Huma sat alone with him in the commander’s tent, the first time the knight had been permitted to leave his tent. The young knight had been provided with sturdy Ergothian armor that Avondale admitted had been intended for his son before the latter’s death in his first battle. The strong mail went well with the surviving pieces of Huma’s armor. The damage to the helmet and breastplate had proved repairable after all. Huma was thankful for that. As much as he admired the craftsmanship of the Ergothian armor, much of it was too showy even for the most aristocratic of the Knights of Solamnia. Avondale had confided that he wore his ceremonial armor only if he was presenting himself to the emperor. For lesser dignitaries, his battle armor would have to do, even if it disturbed their sensitivities.
Huma had told him everything, except the ill-fated quest he was on. “Is there any way I might be granted free travel in your country?”
“We are in the midst of war, Huma. How could I permit you to travel freely?”
Huma took a sip of the wine that Avondale had offered him. It struck him as amusing that a noble would treat a minor Solamnic knight with such respect. But the Ergothian was no fool; he knew that few other men could have survived Huma’s experience. Thus, he was treating Huma accordingly.
“If I may speak candidly . . .” Huma glanced at the guards outside.
The knight sighed and continued. “It has been rumored that somewhere to the southwest there is a key to ending this eternal war. Somewhere in a range of mountains.”
Avondale pondered this. “There is a range of mountains in that general direction. Few ever travel there. It is said to be a haven for the dragons of darkness and, perhaps, other things as well. There may indeed be something of importance in that vicinity.”
For a moment, Huma’s spirits soared. “Can you accompany me?”
The commander laughed. “I’m afraid the emperor would have my head for that. Besides, it is unfit terrain for troops on horseback. Patrols have gone to those mountains and vanished. Mages refuse to go there, and clerics warn everyone away. Does that give you any idea of what you are asking?”
“Yes, milord.” Huma slumped down on the stool and held his head. The tent was suddenly very warm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. A moment, please.” Huma wiped sweat form his forehead. The fever subsided.
Lord Avondale looked worried. “Perhaps we had better continue our talk tomorrow.”
“That would be better, milord.”
“So I see.” The noble rubbed his chin. “Come with me to Caergoth, and I will see to it that you are able to go on to the mountains on your own, if you still desire to.”
“Caergoth?” The heat had left Huma blurry-eyed. He found it difficult to focus on the commander.
“Yes, Caergoth. The clerics will steer us from the plague areas. What do you say?”
“Thank you.” Huma rose swiftly, and his head began to swim. He desired nothing more than to lie down. He still had not regained much of his vigor. “If you would excuse me?”
“By all means.” Guy Avondale watched the Solamnic knight hurry off. His brow wrinkled in worry. He took a sip of wine and then stared into the glass.
Before being pressed into the service of their emperor, most of Lord Avondale’s soldiers had been simple tradesmen and farmers. Thus it was that they knew of the Knights of Solamnia as little more than legend. Now, they had one such legend traveling in their midst, and the tales of his adventures, real and imagined, were already making the rounds through the camp. Huma was almost as awestruck as the Ergothians, for he did not consider himself a legend, and the open stares he received embarrassed him greatly.
Most of the stories revolved loosely about the chase and his berserker’s stand against the ebony-armored servants of the warlord. He had slain a legion of them, it appeared, including a massive pack of the demonic dreadwolves, much feared by men who knew their families lived virtually unprotected while they were away at war. Huma found it puzzling that men of Ergoth, the land from which his own knighthood had forcibly sprung, could look up to him as a champion.
Avondale seemed amused. When Huma protested that the stories were getting out of hand, he only smiled and replied that such was the true trial of every great legend, living up to his own reputation. “They need their heroes. It gives them hope—hope that somehow the darkness that is Takhisis will be defeated and they will be able to return to their loved ones.”
Occasionally, dragons would sweep in with some word of the war. Northern Ergoth and Hylo had been overrun. Huma grew anxious. He wondered if Kaz had continued north or if he had turned south to seek Huma. Even if the latter were the case, a minotaur would not be welcome in any town in this land. It was not just Kaz that Huma worried about; the battle-scarred easterner would do his utmost to assure he did not die alone.
Huma asked for news of Solamnia, but the dragons who arrived knew nothing of what had occurred there. There were rumors that the knights had been pushed back nearly half the distance to Vingaard Keep. Of the east, nothing could be ascertained.
They made camp near the ruins of a once-prosperous town, two days from Caergoth. The town had perished from plague in the early days of the war, and some people believed the newest wave had originated in its ruins. Avondale was of another mind.
“You will recall,” he said to Huma that same evening, “that I mentioned how particular I believed the plague was.”
“I remember.”
The noble tapped his fingers on the table in his tent. “I believe it is so particular because it is purposefully being directed by human agents.”
Huma did not want to believe that anyone would deliberately spread disease, but he knew something of the cult of Morgion. They were rumored to have agents in all societies, all organization, all countries, waiting for the command to unleash the deadly gifts of their god.
“Could you not be mistaken?” Huma would have preferred it that way.
“Perhaps.”
Huma was no longer confined to the camp itself. Avondale had applied that restriction on the first day, but had relaxed it once he was assured that Huma would not do something foolish, such as ride off without assistance. Thus it was that Huma wandered from the campsite, eventually picking his way toward the nearest ruins. The ruins disturbed him, as did anything associated with plague, but Huma knew that there would be no traces of disease after all this time.
Huma had had no intention of entering the remains of the ill-fated town—until he caught a glimpse of the four-legged shadow that quickly melted into the maze of decrepit buildings. It might have been merely a wolf, or perhaps a wild dog.
Drawing his sword, he stalked after the shadow-thing. He did not notice how deep into the ruins he had gone until he heard the scurrying of something among the desolate buildings. It was not the sound he would have expected of a four-legged creature. Training and experience told him that this new intruder walked on two legs.
Huma tried to make out shapes in the darkness. He saw the faint glow of two crimson eyes before they vanished into one of the buildings. The knight took a step toward the site.
He heard something skitter within the house to his left. Turning in that direction, Huma could make out nothing but more darkness. A tall, formless mass bumped him as it moved swiftly past his backside. He whirled and was rewarded with a yelp of pain from the figure before it literally melted into the night. Huma rushed after it, sword before him.
There was no place the figure could have gone but through the battered doorway before the knight. Huma kicked away the remainder of the door and dove in.
The room was empty. He checked the other rooms of the small house. They, too, were inhabited only by the usual vermin. His quarry had vanished. He took a few angry steps toward the back of the building, kicking up dust as he moved. Behind the back of the building, he saw nothing but more rubble. Unless something were lying flat on the ground beneath those particular ruins, he suspected it must be elsewhere. There just was nowhere to hide out there.