Swords high and lances straight, Rennard’s patrol regrouped into charge formation. The dragons racing above them did not faze them. The line would hold.
Huma was among those without a lance, but he knew that his sword would find an opponent soon enough. Eager to break the stalemate, the ogres already were pushing forward. The first wave had chosen to strike even as Huma and his companions had reached the fighting. The hilly ground slowed the warhorses. Huma saw one man go down as his horse lost its footing, and several more stumbled. Then they were striking at the fore of the ogre assault.
Metal flashed all about him, and everyone seemed to be screaming at full pitch. Huma desperately fought off each weapon hurtled at him and struck down several of the ogres while barely realizing it. An ogre face peered into his; it was hairy and savage with long sharp teeth like the minotaur’s, and a broad, flat visage with red-rimmed eyes. The ogre’s breath was fetid. Huma kicked the attacker away.
Laughter, oddly appropriate because of its ferocity, assailed Huma’s ears. Among the combatants, his ax swinging to and fro, the mammoth Kaz was an avenging force of chaos and death. Each swing took its count. Bloodlust glittered in the hulking creature’s eyes and then Kaz was lost from sight as more ogres sought the young knight’s life.
An ax nicked Huma’s leg. The only thing that saved him from losing a limb was that his strike had been first and true. The creature had been dead even as it retaliated. Shock, though, caused Huma to briefly lose control. He nearly dropped his sword and would have been cut down then and there if not for Rennard. The tall knight was cutting through the enemy at a methodical rate. The ogres attempted to flee this killing machine, but Rennard sought them out. Huma stared. At that moment, there seemed little difference between knight and minotaur.
Even so, the charge was insufficient, and it looked as if the knights would be routed. Then more huge forms joined the battle—this time from the Solamnic side. Reinforcements had arrived. The ecstasy was brief. Another ogre hurled itself at Huma.
As abruptly as it had been created, the stygian blackness vanished. Resistance from the Queen’s magic-users lessened. The knights pushed forward with renewed hope. Huma saw the ground erupt, and he shivered inwardly as countless enemy warriors were thrown high into the air, only to come crashing down seconds later.
“Huma!”
The voice was Rennard’s, and it seemed to be warning him. Huma turned toward the voice as shadow resurged abruptly. Someone grappled with him. Huma succeeded in maneuvering his blade between them and thrust it through his adversary’s throat.
Huma turned his horse in the murk, seeking out his companions by hearing alone. It proved his undoing, for something heavy flew through the night and struck him soundly on the back of his helm.
He crumpled forward and slipped from his steed.
Huma had not known death would be so beautiful or kind. She reached forward and mopped his brow, then lifted his head slightly so as to allow him to drink a little water.
The water cleared his head slightly, and he knew that he was not dead. The face above him was not death, but that of a young, beautiful woman with white—no, silver hair. The hair fascinated him so much that he attempted to reach out and touch it. To his surprise, the agony that this simple motion produced was enough to whirl him back into unconsciousness.
“Are you ever planning to wake up?”
The gruff but concerned voice broke through the haze in Huma’s mind. His eyes fluttered open, then shut tightly against the light.
“A little light shouldn’t kill you, not after ogres and dragons failed to.”
Huma dared to try again, more slowly this time. A tiny amount of light filtered through his eyelashes.
He opened his eyes a little further, and forms began to take shape around him. Chief among those was the ugly, inhuman face of a minotaur.
“Kaz?” His voice frightened him; it was little more than a croak.
“A good guess.”
Huma stared at his surroundings. He was in a tent used by the knights for their wounded. Most of the other cots were empty, and the few that were not contained figures deep in sleep—or perhaps deeper than sleep. He shuddered. It brought the pain back.
“What happened to me?”
The bestial face broke into a near-human grin, and Kaz let out a deep chuckle. “What didn’t? First, you nearly looked right into the flat of an ax—don’t worry, it only creased one side of your head. You slipped and fell and nearly got trampled to death. The good news is that you were unconscious all of the time. It’s a wonder you didn’t break any bones, friend Huma. You certainly are bruised enough.”
“Everything hurts.”
“It should. Tell me, are you usually this careless?”
Huma smiled, but the smile, like everything else, proved to be painful.
“He is awake?”
He turned his head quickly toward the melodious voice, forgetting the pain, and gazed on the vision from his dreams. The silverish hair swept around her head. She wore a gown akin to that worn by healers of Mishakal, save that no medallion graced her smooth, ivory-colored neck. The gown did not hide her feminine attributes, and Huma forced himself to look away before embarrassment ruined all.
“Awake, alive, and in less pain than he thought, apparently.” The minotaur rose. “I shall leave you in the hands of this healer, Huma. While you have been resting, I have been put to work identifying what I can of my former masters’ battleplans.”
“They allow you freedom of the camp?” It was an astonishing gesture on the knighthood’s part, if true.
Kaz snorted in contempt. “Only as long as I am accompanied by two armed guards. They deigned to allow me to visit you privately.”
“You wrong us, Kaz.”
The man-beast shook his fearsome head. “No, I may wrong you and a few others, but I do not wrong the knighthood.”
Kaz stalked off without another word. Huma watched him leave. The inflammatory words had taken their toll on him. Did the knighthood deserve such scorn? It could not be.
“You have interesting companions.”
Huma turned his attention back to the woman. “What?”
She smiled, and there seemed to be only perfection in that smile. Her lips were full and red, and above them, perfectly positioned, was a pert nose and two almond-shaped eyes. The eyes were like sunlight in color, a direct contrast to her glistening mane. Overall, she did not look quite human, and Huma suspected she drew much of her beauty from elven ancestors.
“Are you quite through?” she asked in apparent amusement.
He realized that he had been staring at her in abject fascination. His face reddened, and Huma began to study the ceiling.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to annoy you, milady,” he said, reddening more deeply as he stammered slightly.
The smile broadened and became—impossibly—more perfect. “I never said I was annoyed.” She took a moist cloth from a bowl near him and began to mop his head, “I am also no ‘milady.’ Gwyneth will do nicely. It is my name, after all.”
He dared to smile back to her. “My name is Huma.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. Both the minotaur and knight who brought you in used your name several times. I’d never seen a minotaur before this one.”
“Kaz is a friend.” Huma decided to leave it at that. He lacked the energy to explain further. A thought occurred to him. “You said a knight. Do you know which one?”
“I could not forget.” A shudder ran through Gwyneth. “He was much like a dead man in form and voice. I felt, though, a certain sadness within him.”
Huma had never heard Rennard described quite like that, but he knew that somehow the pale knight had delivered him from the field of death.
“Are you better?”
The pain seemed less now. “Yes. Do I have you to thank for this miracle?”