“You may leave or stay as is your desire, Rennard.”
Rennard stiffened. “I will stay, if it pleases the High Warrior.”
It did not please Bennett, that was obvious. Trake’s son hated Rennard almost as much as he hated Huma, but for different reasons. Only one person other than Lord Oswal could defeat the Grand Master’s offspring in mock combat. Soundly, too. For someone like Bennett, who prided himself on perfection, it was almost intolerable. These two rivals stared openly at one another now, Rennard with as much regard as he would give a blade of grass.
Lord Oswal turned to Huma. “Normally, Lord Arak would take your report, but seeing as we are dealing with situations that change from one minute to the next, I would like us all to hear it immediately. Both Arak and Bennett have agreed to this,” Bennett glanced at his uncle and then away again. “If you would begin, then?”
“Milord.” Huma cleared the lump from his throat. After the first few words, his uneasiness fell away and he poured out the details of the attack in crisp, precise sentences. The three commanders listened carefully. Huma did not omit the presence of Magius, though he did leave out most of their conversation.
When he was done, he stood there silently, his eyes staring straight ahead at nothing, his body at full attention. The Lord Knights turned to one another and discussed some of the points. They whispered, preventing Huma from knowing what had caught their attention. Lord Hawkeye stepped away from the other two and turned to Rennard. “Knight Rennard, have you anything to add?”
“Only that I have men searching the woods for any sign of infestation and that I appointed a new captain of the guard in Huma’s absence.”
The urge to react was nearly overwhelming, but Huma’s training enabled him to resist. Rennard had stood by him.
“I see,” said Lord Oswal. “That will be all, then. Knight Huma, it is my recommendation to Lord Arak Hawkeye that you be allowed a second chance. It is obvious that you were pitted against magic of exceptional magnitude and that your leaving the camp without giving warning was due to this.”
Bennett’s stare was deathly, but Huma was too relieved to care.
“Thank you, milord—milords.”
The High Warrior waved a hand. “You two are dismissed.”
Lord Hawkeye added, “Knights Huma and Rennard, you are both relieved from duty for the night. Get some rest.”
Rennard merely nodded as if he had known all along how the meeting would turn out. They left as the three commanders turned to one another. Bennett’s voice was rising in anger. He apparently felt that the Measure demanded far greater punishment for what was to him an obvious act of deadly thoughtlessness. Both Huma and Rennard, however, were out of hearing range before any reply was made.
“That went well,” Rennard added casually.
Huma could not look at him. “Thank you, Rennard.”
“For what? That? Someone must save you from yourself. Besides, I would not give Bennett the satisfaction. Not even for the Oath. Or the Measure.”
His words left Huma hanging. Rennard lived by a code of his own, it seemed.
They walked in silence the rest of the way.
A great bronze tower loomed before Huma. It hung on the edge of nothingness, and that nothingness was known as the Abyss. The tower, though metal, was crumbling from great age.
Huma felt himself drawn unwillingly toward the single gate of that tower. Things that should have been dead offered to lead the way. Lepers gave lipless smiles. A plague victim, once a woman, reached out to take his hand. With a convulsion of horror, he saw that it was his mother. Huma cringed, and she vanished.
The mold-enshrouded gate descended for him. From within, a hand beckoned him forward. A tall figure awaited, dressed in tattered clothes with a rusting crown upon—its head? There was no face beneath that crown, only two red orbs in a sea of infinity.
Behind him, the gate closed silently.
Huma awoke sweating. The camp had not risen yet, although the knights would be stirring soon. Huma was thankful for that. After the dream, he had no great desire to return to his slumbers.
Such vivid dreams had never plagued him before. There were those who said such dreams held significance, although what this one meant was beyond Huma. Not that he did not recognize the bronze tower and the evil that dwelled within it. It was a vivid page from his education, when a cleric of Paladine had introduced him to the gods who would throw down light. The name by which this particular evil went was Morgion, and he thrived on decay of the world.
If ever a god had profited by this endless war, it was Morgion. Decay was everywhere, even in those cities untouched by the war itself—and if not physical decay, moral decay, as in the jaded city of the Ergothian emperor himself, a man who, it was rumored, was so pampered he did not even know there was a war on.
If decay was rampant, disease had become a natural way of life. Huma hugged himself at the memory of his mother. Her death by plague had changed everything. Alone, he heard the calling of his father, the man he had never known but who controlled his very existence. The price, though ...
Shaking off the dream, he rose and readied himself for the day ahead. Rennard had promised to speak with Lord Hawkeye about increased command for Huma. The incident concerning Magius was forgotten as far as the gaunt knight was concerned. There were more important things to attend to.
A muffled groan made him look down. Kaz, waking from the noise, blinked and revealed two blurry eyes. The expression was so much like that of a farm animal awakening that Huma could not suppress a brief smile.
The minotaur settled back down to sleep. As of yet, Kaz knew nothing of the night’s events. Satisfied that they had finally drained him of all information possible, the commanding knights had finally allowed the minotaur a decent night’s sleep.
Yawning, Huma gazed out beyond the fringe of the camp to where the first glint of dawn was revealing itself between the trees.
His eyes locked in gaze with the sightless orbs of what could only be the creature Magius had called a dreadwolf.
In some past time, it might have been a true wolf. The general body structure conformed, but it was as if some perverse necromancer had raised it from the dead and only partially succeeded. Not one hair graced its bone-white body. There did not even seem to be skin. It was like the ghost of some animal killed and skinned by a hunter. Although it was a good twenty feet away, Huma could smell the odor of the night before. The stench of decay. Of death.
It knew he was there. Despite the obvious sightlessness of its eyes, it sensed him, knew him. Behind the dead eyes was a cold, evil intelligence that seemed to mock the knight.
Without taking his eyes from it, Huma leaned toward the minotaur. “Kaz.”
He felt Kaz stiffen. A husky whisper came back to him. “Huma?”
“Roll over. Look beyond me.”
The minotaur did so. The eyes opened—barely—and at first Kaz did not see it, as blurry-eyed with sleep as he was. Only when he dared to open them farther did Kaz notice the horrid creature. The stench filled the minotaur’s nose.
“By my ancestors,” Kaz hissed. “A dreadwolf, Huma!”
“I know.” The minotaur knew of them, then. What was the wolf creature doing here? the knight wondered. Magius had said they would leave when they discovered him gone. Why was the foul creature still here, and daring the dawn as well? How had it made its way past the sentries?
The dreadwolf continued to stare at Huma with its dead eyes. It was here for him, there was no doubt about it. It was, he realized, a messenger of some sort.
“I must go closer.”
Kaz rose quickly, ax in hand. The creature, though, scarcely glanced at Huma’s unusual companion. It seemed to grow more eager as Huma took a couple of tentative steps toward it.