the silver dragon, even though at least some of the blood came from her. She must have moved under her own power, but to where?

Where, also, were his companions? Huma could hear no sounds and was disoriented as to what direction they must be in.

The Dragonlance and saddle lay nearby, where he supposed the silver dragon had fallen. The Dragonlance still gleamed brightly, and Huma felt a little better just to see it. At least one enemy rider and one red dragon remained—but where were they?

He could not very well carry the lance on his shoulders; it was more than twice his height. His only real option was to drag it. He looped some rope around the shield, tied it together, and then pulled it over his head and one arm. In his free arm, he held his sword, which had managed to survive the fall.

Dragging proved awkward, and Huma was barely away from the scene of destruction before he caught the lance on an upturned tree root. The knight put down his sword and began to work the very lengthy weapon around. It came loose suddenly, and Huma fell against a tree trunk. Every bruise in his body screamed, and more than a minute elapsed before he was able to sit up and coordinate his thoughts. The first thing he did was to reach for his blade. It proved to be an excellent decision.

The heavy ax struck the tree exactly at the level where his neck had been. 134

Huma tumbled forward as he grabbed his sword and attempted to untangle himself. To his surprise, no other attack was forthcoming. Instead, his attacker boomed forth with laughter.

"You can have all the time you need, Knight of Solamnia! It won't do you a bit of good.'

Huma threw the rope down. He tightened his grip on the sword. He looked up to study his adversary—and shook his head, not believing what he saw. It had to be a trick!

Warlord Crynus was casually removing his battle ax from the tree trunk he had nearly severed. His plain ebony armor was dented and dirty in many places, but the warlord seemed in perfect health otherwise. His face remained hidden behind his visor, but his eyes glowed frost blue.

The tall, ominous figure should have been dead.

Crynus took a step forward. His deep voice hissed. "I am so pleased you survived, Huma of the Order of the Crown. You were lucky that day when we first met in the sky over that no-man's land. By rights, I would've cleaved your head from your body. That accidental victory of yours never should have happened, and I have remembered ever since." One of the warlord's heavy boots came down on the limb of a fallen tree and snapped it neatly. "I am the greatest of her infernal majesty's commanders. She would have lost the war long ago if it had not been for me."

"I have heard different," Huma dared to say. "Some say the greatest is Galan Dracos." Crynus gave the double-bladed ax a practice swing. "He has his uses, but I distrust his loyalty." The warlord paused and went on in a different tack. "Your thrust in that first, short encounter was a lucky one. As I said, that never should have happened."

"Why not?"

"See for yourself, if you are fortunate enough." The warlord charged Huma. Huma ducked the first swing, and the ax bit into yet another tree. With incredible strength, the warlord turned the pull into a second attack, forcing the knight back as the ax suddenly came singing back over his head.

This time, Huma found an opening and thrust, but his aim was off, and the weapon deflected off the commander's breastplate. Crynus laughed and renewed his vicious assault. Huma stumbled back and back as he sought to escape the continuing onslaught. The ax missed Huma again by only inches. This time, though, the warlord had miscalculated, and the shaft of the ax struck hard against the side of a tree, bouncing out of Crynus's hands. Daring everything, Huma lunged. This time, there was no mistaking the accuracy of his thrust. The sword came up and caught Crynus in the unprotected portion of his neck. Huma's blade did not stop until it reached the back of the warlord's helmet. The black-clad figure stumbled away, attempting to wrest the sword from his opponent as he did so. The warlord stumbled, dropped his ax, and tripped. On his hands and knees, he gave a death rattle.

Then, the warlord's maddening sound reverted to something more familiar—and chilling. While Huma watched, spellbound, Crynus slowly lifted himself to his feet, turned toward Huma, and smiled.

The mortal wound across the warlord's neck was little more than a scar. He seemed—

proud.

"I cannot die, Knight of Solamnia. I will heal instantly. I am, as I said, the greatest commander my lady has. My death would be a terrible blow to her. Thus I demanded of Galan Dracos this protection. At first, his attempt was only partially successful—almost to my eternal regret. Thus our foreshortened battle. My men would have taken you, but I wanted you for myself and they would not dare go against my wishes. I wanted you for what you had almost done."

135

The battle ax came at Huma again. The knight was fully on the defensive now, for how does one slay an opponent who heals instantly? Crynus had the strength of many and stamina to match.

The warlord laughed at Huma's efforts to dodge him and stay alive. Crynus was being openly careless, allowing his swings to go wild, taunting the knight with his immortality.

"I had expected more of a fight from you, young knight. You disappoint me." Huma backed into a tree. Crynus screamed as he swung the ax. The deadly blade narrowly missed Huma as the knight dove at the warlord. Behind him, the ax cut deep into the tree. The two collapsed into a heap and struggled. It was evident to Huma that he did not have the strength to match the warlord. Crynus pushed the knight away and tried to strangle him, but Huma kicked with his knee and threw his adversary off-balance. Both scrambled to their feet and faced one another. Huma still had his sword. The warlord was weaponless.

"What are you waiting for?" the ebony-armored commander gloated. "Run me through. I will still kill you with my hands."

Huma tried to stall while his mind raced for ideas. "How is it your army functions without you? Aren't you afraid they will blunder?"

Crynus laughed shortly. "Dracos is a competent commander. Besides, the time has come when my leadership can be spared. It is simply a matter of mopping up those who remain around Vingaard Keep. I leave such minor details to my staff." The battle ax lay only a short distance away. Huma took a step toward the weapon. If only he could get the ax.

Crynus screamed and threw himself on Huma's blade. The knight released his hold and leaped for the battle ax. The warlord's movements slowed as he attempted to pull the sword from his body. Huma picked up the battle ax and turned back to his opponent. Seemingly in no pain, the warlord began extricating the blade from his body. Huma raised the ax. Crynus turned toward him.

The cut was clean and the helmeted head of the warlord went flying. The warlord's body slumped to its knees. Huma threw down the battle ax with distaste. This was not his way.

The headless corpse rose to its feet again. All color drained from Huma's face. With definite precision, the hands of the decapitated creature removed the broadsword and tossed it away. Huma could see the wound healing itself. Even the armor, like a second skin, sealed itself. Huma waited for the thing to turn to him, but it was as if he had never existed, for the headless body began to walk off, toward where the warlord's head had flown. Huma could run, he knew, but the warlord would follow, never tiring.

"SARGAS!"

The cry came from the direction of the undead Crynus. Huma scooped up his sword. He knew of only one who would give such an oath.

If Kaz were around, the others were likely to be nearby. And the Dragonlance—

Of course!

Huma broke through the foliage. There was Kaz astride his horse, the minotaur's mouth agape. The others were nowhere to be seen. The minotaur's eyes stretched wide as the body of Crynus neared the disembodied head, which wobbled and tipped as if it still functioned.

"Kaz! It must not reach the head!"

The minotaur urged his horse forward—at the abomination that called itself Crynus. The warhorse charged forward until it was within six feet of the headless Crynus, then abruptly came to a halt, shrieking. Kaz wasted no time. He jumped off the panicked steed and raced the body for the head.

Huma, meanwhile, had returned to the Dragonlance. The knight picked up the shaft. 136

"Huuummmmaaa!"

Kaz burst through the foliage, nearly impaling himself on the Dragonlance. In his right hand he held a grisly prize, which still vibrated with ghastly life. Behind the minotaur came the sounds of something thrashing toward them with great purpose.

"Drop it!" Huma indicated the head. "Over there! Quickly!" The minotaur tossed the head in front of the tip of the Dragonlance just as a gauntleted hand came into sight.

The headless body froze and then dove to the side before they could impale it.

"It knows!" said the minotaur with a snort.

Worse yet, as the body rose, it held out one hand, clutching the fallen and forgotten battle ax.

"This is madness," Kaz muttered.

"WHAT is going on here?" cried a new voice.

Both Huma and Kaz looked up as the silver dragon hovered above them. She appeared drawn, and one of her forelegs hung limply, but much power still resided within her. She turned her gaze from the two and stared at the horrible creature. "Is that—?" The body reached for its head.

"Paladine!" the silver dragon uttered in shock. She inhaled sharply even as Crynus put down the battle ax and picked up his head. The arms of the monstrosity were raising the head high even as she unleashed a torrent of flame.

Dragonflame engulfed the warlord. The body wobbled, sank to its knees, and both head and trunk vanished in the purifying flame. Within seconds, no sign of the unliving Crynus could be seen within the miniature inferno.

The silver dragon landed in the clearing and readied herself for a second strike. "That should be the end of that thing," she said.

"Wait!" Kaz cried. He rushed to the fire and picked up the battle ax, which had escaped the blast. He tossed the ax into the fire—then raced away as the weapon exploded. Bits of metal and wood scattered through the forest. Kaz cursed as a tiny piece of metal struck him on the shoulder.

"Sar—Gods! I cannot leave you alone at any time, Huma!" The two rose and dusted themselves off. The silver dragon, meanwhile, blew out the fire with a cold blast that left ice clinging to the nearest trees.

"I didn't know you could do that," Huma said to her. Her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. "The chill and the paralysis are among our normal abilities. The flame— the flame is possible for any dragon save the cowardly, icedwelling white, but it requires much of us—and I am afraid I overexerted myself. I must rest." Huma nodded understanding, then glanced around. "Kaz! Where are Buoron and Magius? Where are the Dragonlances?"

"Where I left them, I suppose. When we saw the dragons fall in the distance, I volunteered to go ahead and see if you were still alive."

'Then you didn't SEE them?"

"Who?"

"We must get to them, fast!" Huma turned to the silver dragon, but the great beast was slumped on the ground. Between the multiple wounds received from Charr, the fall from which she had cushioned Huma, and the tremendous final effort she had expended on the rampaging Crynus, she had reached her limit.

"Can we leave you here?" he asked.

Shining eyes opened and regarded him. "I will be all right. I'm sorry I can be of no assistance."

137

Kaz retrieved his horse, the largest of their mounts. Once Huma was secure, Kaz urged the animal onward.

They could hear the clash of arms well before they neared the spot where Kaz had left the others. Huma had assumed that what he had seen from above was an out-and-out attack. In this, he was wrong. The Black Guard came upon Magius and Buoron from an ambush. A bright light flashed before them, and Huma saw an ebony-armored figure go flying against a tree. It was not too late. Both Magius and Buoron still lived, still fought. Huma did not wait for the horse to slow, but rather slid off and rolled to a crouch. Kaz removed his own battle ax and, with a cry, charged into the fray. Magius crouched on the wagon, keeping most of the attackers at bay with short-lived spells. Buoron stood on the ground behind the wagon, fighting off those guardsmen who had encircled the mage. The enemy was drawing tighter.

Huma picked off his first opponent and charged into the next. As their blades clashed, Huma heard the howl. It was very near, and there was no mistaking it this time. A dreadwolf. It leaped up onto the back of the wagon. Buoron saw it first, but that brave knight could only shout; he was already engaged with two other foes. Magius, pale and drawn, turned to face the creature. The mage shouted and unleashed a spell, but it sputtered and evanesced before it reached its target. Magius had reached his limit. This time, the dreadwolf—or rather Galan Dracos, since his was the mind that controlled the unliving creatures—did laugh. Huma succeeded in disposing of his guardsman adversary and tried to reach the wagon. He was cut off by two more ebony-armored guardsmen and could only glance helplessly as the burning eyes of the creature brightened and the renegade unleashed a spell of his own. Huma did not see what happened next, but when the wagon came into his view again, Magius was standing unharmed. The Dragonlances had in some way protected him from Dracos's foul power. The dreadwolf cringed back. Dracos had not expected this setback.

Then Huma was pressed back and Kaz was pulled from his horse. There was a flash of light and a tall, circular opening materialized in the air itself. It was a portal, the knight realized, a gate large enough to drive a wagon through. Huma struggled against the two warriors who blocked his path, and they gave quarter.

A guardsman leaped up behind Magius, and the spellcaster turned just in time. The hapless attacker crashed to the ground. The dreadwolf was nowhere to be seen. One of Huma's opponents made a fatal mistake and paid for it. The other fought with desperation. More guardsmen were swarming around the wagon. Buoron seemed to have vanished.

Two more black figures jumped on the wagon and this time Magius was not quick enough. One caught his arms and held him back while the other sought the reins. Other warriors began retreating through the portal, their destination most likely Galan Dracos's citadel.

Another guardsman joined the other two on the wagon. Huma finally slew his last adversary and charged toward the wagon. A white abomination blocked his path briefly, but it appeared more intent on retreating through the portal than anything else. It did not even glance in the knight's direction.

Though the wagon was only yards from the portal, the driver hesitated as the portal seemed to blink in and out of existence. The horses fought him for control. One guardsman leaped off the cart as Huma reached it. At the same time, Magius succeeded in breaking the hold of his captor and pushed his hand in the man's visored face. A small burst threw the guardsman back, but it was only enough to stun him. Magius half-collapsed, the final effort exhausting him. He had no more power and little strength. He crawled forward and tried to 138

wrap his arm around the driver's neck. He succeeded in halting the progress of the wagon, but both men fell from the vehicle.

One of the few remaining guardsmen shouted something, and then they were all retreating toward the gate.

The horses, unsettled by all the commotion, again began to move. Huma grabbed the reins. The horses protested, but Huma began to shout commands to them. Kaz, daring everything, stood before the steeds and took hold of the bridles. With strength no human could match, he held the horses firm. They struggled a little more, then finally gave in to his control. Huma slumped down on the driver's seat and nodded thankfully at the minotaur. The portal vanished.

A groan came from behind the wagon. Huma jumped up, sword ready, only to feel a sting of pain from his left leg. He looked down to see a long gash that a broadsword must have opened during the fighting.

Kaz reached the groaning figure first. It was Buoron, lying half-underneath the wagon. His left arm was covered with blood, and there was a gash across his face. The blood from the facial wound had momentarily blinded him.

"Are you hurt severely?" asked Huma.

"My eyes sting and I fear no one will ever use me as a sculptor's model, but the only true pain is in my arm. I am thankful it was not my sword arm. I fear it will be useless for some time." Even as Buoron spoke, Kaz was already at work on the knight's wounds. The minotaur himself was covered with countless minor wounds, but he seemed unconcerned with his own welfare.

Huma nodded and limped slowly to the front of the wagon. He peered over the far side and then froze.

Magius! Where was the spellcaster? Ignoring his pain, Huma leaped out of the wagon and searched the dead. All wore the black of Takhisis and her commanders. The few who had suffered at the power of the mage were easy to identify. Of Magius himself there was no sign. Near the woods, Huma spotted a small rod lying among the scattered remains of the attackers. He walked over and picked it up.

The rod quivered, and Huma almost dropped it out of surprise. The surprise turned to fascination as the rod expanded, growing and growing until it was taller than Huma. It was the staff of Magius. The spellcaster was never without the staff.

It had been lying directly beneath where the portal had been.

Magius was in the hands of Galan Dracos.

CHAPTER 24

"We do not know if he has indeed been taken Huma, and even if he is a prisoner of Galan Dracos, it would be impossible for us to rescue him. They must have him in the citadel of the renegade, himself," Kaz pointed out for the hundredth time.

"Our best hope is to deliver the Dragonlances to Vingaard Keep and the Grand Master, Huma," Buoron added.

Huma nodded. They were both correct, he knew, but his inability to protect Magius, whom he had known nearly all his life, gnawed at him.

Buoron, the wounded arm in a sling, drove the wagon now. Huma sat with the lances, watching the trio's backside. The silver dragon had volunteered to seek out the assistance of her kin, and Huma had approved the idea.

With Crynus destroyed and his guardsmen in disarray, the trio should be safe for the time being. In actuality, a part of Huma almost desired a second accounting. 139

The next few days passed without incident as the companions traveled toward Solamnia and Vingaard Keep. There were times when Huma would wake to what he was sure were the cries of the dreadwolves, but nothing came of these.

In all this time, the silver dragon did not return. No one cared to conjecture on this, although all three assumed it had something to do with the steadily advancing hordes of the Dragonqueen. Huma recalled the words of Crynus— that the Knights of Solamnia had been virtually defeated and that Vingaard soon would fall. As much as he wished to believe otherwise, Huma tasted too much truth in those statements.

By this time, they were far to the northwest of Caergoth. Huma recalled Lord Guy Avondale and prayed they would pass this region without confronting the Ergothian commander. After Huma's abrupt departure, he was not sure how Avondale would welcome him. Nor was Huma confident as to what the Ergothians would do once they saw the Dragonlances. They might very well confiscate them.

The trio was making good time, all things considered, but it was still not fast enough for Huma. The evil of Takhisis was enveloping everything, and Huma felt impotent. They crossed plains now. That would continue for much of the journey. While it made their going easier, it also provided them with little cover.

At midday, only two days from the border, they sighted a huge patrol, too far away to be identified. But it was plain the patrol had seen the trio as well, for the soldiers shifted in their direction and their pace quickened.

Kaz removed his battle ax. Huma leaped from the back of the wagon and unsheathed his blade. Buoron remained with the wagon, but he pulled out his sword and waited for the approach of the patrol.

The bearded knight was the first to identify them. Turning to Huma, he said,

"Ergothians. Part of their northern army, I would say." There was no way to outrun them. How would Ergothians act when confronted with an ax-wielding minotaur and two knights from an order responsible in great part for the decay of the once-mighty Ergothian Empire?

The commander of the patrol raised his hand as the group neared the trio. A broad, almost fat man with a small beard and thin gray hair, he studied each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on Kaz, who, despite his nature, tried his best to look unthreatening. In Huma's opinion, the minotaur failed completely.

First, the Ergothian addressed Buoron. "You are from one of the outposts in the south, are you not?"

"I am." Both knights stiffened. This commander was a keen observer.

"Your companion knight is not?"

Huma answered. "Lord, I am Knight Huma of the Order of the Crown."

"I see," said the Ergothian with about as much interest as if he had been told that there was grass growing on the plains. He pointed at Kaz. "And that? Where did that come from?

I've heard rumors . . ."

"I," the minotaur announced proudly, "am Kaz. I have rebelled from my former masters and am now companion to Huma, most noble and brave of knights." That might have brought a few smiles to the faces of the Ergothians if they had not seen the dark look on the face of Kaz and knew he meant every word of it.

"I am also a minotaur, not a 'that.'"

"I see." The commander shifted his girth in the saddle and turned to Huma. "I am Faran and though we have never met, I and my men are presently attached to an acquaintance of yours. Lord Guy Avondale,"

Huma could not help but flinch.

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"I see you remember him. I have been asked to escort you to him, and I will not take

'no' for an answer."

Huma looked at his two companions. The patrol outnumbered them and included more than a few archers. To resist would be foolish. As long as they lived, there was hope. "We will gladly accept your escort."

Faran smirked. "I thought you might." He waved his hand and the patrol split, one half flanking each side of the wagon. There would be no escape. "We have a day's journey ahead of us, so I recommend we waste no more valuable time."

"I must admit to being greatly surprised at your sudden absence that night, Huma," Lord Guy Avondale was saying the next day.

The three of them sat, alone, before the chief commander in his tent.

"I have explained those circumstances."

"Yes, you have." Lord Avondale put down his goblet. The trio had been offered wine as well, but none of them had accepted. "I should have known better, I grant that, but when we discovered that nest of pestilence, I was more than happy to accept the mage's assistance." Kaz, his patience wearing thin, stood up fiercely. "We have been sitting here for the past three hours, two of which were wasted waiting for you, commander. For the past hour, you have spoken of nothing but false pleasantries and news so old—how much longer are we to put up with this? Are you going to let us pass into Solamnia with the lances?" Two guards came rushing in, but the commander waved them off. They did not leave the tent, Huma noticed.

The Ergothian put down his goblet. "For the past three hours, and all of last night, I have been debating in my mind as to what to do about you and those weapons. In answer to your last question, yes, you may pass through with the lances. For what reason would I turn them over to the emperor? He would merely mount them on some palace wall as the latest of his trophies, despite what they could do for all of Ansalon." Huma and Avondale locked gazes. "Other than a few die-hards, most of us are realistic enough to admit the truth. It is no longer the emperor we truly fight for, although perhaps that once might have been the case. We are fighting for Ergoth, our homeland, and our families. That is what matters in the long run. Emperors come and go, but it is the people who sustain. We lost sight of that at some point, and a good portion of the empire decided they could do better without us—but you know that, of course."

"Then," Huma said calmly, "if what you say is true, why are we being held here?"

"You are not. We are waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

A horn signaled the approach of someone or something. Guy Avondale rose and smiled knowingly. "I think that is them now. Come with me, please." They stood and followed the Ergothian commander. They were trailed by the two guards.

When they had entered the camp, the first thing Huma had noticed was the vast, open plain situated before the tent of the commander. He had wondered at its purpose then, even as he had wondered until now how Avondale had known where they were and that they were coming at all. Now the knight understood.

The first to land was the silver dragon herself. She seemed fully healed and, in fact, greeted Huma with such enthusiasm that he was overwhelmed.

"I apologize for the delay, Huma, but it proved more difficult than I thought to locate assistance. But I have found them!"

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Two more silver dragons landed, one female and one male. They were introduced as the silver dragon's siblings, and both greeted and gazed at Huma with such seriousness it was as if they were inspecting him. Huma returned their greeting with some unease. The final newcomer was a bronze-colored dragon, slightly smaller than all the rest. What he lacked in size, though, he more than made up for in muscle and speed. He had, from humans, acquired the nickname of Bolt, which he wore proudly. Here at last, Huma decided, was a kindred spirit for Kaz.

"Four or five lances between us will be no difficulty," Huma's silver dragon explained.

'The saddle—" Huma began.

"I have had someone working on that," interjected Avondale. "We have four saddles, which should suffice. I assure you that they will be more than capable of withstanding the rigors ahead."

"They had better be," Kaz muttered.

"You said four," Huma said. "We have only three, without Magius. "Unless you think—"

"I do not!" The Ergothian commander looked Huma straight in the eye. "In the name of Paladine and all of Ansalon, I forbid you from going and throwing yourself at the renegade in a futile attempt to rescue the mage! You yourself have spoken of how much the Dragonlances mean to the future of all of us. If you throw your life away, you are condemning us to the Dragonqueen's dark dreams!"

Inwardly, Huma felt shame at the relief that flowed through him upon hearing Avondale's words. Part of him desperately wanted to rescue his companion, while another part of him yearned for his own safety. Huma was torn.

"Who is to be our fourth member, then?"

"I am."

"You?" Kaz snorted in derision. "Have all the world's commanders gone mad?" Lord Avondale replied coldly. "Faran is more than capable of stepping into my role. Despite his dislike of Solamnia, he is a practical man. He will not do anything to upset the situation. I would trust no one more."

"What would your emperor say?" asked Buoron, silent until now.

"What the emperor would say, he may tell me if I survive. As I told you, I am fighting for Ergoth. I would never forgive myself if I placed another's life in such danger, though I am sure many would volunteer. Someone must go with you, to represent Ergoth to your Grand Master, and it may as well be me."

Huma agreed, albeit with great reluctance. They were in Avondale's hands at present; there really was no choice— and he would be a good man to have on one's side, Huma decided.

It was agreed that Huma would again ride the silver dragon, while Buoron and Avondale would take the younger male and female, respectively. This left Kaz with the volatile Bolt. As Huma had suspected, the minotaur and the bronze dragon took to one another like two old soldiers. His only fear was that the two might take it on themselves to charge on ahead, and he voiced this opinion to the silver dragon. She chuckled. "Bolt and Kaz do indeed make a troublesome pair, but the dragon at least knows better—I think. I shall warn him once we are in the air."

"Make sure it's understood that the warning is for both of them."

'There will be no doubts."

They had wanted to leave without fanfare, but Faran would not hear of it. The secondin-command had an honor guard waiting to see them off. Bolt, especially, was intrigued by the Dragonlance. Already a terror in the skies—

according to himself—he claimed he now had the perfect edge with the lance and Kaz in the 142

saddle. The silver dragons all looked on in poorly masked amusement, although Huma's did admit shortly thereafter that the bronze dragon's words were not bluster. He was indeed a formidable opponent.

The dragons rose into the sky one at a time, with Huma and his mount the first, Kaz and Bolt last. The sun was already well into the sky, but with the dragons bearing them, they would cover a vast distance that day in any case.

By the time night had triumphed, they had long passed the border into Solamnia. One thing they had not thought of slowed them, though. The drizzle that had started in Ergoth was a downpour at this point, and all four riders were soaked. The dragons seemed unaffected, especially the bronze, who seemed to enjoy the shafts of lightning that almost skewered them twice. At Huma's urging, they finally landed for the night in the hope that the morning would bring better conditions. The dragons formed a protective square around them and the four set up the two tents Avondale had thought to bring along. The tents kept the rain from them and Huma's only regret was that the true smell of a wet minotaur became very obvious as the night aged.

In the morning, Kaz had the same comment about him.

The rain did not cease, but it did lighten. The riders covered themselves with their cloaks or in the few blankets they had brought. Thanks to the dragons, they would be within the vicinity of Vingaard Keep in two days. Had they not been burdened by the extra lances, it would have taken even less time.

Still, their journey was by no means over, for now they were to face the Dragonqueen's forces. Dracos had a stranglehold on the heart of Solamnia, for he had finally cut off northern and southern routes into and out of Vingaard, effectively creating a wall that encircled the Keep. Supplies were becoming scarce. Control of the sky was still a question, but morale was having its effect even on the dragons of light. The only thing that had kept them going, the silver dragon revealed, was the rumor of the Dragonlance. The male silver was in the lead when they felt the first probe in their direction. A presence was nearby, reaching out with magic to detect outsiders. The probe was no more than a momentary contact with their minds, but it was enough to send the entire group into an abrupt halt.

"Back!" cried the male.

The four leviathans whirled and retreated some distance back along their route. They conferred as they flew.

"What was it we felt?" Huma's female asked.

"A mind—not a dragon's mind, but a powerful human mind. Undisciplined, too. This one was never a student of the Orders of Magic."

"Not a cleric?"

The male shook his massive head. "No, definitely a mage. A renegade." Huma looked around nervously. "Surely, he is not a threat to you!"

"Physically, no, Huma." It was his own silver dragon who replied. "But he would have no trouble warning others of our presence—if he hasn't already—and those others may be a threat. His sole purpose is to watch the skies."

"Let me take him!" Bolt shouted.

"What would you do," the young female silver asked, "that could possibly prevent him from sending out a message before you strike?"

The bronze dragon clamped his mouth shut.

"I think," the silver male commented, "that an opening has been left for us. He is, after all, only human. I will fly to a level much higher than we normally fly. Once there, it is 143

possible that I can discover whether his range of power can extend that high. I must risk our discovery to be sure." He added, "If my companion has no objections . . ." Buoron shook his head, although he gripped the saddle pommel tightly.

"What of the rest of you?"

There was no argument from the others. Taking that as a positive response, the male spiraled once and then turned skyward. As Buoron held on, the silver male began to soar higher and higher and higher until he was lost in the cloud cover. Several minutes passed while the others waited anxiously. Then Huma spotted a form breaking through the clouds. Buoron was rather pale, but otherwise seemed none the worse. His dragon seemed elated. "I was correct. So typical of many earthbound minds; his search extends only to the cloud cover. As far as he is concerned, anything above that does not exist."

"I could've thought of that!" complained Bolt.

"You did not, and neither did I," commented Huma's dragon. "Now that I hear it, it amazes me. I had forgotten how closed-minded some humans are. Still, he may yet come to that realization by accident, so we had better move quickly." The others followed Huma and his companion skyward, soaring up until they burst into the cloud cover, the mists, and then broke through to the other side. From there, they estimated their present position from Vingaard Keep and continued their journey. The dragons flew on through the night while their riders slept. Huma awoke to the sound of Kaz arguing with the great reptilian creatures about the need for them to land before every muscle in his body stiffened, war or no war. The dragons themselves were visibly tired and ready to land in order to get a new fix on their positions. First Bolt, then the others spiraled swiftly downward.

The bronze dragon disappeared into the silky, white sea, followed quickly by the other silver female. Huma and the silver dragon followed next.

The cool mist surrounded him, and he could not even see the dragon's head. A harsh, grating crashing came from below them and Huma's first thoughts were that they were entering into a tremendous storm. Then, suddenly, they were out of the cloudcover—

—and into chaos.

They had assumed, incorrectly, that they had crossed beyond the enemy forces. Huma's mind spun with horrible nightmares as he realized how tightly the Keep was surrounded. Fighting raged everywhere.

Men and ogres were clashing furiously with one another. In Huma's eyes, it seemed as if the land below was swarming with the dead and dying. Both sides were advancing and retreating at the same time, depending upon where he looked. It was chaos. Dragons of Takhisis continually dove down, assaulting both the ravaged lines of the knights and any of their ogre allies who were unfortunate enough to be too near. There were dragons of gold, silver, bronze, and copper, but they always seemed outnumbered. Worse yet, there prevailed a sense of malevolent power all about that the courage of the good dragons could not seem to counter. Even up here, away from the battle, Huma could feel discouragement and surrender building up within his soul.

'Takhisis is here," Huma's companion muttered to him. "She is here on Krynn, feeding our cousins with her power, chilling the minds of her enemies. I did not think she could retain so much of her power on the mortal plain. It is as if she were before us herself." It was true. The Dragonqueen's presence was overwhelming. Huma shivered from a cold that threatened to numb his mind more than his body. How did one fight a goddess?

"Up ahead, Huma. Can you see it?"

His gaze followed the direction her head pointed and, after wiping his eyes more than once, he identified the tiny object on the horizon.

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"Vingaard Keep!" Kaz shouted from ahead of them. By now, they all could see it—

and the battle that seemed to cover every inch of ground all the way to its walls. Lord Avondale cried out and pointed to their right. A gold dragon battled two reds. The combat was fierce, and all three bore wounds. When it became obvious that the gold dragon was beginning to lose. Bolt waited no longer. With Kaz readying his Dragonlance, the two charged into the fray.

Suddenly, there were dragons everywhere, most of them foes. All thoughts of food and rest vanished. There were only the claws and the teeth, the cries and the screams, the blood and the pain.

And the Dragonlances.

The dark dragons here knew nothing of the lances, perhaps because Dracos had not wanted them to fear. They soon learned that fear, however, as one after another perished on the points of lances which, when pulled free, were unstained and unscratched, and glowed with a brilliance all their own.

The children of Takhisis soon began to turn and flee from that brilliance, for they marked it easily as the sign of Paladine and they had no power against him. Others, farther off, noted the frenzy with which their brethren fled the battle and assumed then that the day was lost. The fleeing of the first dragons soon became a wave of confusion in the sky as more and more retreated in uncomprehending panic.

Freed from battling their counterparts, the dragons of Paladine added to the strength of the knighthood, and the tide on the ground began to turn as well. First the west, then the eastern lines of the Dragonqueen's forces began to bend, give, and then at last crumble. Without the aid of their dragon allies, the ogres and humans who fought for the darkness lost courage, and many simply threw down their weapons and fled.

Eventually, the fighting died. That the skies rumbled ominously and lightning blasted the mountains to the west disturbed only a few. A victory of some kind had been desperately needed, and it had been produced. No one at the time knew how, but they gave thanks to Paladine and his house for the miracle and then grimly waited to see what would happen next. Well past midday, four exhausted dragons landed in the courtyard of Vingaard Keep. On their backs they each bore a rider, all of whom also were pale and exhausted. A silvery glow encompassed the newcomers and eventually someone realized it was the great lances that glowed so godlike, and not the dragons and riders themselves. By that time, though, the stories were already spreading.

CHAPTER 25

They told me it was you, but I could not believe it! Not after the tales that have circulated."

'Tales?" Huma and his companions had climbed down from the dragons—where they would have been swarmed by knights and commonfolk alike if not for the quick thinking of Lord Grendal, who controlled the Keep's defenses. Several of the well-trained veterans who made up Grendal's force were out and around the newcomers within the first minute after the landing.

Lord Oswal, Grand Master, indicated Huma himself. "You know what I speak of. The stories of your battle with the demon who seeded plague and dissension throughout the land."

"Rennard?"

"Rennard. Amazing how faulty their memories can be. When he was revealed for what he was and you defeated him there, they quickly forgot how much they wanted to believe the 145

rumors he spread. They blamed him as an evil demon or cleric—I forget what exactly. Then, to top it all off, you supposedly vanish into thin air like Paladine himself." Huma's face turned dark crimson. 'The part about my vanishing is true, but I assure my lord that it was not by my own power."

"Indeed." Lord Oswal's eyes strayed to the Dragonlances and his body seemed to shake momentarily. "Are those, then, what you have been seeking? What we have so desperately needed?"

"Yes, milord. The Dragonlances. We would have been here sooner, but we became caught up in the battle."

"I daresay. I've had men and dragons alike speak of how the eight of you came from nowhere, dealing fear and death to the Dragonqueen's lackeys. Perhaps they are right; perhaps you are Paladine in mortal guise come to Krynn."

"Lord Oswal!"

The Grand Master chuckled. "I have not come around to that way of thinking, Huma. Not yet." Despite his evident desire to inspect the lances, Oswal turned to the rest of Huma's band. "I know you, minotaur, and glad I am that I had faith in you. You live up to all the good I have heard of your kind. I thank you for your assistance." Kaz was oddly quiet. "I did what I was required to do. I have sworn an oath to Huma."

"Is that all it was?" The Grand Master smiled and turned to the others, starting with Lord Avondale. There was just the hint of coolness in the Grand Master's tone. "I welcome you, Ergothian commander, as a fellow knight. I do not suppose you have brought your army with you?"

"When we met that one time. Grand Master, I knew you would someday hold your present position, but I hoped it would mellow you before we had to face each other again." Oswal accepted the veiled reprimand with a more genuine smile. "Forgive me if I sometimes forget I am also in the presence of a cleric of Paladine." Huma, Kaz, and Buoron looked at one another. While they respected Lord Avondale, they would have never taken him for a cleric of Paladine. Then again, who was to say what a cleric had to look like so long as his belief and his ways did not contradict the teachings?

"You've let out my secret, but it's just as well. Perhaps Huma now will understand why I wanted him to accompany me to Caergoth. When I noted the sign of Morgion on such an obviously loyal knight, I worried that he might be marked for some foul deed." Avondale turned back to Huma and smiled.

The Grand Master turned from Avondale and regarded Buoron with some amusement. With his great beard, the knight from the southwest stood out. Buoron was shaking in the presence of the Grand Master.

"You are . . ."

The knight blinked several times before blurting out his name. "Buoron, milord!"

"From one of our remote Ergothian outposts, I imagine."

"Yes, milord." Buoron was white.

"Good man." Lord Oswal patted him on the shoulder and turned away. Buoron breathed a sigh of relief and gave a sickly smile.

"Now, then, Huma." The Grand Master was all seriousness. "If you would be so kind, I would like you and your companions to join me in my quarters. I want to hear everything."

"Yes, milord, but the Dragonlances—"

"Will be handled with care and placed in a safe location until we decide what can be done with them. Now come; I suspect you all could do with something to drink. I know after today's near-catastrophe, I could."

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Huma's report was punctuated every now and then by the thunder and lightning playing havoc in the mountains to the west. Takhisis letting loose her rage on those who had failed her, Kaz suggested, or perhaps Galan Dracos furious over his followers' failed attempts to seize the Dragonlances.

Lord Oswal tapped the table as he absorbed all Huma had related. "Paladine! I never would have believed it if it had not been you—and to actually see them! You make an old man proud, Huma. Durac would have been proud, I know that."

"Thank you, milord." That compliment meant more to him than all others.

"Made from dragonsilver by a smith with one silver arm, and bearing a god-forged hammer, as well."

Huma looked perplexed. "I made no mention of that."

The Grand Master smiled knowingly. "I am a student of old lore, Huma, which is one reason I believed in you all along. If this smith is as you described him, he must be bearing a hammer that was forged by Reorx himself. I am thankful that our ancient records are true after all and you have lived to bring the weapon to us."

Something had been building up inside Huma and he finally stood. "Milord, I beg of you. I appreciate all you have been saying and I know there was much you had to hear, but we now have the Dragonlances and I must ask of you a favor. There are twenty lances that may be utilized in the heavens. Give me but one lance and let me fly to the domain of Galan Dracos and his dark mistress. I must free Magius!"

"Knight Huma." The Grand Master's voice was toneless, frighteningly akin to Rennard's. Lord Oswal stared at him until Huma sat. "One man or woman, be they companion, lover, or blood kin, is not worth the lives of hundreds—and I say that even if I were that one. You may disagree with me, and that is your prerogative—in private. We are fighting for the existence of all Solamnia, of all Ansalon if not Krynn itself. I cannot condone your idea."

"He was taken defending the lances." Huma's bitterness began to show.

"I understand that, Knight Huma, as I understand the dangers to you that I think you do not. My answer remains the same. Understood?"

Huma said nothing.

"Now, then, you have twenty-one lances, one of which is designed for a footsoldier, you said."

"Yes."

'Twenty lances are hardly sufficient. We were fortunate this time, in that the dragons did not expect you, and your sudden appearance threw them into confusion."

'They fled with their tails between their legs," remarked Kaz smugly.

"This time. When next they come—and do not believe they will not—they will act with more cunning and more confidence, and four lances, let alone twenty, will not prevail."

"You are claiming the fight is lost already. This is not what I expected to hear from the Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia," Lord Avondale commented. The Grand Master ignored the look of disdain on the Ergothian's face and kept his gaze fixed on Huma. "While some may see this as accepting defeat, it is only because they have not bothered to wait and hear. What we need to do is clear the smithy of all else and create, as accurately as possible, lances as near in quality to the originals as we can." Guy Avondale's eyes narrowed, and a thin smile played across his lips. Kaz and Buoron exchanged looks of puzzlement. Huma hesitated, then saw where the elder knight was leading.

"A ploy! We're going to ensnare them with a great bluff!" 147

Lord Oswal smiled, an edge in his gaze. "A bluff. Exactly. We already have the setup for creating ordinary lances. Now we shall make as many faithful forgeries of the Dragonlances as possible."

"How long will all this take?" asked Avondale. "As you yourself have indicated, it will not be long before they return."

"Metalworking in most of its forms is an art with us, commander. It is part of the secret of our success. Shoddy weaponry and protection make for shoddy armies—a paraphrasing of something in the Measure. Given two days, we will have more than a hundred lances. They will be, as I said, copies, forgeries of the true Dragonlances. The word has no doubt spread as to the cause of the rout. When next we face them, I hope to have at least a hundred lances ready. When the Dragons of Takhisis come, they will find themselves facing a veritable cavalry charge. The element of surprise will be ours. I am hoping that a hundred lances, supposedly actual Dragonlances, will cause a new panic. With the dragons at bay, our own forces will advance and meet the ogres."

"This is more than a bluff. You intend to win, Dragonlances or not. It is an interesting plan. You have faith in it? Truly?"

"As a cleric of Paladine, you should know. Besides, it is not so much the plan I have faith in as it is in my men. We are, after all. Knights of Solamnia."

"Huma."

He had been walking alone, trying to sort out all that was happening. Magius, the Dragonlances, Galan Dracos, Gwyneth—

"Huma?"

He whirled. She was there in the shadows of the stable. She was clad in a flowing robe of silver-blue, her slim form partially revealed as she walked toward him. Huma could only gape.

"Gwyneth?"

She smiled. "You expect someone else?"

"No!"

"I wanted to come to you earlier, but it wasn't possible. There are—some things—I must sort out. I hope you don't mind if I walk with you, though."

"No. Not at all."

Gwyneth took his arm, and the two walked slowly around the courtyard. It was the first nearly clear night that Huma could recall. There were even patches of actual sky, as if the cloud cover at last were breaking up. Huma knew better than to hope it would vanish. Only one thing would bring that about: total defeat of the Dragonqueen. It took him some time to build up the nerve, but at last Huma asked, "How did you get here?"

She turned her face from him. "Please don't ask that now. I promise I'll tell you soon."

"Very well. I'm just glad to see you."

That made her turn back. "I'm glad of that. It makes everything worthwhile." Gwyneth's expression suddenly darkened again. "I heard something about you wanting to go after Magius by yourself."

"The Grand Master forbids it."

"What will you do?"

"I obey the Grand Master. It's my duty."

They were silent after that. Gwyneth had rested one hand on Huma's arm and, as they walked, he was astonished at the strength in that hand. There was so much he did not know about her, including her connection with the Dragonlance. She must be a cleric, he decided, but of which god he was not sure.

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Gwyneth suddenly stared ahead and stiffened. Huma followed her gaze and caught sight of an unfamiliar male of approximately his own age. The man was dressed like a villager—they had come straggling in to Vingaard Keep just before the war reached their homes—but his stance was not like one of them. The face was fairly well hidden by shadow, but Huma could have sworn that the eyes blazed. After glancing at both of them, the stranger disappeared around a corner.

"Who is that?" Huma's hand fell to the hilt of his sword. If someone stalked Gwyneth .

. .

"No one," she replied, much too quickly. Gwyneth disengaged herself from Huma's arm. "I have to leave now. I'll see you again later, I promise." She turned the way they had come, and hurried away. Huma thought to follow her, but she was out of sight almost instantly. The knight blinked; he could not recall when or where she had turned.

Reaction to the Dragonlances was not what Huma and the others had expected. He had offered to demonstrate the methods and uses of the Dragonlance. To his amazement, only a handful of knights came to see him. One of them revealed the reason for the astonishing apathy among his brethren. Huma, stunned, told the others what the knight had said and how widespread those feelings were among the knighthood.

"The time for miracles is past. They will not accept the magic of the lances, and who can blame them? We are asking them to risk their lives uselessly as far as they are concerned. Those who ride with the true Dragonlances will bear the brunt of the assault and then attempt to break through and strike at the heart of evil, Galan Dracos and his infernal mistress. But suicide is against the Oath and Measure. And few have the true faith in Paladine where this is concerned. I was told a few believe I created the lances myself. They want to know why they should risk their lives so needlessly when they could be here, with their comrades, fighting a definite foe on more equal terms. Fighting dragons is one thing; facing the Dragonqueen herself is folly. That message was relayed to me more than once." Lord Oswal rose at that point. 'They'll risk it, curse them! They're knights, not skulking thieves! I'll order them to take the lances and use them!"

"And they'll die," Avondale threw in.

"What's that?" The two commanders locked eyes.

"They'll die, Grand Master. With little or no faith, they'll simply die. It's not a matter of whether the power of Paladine flows within the Dragonlances, The hand that guides the weapon also must believe or else reactions will be a little too slow, a little off the mark. They must have faith, as we do, or they will lose because they will see these lances as they have seen all lances—objects that will bend, break, or shatter on the hides of the dark dragons."