Richard Knaak - The Legend of Huma

Rennard departed, leaving Huma to his own thoughts. He wondered whether he would ever truly be a knight such as Bennett, Lord Oswal, or Rennard. He thought of the evil warlord Crynus and wondered if that dark figure would bother to seek personal vengeance on an insignificant person such as Huma.

Something padded softly by the tent where Huma lay. Not a horse, more like a hound. A slight stench wafted to his nostrils. He heard something scrape against the wall, as if to test its strength. The light of the gray day allowed Huma only the vaguest glimpse of something.

A cleric of Mishakal entered the tent to check on the conditions of the wounded. The form on the other side of the wall scurried away, nearly silent despite its sudden movements. The odor quickly dissipated.

“Cleric?”

The mere presence of the elderly cleric soothed Huma. The cleric was short and slightly rounded. There could have been no more than two dozen hairs on his entire head.

“I am Broderin, May I be of assistance to you?”

Huma thought carefully before speaking. “Are —are there any wolves near the camp? Wolves or large dogs?”

Broderin stiffened as if he expected some great beast to come lunging through the tent flaps. Then he regained his composure. “Wolves? Dogs? There may be a few of the latter, but not anywhere near here. As for wolves . . .” The cleric chuckled nervously. “A wolf among the ranks of Paladine’s knights? I think not. There are no wolves save those on the other side of the field, my son. Regrettably, most of them are of the intelligent kind. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I saw one.”

This sent the old man into another fit of anxiety. Though this voice was more or less steady, his eyes darted hither and yon, as if seeing wolves everywhere. “You must be mistaken, my son, or perhaps you are suffering delusions due to your wounds. Yes, that must be it.”

“Are you positive?” It had seemed very real.

“I will have someone take a look around. Perhaps a stray hound escaped from somewhere. It is always possible.” The cleric turned to one of the other wounded, indicating that the conversation was at an end as far as he was concerned. Huma watched him momentarily and then closed his eyes.

His sleep was, thankfully, restful and uninterrupted save for one brief dream in which something pale stalked him through an endless forest. The stalker was always just out of sight and just behind him.

As with most dreams and nightmares, he did not remember it upon waking.

Huma stepped outside the tent to view the camp for the first time. He did not know his exact location, but he could see that command had moved once again, nearer the border, apparently. This close to Ergoth, the land was dotted more regularly with trees—healthy ones. For reasons that could only be guessed at, the ogres had been more careful about avoiding the destruction of the landscape nearer the mountains. It could hardly have been due to the beauty of the land; as far as anyone knew, the ogres were not the most appreciative of races when it came to beauty. In some areas there was actual forest—tall, ageless trees that perhaps remembered quieter times, perhaps had even seen the first elves.

Huma estimated that two to three hundred knights were encamped in the general area. The men stationed here were a mixture, consisting of the personal guard of Lord Oswal, wounded knights in various stages of recovery, a few outriders who were assisting the knighthood with their knowledge of the region, and even a few mages to add to the clerics. The mages and clerics remained as far apart as possible. Mages distrusted most clerics as religious zealots, while the clerics, albeit more tolerant, still did not trust the independent ways of the magic-users, who concentrated more on power than on belief in the gods.

No one really trusted the mages. That was why they were not allowed to carry arms. That left them vulnerable in at least one way.

“How are you feeling today?”

Huma’s face lit up briefly, but he quickly masked it with an expression of brave seriousness. Gwyneth, a bucket in one hand, came over to him. Despite his best attempts, Huma could not help smiling.

“I am sick and tired of that tent and more than happy to see the world, even if it is just the camp.”

She laughed gaily, then suddenly became serious. “Will you be going soon?”

He nodded gravely. Rennard had been to see him several times. Huma knew he was checking up on the young knight for Lord Oswal. If Huma hoped to keep his self-respect before the High Warrior, he would have to assure his readiness as soon as possible.

The wind picked up and blew some of the long, thick locks into Gwyneth’s face. She brushed back the hair and appeared to be about to say something when a familiar, hulking figure came into view, escorted by two Knights of the Sword.

“Huma!”

Kaz came up and attempted to greet his one true human friend with a hug that would have sent Huma back to the tent with three or four broken ribs. Huma succeeded in sidestepping the minotaur and, therefore, ended up with only a bruised shoulder where Kaz slapped him in pleasure. It had been four days since Huma had laid eyes on Kaz. As Lord Oswal’s trust in the minotaur increased, the latter’s counsel was becoming more and more important. The knighthood had been battling the ogres for years but knew very little about them. Kaz, raised under the oppression of his cousins, knew all too well.

“Gwyneth,” Huma said, remembering the woman, but turned toward her too late. She had vanished.

The minotaur was more perceptive than his appearance would indicate. “Have I come at an inopportune time? You have my apologies, if I have intruded.”

Huma waved off the apology. “I should apologize to you. It is good to see you, Kaz.”

“I had no idea that your kind could ask so many questions—and over and over! I have been drained of all knowledge, yet still they press for more.”

“They’re desperate, Kaz. We want to break—” Huma cut off as a tall figure, clad in crimson robes and cowl, made his way past them with no acknowledgment whatsoever. The face was narrow and bony, and the man reminded Huma of a fearsome instructor he had once had during his early days as a squire.

The minotaur’s eyes followed the red-robed figure. “The mages are extremely nervous. I can smell their fear. It sickens me on occasion.”

Huma found he had to favor his left side a little. He was not yet fully recovered. “What frightens them?”

“The unknown. They are quite accustomed to dealing with their black-robed counterparts, but it is rumored that Galan Dracos has unleashed his fellow renegades. You saw part of the magical battle?”

“Who could not? It fairly covered the heavens.”

“There were a dozen powerful mages on our side when we entered. Four of those died, and another may never regain full use of his mind and body. Do you know how many opposed them?”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Three?” The knight shook his head. “They must have been powerful, but how do the mages know they were not black-robed sorcerers?”

Kaz smile knowingly. “Two were Black Robes, so they say. The survivor, who escaped, was not. His powers were too wild and unpredictable for one brought up under the tutelage of the three orders. A renegade. More than that, they would not say.”

Huma could not help but think of Magius, whose tall body and handsome features would have been more at home in a royal court then in the dank, secluded towers of the spellcasters. Even up to the time of his Test of Sorcery, Huma’s childhood companion had been a maverick. His skills were such that he had long before surpassed his instructors. Magius always had been one to experiment, even when his life was put into danger. But at times, he had talked of abandoning his schooling.