There was renewed muttering from the other minotaurs. They had reacted as the ogre wanted them to. Speak of honor and cowardice, and they would believe anything he said.
The two minotaurs were still facing one another. Scurn still wanted Hecar, and the other still wanted to protect his sister. Helati was caught between bringing dishonor to her brother by speaking the truth or dishonoring herself even more by remaining silent. She chose the latter.
“What about Greel?” Scurn asked. He was beginning to realize that he would gain nothing by fighting and killing Hecar at this time. The other minotaurs still favored Hecar, and Scurn, like the ogre, knew he could not hunt Kaz alone. Yet he could not bring himself to quit the argument altogether. He would lose some face if he backed down now.
“Greel was not a swimmer,” one of the other minotaurs called out. “His clan is in mountains, where there are only streams. He never learned.”
If not for the muttering this new fact brought forth, the surrounding minotaurs might have heard four simultaneous sighs of relief. Molok quickly took control. “You see? Greel drowned. He be no swimmer. True courage, that Greel. True honor.”
Hecar and Helati exchanged quick glances. Greel had ended up in the river only because they had thrown his body into it after Hecar had killed him. As for honor, Greel had had none. It had been his intention from the first to strike Kaz square in the back with the spear. Only a shout from Helati had saved Kaz. Startled, Greel had succeeded only in mortally wounding Kaz’s horse. As far as Hecar and Helati were concerned, both minotaurs had died there. No trace of Kaz had been found-that much was true. Though their faces did not show it, the news of his survival both relieved and frustrated them.
“Kaz lives. If he heads north, then he heads for the keep at Vingaard,” Scurn decided.
“The knighthood would make him a prisoner,” Hecar protested. “He would not go there.”
“He will.” Scurn looked at the others, his eyes lingering on Molok. “We will go to Vingaard. If Kaz is there, we will demand our right to him.” Some of the other minotaurs looked a bit uneasy at the thought of walking up to the keep of the knighthood and demanding a prisoner. Scurn snarled at them. “Are there cowards among us? Does anyone wish to return home without fulfilling his oath?”
There was no answer. To turn back now would be a great loss of honor and an outright act of cowardice. Better death than that.
“It is settled, then.”
“What about this one?” the minotaur sentry asked. He pulled Krynge to his feet by the back of the goblin’s neck.
Scurn bared his teeth.
“Give him a sword. He will have the honor of fighting bravely for his life. A rare thing for a goblin.”
Chapter Twelve
He was standing in the center of the arena, un-armed. The crowd of minotaurs roared their respect and approval. Kaz acknowledged them by raising his fists high in the air and turning in a slow circle.
His prowess was such that no one thought him a fool to take on an armed opponent with only his bare hands. Rather, they saw it as the champion s way of evening the odds. If the challenger did defeat him, however, there would be no lack of honor in the victory. That he had challenged the champion, rather than working his way up in status first, indicated the challenger was either very brave or very foolish. That question would soon be settled.
The overlords-the “outsiders,” as they were called- watched with mild amusement from their special seats on the northern walls. They were ogre and human commanders, one of the latter an aide to the warlord Crynus, leader of the armies of Takhisis. The arena was only a pastime for them; they were here to inspect the new companies of “volunteers”-slave-soldiers, in reality. The ogres and humans were not officers so much as guards. Oaths bound the minotaurs to those who led them into battle, regardless of consequence. A minotaur who had given his oath would die for his ogre captain, or should, if he was a proper representative of his race.
Kaz and the crowd grew anxious as the moments passed. The champion was eager to claim yet another victory, one that would increase his standing. How long before the outsiders’ influence made him one of the ruling minotaurs? Not much longer, surely!
The gate opposite Kaz slowly creaked open. The minotaur readied himself. He wondered if he would know his challenger. Perhaps it was one of the younger ones, fresh from the training session that Kaz himself taught. No, none of them would be so foolish. Each had already been tested and found wanting. They needed some experience before they could hope to defeat their instructor.
Slowly a figure stepped into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd. The overlords leaned forward with interest.
A Knight of Solamnia stood before the crowd. A human against a minotaur. True, the knight had a long-sword, but he wore no armor and therefore had little protection against Kaz’s blows. The long mustache, characteristic of his kind, and the experienced manner in which the human carried himself spoke of a training as fierce in its own way as that of the minotaurs. Most definitely a Solamnic Knight.
The man walked toward Kaz. His face slowly came into focus. It seemed to press right up to the minotaur’s own. Kaz felt panic rush over him. Not this human! Not this knight!
Not Huma!
“It has to be this way, Kaz,” Huma explained calmly. He raised the sword, but instead of striking, he tossed it before the minotaur. “You carry no weapon; I will do the same.” The knight’s gray-streaked hair, an odd sight in one so young, fluttered in the wind.
Abruptly the face before Kaz was no longer Huma’s but that of the one whom he knew to be Galan Dracos. The long, almost reptilian face leered at him.
“Tell me your secrets, minotaur. What do you know of my power? What do you know of my sorcery?”
“No!” Without thinking, the minotaur lashed out with his left hand, striking the sorcerer’s face and twisting his neck at a sudden and improbable angle. Kaz’s adversary collapsed to the ground. “Sargas take you!” He cried out the name of the dark god of his youth. “I don’t know anything! Leave me be and haunt another!”
In horror, Kaz watched as the head of the corpse turned slowly to stare up at him. The face of Galan Dracos broke into a malevolent smile. “It is true. You do know nothing.”
The face had slowly dissolved back into Huma’s. There was a bitter look on the knight’s face, as if the minotaur had betrayed him.
Somehow that frightened Kaz as nothing else could. The world swam around and around, until he vaguely realized that this was a dream. A nightmare. As the dream ended, darkness began to seep in. Kaz tried to escape from the coming darkness, but could not. It clung to him, wrapping him as a cocoon wraps a caterpillar. He. prayed desperately for day to come, fearing for some reason that he would otherwise never awaken…
Daylight provided no relief from the nightmare. If anything, the utter emptiness of the keep proved even more overwhelming than the shadows or the nightmare.
In the darkness, there had been the comfort that one might be able to hide. In the dull light of yet another murky day, there was the reality that whatever waited for them did not fear the day, and in fact was no more visible in the light than it had been in the dark. A bodiless, omnipresent thing.
The bell had sounded twice so far this day. There was no set time; the bell ringer apparently acted whenever it suited his fancy-or perhaps it was the fancy of the Grand Master, if Argaen Ravenshadow’s tale was true.