The resplendent figure shook his golden hair. “Patience! This may be the most dangerous part of the journey.”
As Magius turned forward, Kaz muttered, “More damned riddles!”
The dim forest soon lightened into near-dawn and then, quite suddenly, it was day. Overcast, as seemed perpetual on Ansalon with the Queen’s coming, but day, at least. The trio paused to drink it in. Even Magius seemed pleased.
“We should be fairly safe now. I chose the shortest, safest route possible under the circumstances, but we still have a day’s journey ahead of us. I will not have Dracos or even the Black Robes know the whereabouts of my grove.”
Kaz merely shook his head and looked at Huma, who could only shake his head in return. He, too, was unfamiliar with the grove Magius was speaking of.
An unexpected inconvenience popped up.
“I am starved,” said the minotaur.
No sooner had he spoken than Huma felt the ache in his stomach as well.
Magius sighed. He tapped his staff, and a pouch materialized. It was plain leather, nearly as big as a knight’s saddlebag, and tied shut. “It is not much, but we will have to make do under the circumstances.”
Not much, as far as the mage was concerned, was more than enough for three healthy appetites, even when one belonged to a minotaur. Huma eyed the bag as Magius pulled out fruits, bread, and even a small flask of wine. The contents were more than double the volume of the pouch, and there still appeared to be more inside. What other tricks did his childhood friend have that the mage took for granted? How powerful was Magius, and to whom did he dedicate that power?
Biting into an apple, Huma studied the rich garments of the other. By rights, Magius should have been wearing either the White robes of Good or—and much more likely—the Red Robes of Neutrality. Instead, Magius wore a blue and gold ensemble that would have been more at home on a courtier in Ergoth. The gold, Huma suspected, was real gold laced into the cloth. The cape was white, but so soft and well-woven that it was either magically created or the work of a fine artisan. Magius also wore hip boots of fine, polished leather—and not any ordinary leather, either. The knight was at a loss to identify it, but he had seen similar boots before. The Grand Master had a pair much like these.
This was not the clothing of a mage. Not any mage that Huma had ever heard of.
Kaz spoke, breaking Huma’s train of thought.
“God of the Sea! I have never savored a wine such as this!”
The look on the minotaur’s face appeared to amuse Magius. “My compliments on your taste. It is a rare treat given to me by the Qualinesti elves. I find it has become my personal favorite.”
“You’ve been among the Qualinesti?” Huma had heard of the elves—and of their cousins, the Silvanesti—but he had never seen any but half-elves, as Gwyneth seemed to be.
The thought of Gwyneth opened up memories and dreams that Huma did not wish to dwell on. He forced the past into a dark recess of his mind.
“I’ve been among them,” Magius was saying. “I went to feel them out. They remain as stubborn as their kin. Each thinks that they can save the world single-handedly. Their pride is at the expense of mankind.”
The mood grew rather somber after that. Huma found himself gazing in the direction from which they had come. Not one sign of the oppressive darkness remained.
Night came and, at Magius’s suggestion, they camped until morning. When Huma suggested setting up a watch, Magius only scoffed. He assured them that his powers would be sufficient to the task. Despite that, both Huma and the minotaur were adamant. The mage, disgruntled, finally agreed, providing that he was given the last watch.
Knights who sleep deeply do not live long. This rule was one of the first squires learned. There were far too many foes who moved in silence. Thus knights quickly developed a sense that warned them when someone, or something, was near.
Thus it was that Huma knew.
It was the last watch, the one Magius had requested. Huma, lying on his side, carefully opened his eyes a crack. His narrow view gave him a glimpse of the minotaur’s feet and the still form of Magius himself—most definitely asleep.
Whoever it was, it was standing behind him, he knew that now. Slowly and cautiously, he turned, as if still sleeping, until he was lying on his back. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, and he had confidence enough in his ability to think he might yet have a chance.
He opened his eyes just enough to let the day in.
It was with great difficulty that he held back from shouting. Through pure reflex he rolled away and came up on one knee, sword drawn. Behind him, Kaz rose with a mad snort, more than ready for combat.
It loomed higher than even the minotaur—a tall, massive overhang of rock and vegetation. Had it been there the night before, Huma might not have noticed anything unusual about it. He might not have noticed the massive appendages of stone that could loosely be called arms. He might not have noticed the way the outer shell of dirt and vegetation was constantly changing. Huma might even have missed, somehow, the two blue-gray crystals that seemed to stare down at him from what could only be some sort of face.
He took in all of this in a few brief seconds. The living mound shifted slightly forward, pulling up earth, insect, and plant life with it. It seemed not to have one true body, but to borrow from wherever it stood. Huma readied himself. Kaz had the huge battle ax poised. Then laughter filled the woods. Laughter from Magius.
“Cease your posturing, brave warriors. The elemental has no intention of doing battle with you. He is mine—a gatekeeper, you might say.”
Kaz whirled on the mage, and the ax tore deeply into the tree where Magius had been sitting. The ax missed his head by inches. Magius turned as pale as Rennard, and his mouth hung open in mid-laugh.
The angry warrior was not allowed to savor his revenge, for his footing suddenly became nonexistent. A very selective tremor shook the hapless minotaur. Huma lanced down at his own footing, which was as solid as ever, and then back at Kaz. With a roar, the minotaur lost his grip on the ax and fell backward.
Meanwhile, Magius had recovered from his own shock. He was careful, though, to keep his laughter quiet and less mocking. He shook his head as Kaz tried unsuccessfully to rise.
“You will never stand on two legs unless I say so, my hotheaded friend. Have I your word that you will cease your attempts to do away with me?”
As the minotaur’s chin bounced against hard-packed earth, he grunted agreement. Magius looked at the elemental. It seemed as if the two crystals turned to meet that gaze, though Huma knew he might be imagining it. Without warning, the ground beneath Kaz returned to its normal consistency. Kaz hesitated, expecting another trick.
“Oh, do get up!” the spellcaster muttered. “You’re perfectly safe.”
Huma relaxed, but he did not return his sword to its sheath. The earthen creature disturbed him.
Rising, Magius stepped between Huma and the creature. Like a man training a hound, Magius raised one hand and said, “Speak to me.”
The voice was deep and echoing, but also like listening to a pile of rocks and pebbles being shaken violently in a bucket. The first words were practically unintelligible. It repeated itself.
“All well. No one enters grove. Citadel welcomes mage’s return.” The mound fell silent.
Magius nodded his satisfaction. To the others he said, “Beyond that dense clump of trees, perhaps three to four hours’ journey, is our destination.”
Kaz clenched his fists, then thought better of it. He had already seen a little of what the magic-user’s servant could do. “That close and you made us sleep here?”
“I believe you heard the earth elemental mention the grove, did you not?” The mage’s face was quite sober.
“What of it?”
“Only I would dare enter the grove during darkness, and that is because I have spent time mastering it. To have led you two through it would have surely have meant your doom.”