With a chill, Huma said, “You’re running from the Dragonqueen’s creatures.”
Something snapped a dried branch. Both men froze. Huma studied what he could of the forest but saw nothing.
Magius leaned close and whispered. “I must leave. You know me, Huma. You know what I am capable of. Believe in that. If things take a turn, either good or bad, I will contact you.”
Tall, dark shapes became visible between the trees. Magius glared at them and whirled away. Huma opened his mouth to speak but realized that would be dangerous folly. He prayed Magius had been right in leaving Huma’s sword at the tree, pinning the abomination to the trunk.
Summoning up his courage, Huma resumed the trek back to camp, praying as he walked that the first thing he met would be a fellow knight and not something out of a mage’s nightmare.
As it happened, he met the searchers only minutes from the site where the sentry had disappeared. Huma felt guilty about forgetting the hapless sentry, one who had been even less experienced than he. There was nothing Huma could do for the man, though, and he knew he should be more concerned with what might very well still be lurking outside the camp, and what that might mean. If the enemy had infiltrated this far past the line . . .
Rennard took his report, none too surprised, it seemed, that it was Huma who had stumbled upon trouble. News of the attacker, who could have been only a mage, did trouble him, although no emotions were evident in his mien. A party that included Huma and Rennard returned to the spot where Huma had been led. The lifeless form of the sentry showed no marks, as if the unfortunate man had merely fallen to the ground, dead. Rennard spat, and in an unprecedented display of emotion, cursed all mages in general. Huma cringed. He had left out all mention of Magius, though it went against the Measure and the Oath. How honorable was a knight who lied?
Magius, though, was his friend.
Seen with clear eyes, the shadowy attacker proved to be all too solid. Rennard removed the sword from the tree and let the mage’s body fall. Much to his own surprise, Huma reached down and pushed the cowl back from the face.
Even in the dark, the face repelled. Only Rennard seemed untouched by the evil stamped on it.
Human the mage might have been, but he looked more like a reptile. His skin was dark and scaly, and it glittered in the light of the torches. The eyes were narrow slits, and the nose was nearly nonexistent. Huma noted teeth that would have put the minotaur’s to shame. More than one knight called on Paladine.
The corpse was muffled within a thick, coarse robe of brown cloth. Rennard fingered it, then released it as he would a viper. “He does not wear the black of the Dragonqueen.” He pointed to a pair of knights. “Take this thing back to the camp. I want to see what the spellcasters have to say. The rest of you, fan out. Make sure he left no surprises behind. Huma, you stay with me.”
They watched the others depart, and then Rennard swung around and glared at Huma with such anger that its very appearance on the otherwise bland face made the younger knight step back.
“Who was the other?”
“There was no one.”
“There was another.” A chill followed his words. “I know. I see no reason why you would seek to hide the presence of a mage, unless . . .” He stared intently into Huma’s eyes. Huma met the gaze and battled with it. Surprisingly, it was Rennard who was forced to turn away.
It was a hollow triumph. “Obvious. For such effort, I can think of only one you would protect—but why would Magius be out here?”
“I didn’t—” Huma could think of nothing to say. How did Rennard even know about his childhood friend?
“You are a fool, Huma. A brave, competent knight, but you have too much humanity in you, too much trust in others. A mage, especially. You cannot trust mages. They will always turn on you. They are treacherous.”
Despite his respect for Rennard, Huma stiffened at this insult. “Magius is none of those things. We grew up together. He would not betray what he believed in.”
Rennard shook his head sadly. “You will not understand until it is too late.” Then, as if all had been said that could be said, Rennard dropped the subject. “Come. We’d best return to camp. I think this is something Lord Oswal should hear about.”
The pale warrior returned the sword to Huma. Without waiting to see if Huma followed, Rennard began walking. Huma hurried after him, wondering what the other knight would report and what Huma himself would say, knowing all too well that one of those who listened would already know he had lied.
What would the Oath and Measure demand?
Chapter 7
Once there had been an instructor, Garig, who was determined that the young squire Huma would fail the preparations for knighthood. Gang was a beast of a man who more resembled a bear in face and form. Some wondered that he was a knight at all, brutal as he could be. As a matter of fact, Garig intended to wear Huma down inside of a month.
Huma had stayed, though. Stayed, learned, and excelled, though Garig frightened him immensely. Lord Oswal, the High Warrior, had encouraged him. Like Rennard, Lord Oswal had seen something in Huma that he was determined to cultivate, despite the boy’s dubious bloodline. At last, the squire stood up to the overwhelming instructor and defeated him soundly in what could only loosely be called a mock combat. That was a victory as much over fear as over Garig.
Now, Huma was afraid again as he stepped into the presence of the man who had helped him overcome that earlier hurdle.
The High Warrior was dressed and fully awake. Huma marveled—as did many others—that the elder knight never seemed to rest. The commander of the military expedition sat on a plain wooden stool that contrasted sharply with his elaborate uniform. His helmet lay on the table beside him, and more than a dozen charts lay scattered on the same table. Huma felt as if the helmet, too, were inspecting him, somehow.
Only two other knights were in the room. One was a shorter, round man whose very appearance belied the strength and intelligence within. Very little hair graced his head, save for a small goatee and a few wisps in the back. Arak Hawkeye was not a man of much humor. His latter name had come from his precision as a bowman. Even the nomadic tribes of the southern regions knew of Hawkeye. He could outride and outshoot any of them. It was his personal goal to teach a band of knights to ride and shoot much in the manner of the plainsmen. He wore crests representing the Order of the Crown, of which he was ranking commander for this campaign.
Between them, and only barely noticing the young knight, stood Bennett, son of the Grand Master, nephew of the High Warrior, and the representative of the Order of the Sword. Bennett’s presence here unnerved Huma the most. The personification of knighthood, Bennett could recite every line of every volume of the bylaws put down by Vinas Solamnus so long ago. He lived by them, which was why Huma had been able to remain in the order so far. Despite his influence, Bennett would do nothing that went strictly against the Oath or the Measure. When charges concerning Huma’s parentage had failed to oust the new knight, Bennett did not turn to more unsavory methods, as some, even in the knighthood, would have done. Instead, the Grand Master’s son treated him as a necessary evil, to be ignored whenever possible. Influential as Bennett was, Huma found it difficult to make any friends as time went on.
Bennett was much like his father and his uncle in appearance, though he was definitely more like the former. Those who had known Lord Trake in his younger days swore that there was no difference between sire and offspring. Both had the same hawkish features, the look of a bird of prey. The House of Baxtrey was of the oldest royal blood. The same features could be found on many of the nobles of the Empire of Ergoth. As Bennett turned away, his mind supposedly on the business at hand, Huma’s eyes briefly met his. The glance was cold.