Richard Knaak - The Legend of Huma

Kaz was summoned once again and, with a groan, he bid his farewell. Huma returned to the tent and slept for the better part of the day. Rennard stopped by to inform Huma that fully recovered or not, the younger knight was to be ready for guard duty within the next day or so. Huma might have complained, but he was more than happy to be given another chance to prove himself.

Gwyneth also stopped by, but the conversation was short and served little purpose. She seemed to want to say something, but whatever it was, was unspoken. He did not see her again during his recovery.

On the day that Huma was to receive his first duties since being nearly trampled to death, the camp became a flurry of activity. Columns of knights rode past the command center, a massive tent topped by a banner bearing the kingfisher symbol and guarded continuously by a contingent of Knights of the Rose. Here was where Lord Oswal and his officers planned their strategy. Huma could only guess at the reason for all the movement. Rumors abounded that the mountainous eastern border had fallen to the ogres and that the creatures were making their way toward Vingaard Keep. Another rumor warned that plague had struck one of the towns which the knights had been using as a waystation. Huma took the rumors for what they were—fearful wondering.

When Rennard approached, Huma was assisting the clerics, carrying hot and cold water for them and bringing them food. It was not much, but it helped. It also kept Huma’s mind from straying to more unpleasant matters.

Huma stood erect when the other knight appeared. The act almost drenched Rennard with freshly boiled water as the buckets went swinging to and fro. The blank features twitched, but whatever emotion that indicated was lost on Huma.

“I see that you are more than fit enough to resume your duties as a knight,” Rennard said gravely.

The hard work had made Huma sweat profusely, and moisture had accumulated around his brow. His face was grimy, and his clothing was stained. He did not dare speak, not knowing what he might say, so he merely nodded.

Rennard folded his arms. “You are captain of the guard tonight. Lord Oswal thinks you’re ready for such responsibility.” He looked up and down Huma’s form without a change in expression.

It was already near dark. Huma swallowed. “May I be permitted to clean up and suit myself?”

“By all means. I’ve already assigned the watches. When you’re ready, come see me.” Rennard unfolded his arms and walked off. Salutes had always been unnecessary with him.

Besides, saluting was difficult with a bucket in each hand.

Huma had feared that some knights would resist his appointment as captain of the guard. Such was not the case. The guard consisted of knights who either were unfamiliar with their captain or were too new to have been influenced by Bennett and his associates. This was not to say they were green, untried knights; no squire who passed into the ranks of knighthood was untried.

A few veterans were mixed in for safety’s sake, but these men were loyal to Lord Oswal and would judge men on merit, not on birth. One such veteran snapped to attention as Huma passed. Huma felt uncomfortable at commanding men twice his age and ten times his experience, but he knew that every knight, save the commanding officers, was required to stand guard duty now and then. Nevertheless, Huma felt a tremor of nervousness as he took the report from the older sentry and breathed easily only when he was on his way to the next. It did not matter whether that man would be less experienced than the first; commanding was what frightened Huma. If something should go wrong, he would be to blame.

The perimeter of the camp took him to the edge of the forest region, and Huma eyed this area with some trepidation. Anything could be hiding out there, and it was not hard to imagine eyes and flitting, shadowy figures everywhere he looked.

It was not until after midnight that he came across the vacant position.

The slope of the land kept the position from view until he was almost on top of it. Huma stood there a moment, transfixed by the realization. He could have assigned someone else the task of checking on the sentries, but as his first command, he had wanted to do it himself. He should call out for assistance or run back to warn Lord Oswal and the others, but he knew that either option would take too much time and would alert whoever—or whatever—was out there.

Sword drawn, Huma stepped into the dark woods. By rights, he knew he might be bringing trouble down upon himself, but some mesmerizing presence within the forest seemed to draw him in. He could not see it, but he felt its power. Helpless, he plunged deeper into the woods, the urge a part of him now. He had forgotten his real reasons for daring to enter, save that someone or something that he was determined to locate lurked within.

A shadow padded alongside Huma, red but sightless eyes locked on his presence. Another shadow stalked the knight from his other side. Huma saw neither, heard neither—and would not have, even if all his faculties had been intact. It took great willpower to see the night beasts when they stalked the forests.

A flickering pattern of glittering lights danced before the entranced knight. Most of the gleams fluttered away at his approach, but two remained fixed, staring at him. Huma stumbled toward them, mindless of the still, armored form he had nearly tripped over. The gleaming orbs beckoned, and a dark shade seemed to materialize about them.

For the first time, a voice broke the silence. It was little more than a hiss, but it demanded all of Huma’s attention.

“Brave knight. So secure with your little toys.”

The form shifted to the side a little. Huma’s eyes followed obediently. The shadowy figure seemed to examine its catch. “Could you be the one, I wonder?”

A leathery hand reached up to take hold of Huma’s chin. His head was turned left and right, although the knight’s eyes never left those of his captor. “Yessss. Dracos will be pleased—even the warlord will be pleased. It cannot be coincidence. He has had his hand in this to save his own neck.” The eyes and hand traced a downward path to Huma’s sword. “There will be no need of this anymore.”

A gleam far behind the shadowy figure suddenly pulled Huma’s gaze away. His captor, caught up in the capture, failed to notice the odd light. Others, though, marked the action. There were gutteral growls, and the stench of death became strong.

The gaze of the creature returned quickly to the face of its captive.

Two pairs of eyes met. Huma’s were no longer entranced.

The knight reacted instinctively. The sword was driven with a strength born of shock and fear. The physical form of the dark figure proved to give little resistance. Claws scratched wildly at Huma’s face, but he ignored them, attempting to thrust his weapon as far as it would go. Suddenly, he met resistance, although the shadowy foe did not fall. The clawing finally stopped, however. The figure shuddered twice and was still.

Huma slumped to his knees, exhausted by the effort.

Things of the dark padded toward him for a moment, then hesitated, as if sensing something unexpected. Huma raised his head and caught a glimpse of something pale and vaguely wolflike in form. Then it was gone.

How long Huma stayed there, he did not know. Gradually, he came to notice the soft footfalls of someone walking in his direction. They were coming from the wrong direction—from deeper within the forest. Huma rose, albeit a little unsteadily. He had not recovered completely, he realized.

“Here, let me help you.” The voice was strong, and the hands that held Huma were powerful. While the knight took a deep breath, the newcomer looked over the remains of the attacker, chuckled, and said, “Well done. You’ve pinned him to the tree trunk. An impressive display of strength and quite deserving where that one was concerned.”