Richard Knaak - The Legend of Huma

“Which does not explain why you were a prisoner here.” Huma presented as confident a face as he could muster. It would not take much of the minotaur’s strength to snap the young knight’s neck. He had already seen proof of that.

The beast-man dropped his shackled arms and snorted. “I killed my ogre captain, human. I struck him down with my bare hands. A good blow. Cracked his skull with one shot.”

The thought of striking, much less actually murdering, a superior appalled the knight. He raised his visor and dared to step close to the minotaur.

“You murdered him?”

“You like ogres? Thanks to me, no lives will be lost against his ax—and he was good, I’ll give him that. Many died on that ax, human, even the weak, the helpless. I found him over the bodies of an aged male and two children, perhaps the old human’s grandchildren. I did what I thought right. There is no honor in slaughtering the old, the feeble, or the young—at least, not among my kind. Not that they would have tolerated my betrayal. I had thought it was so among the Knights of Solamnia, too. I see that I may have misunderstood.” The minotaur held up the chained wrists once more, causing Huma to take several quick steps back. “Either kill me or free me from these chains. I do not care to discuss this. The goblins have drugged what little food they gave me. This exertion has almost done me in.”

Indeed, the minotaur was slumping. Huma came to a decision, overturned it, came to another, and finally settled again on the first. Even then, he did not act. Could he truly believe the words of the strange figure before him? The minotaurs were supposedly an honorable race, but they served the gods of evil. That was the way it was always taught.

Huma’s sword arm shivered, as much from his thoughts as from the long, awkward position he held it in. The man-beast waited patiently, as ready to die as to be freed. The calm and faith with which the former captive faced his rescuer finally made Huma’s decision for him. He slowly and carefully sheathed his blade.

“Which of these had the keys?”

The minotaur fell to his knees. His breath came in huge huffs, like a bull about to charge. “The one I threw. He will have them if any do. I never saw the keys. They had no reason for them. After—after all, why would they want to release me?”

While the exhausted defector rested, Huma went over to the goblin and checked the numerous pouches wrapped around the creature’s waist. Each held a large number of items, many of them disgusting trophies of war—knowing goblins, more likely looted from the dead—and a few unrecognizable. In one of the pouches, he found the keys.

The minotaur’s eyes were closed, and Huma suddenly worried that one of the goblins had, after all, inflicted some mortal wound. At the clinking of the keys near his face, though, the burly figure opened his eyes.

“My thanks,” he said, after Huma had freed both wrists. “By my ancestors twenty generations back, I will not rest until I have balanced the scale. You have my oath on that.”

“There is no need. It—it was my duty.”

Somehow, the minotaur managed a very human expression of skepticism. “Nevertheless, I will honor my oath as I see fit. Let it not be said that Kaz is less than his ancestors.”

Huma stood. “Can you walk?”

“Give me a moment.” Kaz looked around quickly. “Besides, I have no desire to be out in the open tonight. I would prefer some sort of shelter.”

“From what?” Huma could not imagine what would worry such a powerful fighter unless it was a dragon or some creature of similar proportions.

Kaz rose slowly. “The captain was a current favorite of the warlord. I fear he might have unleashed some of the renegade’s pets.”

“I don’t understand.”

The minotaur suddenly turned his attention to acquiring a decent weapon. He spotted the ax dropped by Huma’s first opponent, picked it up, and tested it. “Good. Probably dwarven.” To Huma, he replied, “Let us hope there is no need. I do not think either of us would live through it.”

In the hands of the goblin, the ax had looked large. Kaz, however, wielded it with the ease of one who was used to weapons of even greater size. The ax was meant for two-handed use; the minotaur needed only one massive paw to grasp it.

“In which direction did you plan to go?”

“North.”

“To Kyre?”

Huma hesitated. He knew that many knights, even Bennett, would never have released such a creature from its bonds. They would have marched it at sword point through the wasteland. Most certainly, they would never tell the minotaur the final destination. If the so-called prisoner was in actuality a spy, such a slip of the tongue might prove fatal for more than just Huma. Yet, Kaz seemed a person of honor.

Huma held back only a moment more, then finally nodded. “Yes, Kyre. I hope to rejoin my comrades.”

The minotaur swung the ax over his own shoulder and attached it to what Huma realized was a harness designed for just such a purpose. It was one of only two pieces of clothing Kaz wore, the other being a sort of kilt, or perhaps a large loin cloth.

“I fear that Kyre is an unwise choice for now, but I will not argue you out of it.”

“Why unwise?”

Kaz gave his imitation of a human smile, a smile filled with anticipation. “Kyre is now the front. My cousins, the ogres, must be there even as we speak.” He chuckled, sounding again like a snorting bull. “It will be a glorious struggle. I wish I could be there.”

Huma grimaced at the obvious pleasure in killing that his new companion expressed. Some of the tales concerning the strange minotaurs were evidently too true.

Steeling himself, Huma wiped the drying blood from his weapon. He glanced only briefly at his newfound companion, who seemed to recognize some of the revulsion in Huma’s face.

“You may come with me or go back to your own, Kaz,” Huma said. “Whatever you desire. You may find the knighthood leery of accepting you as a deserter.”

Kaz did not hesitate. “I know some of what you feel, Knight of Solamnia. I understand all too well our many differences. Still, I owe you a debt and I would rather face your comrades than return to my own ranks and to a slow torture before I am executed. I have no desire to face ogres’ tender mercies.”

Something howled in the night, far away. It was a wolf, Huma decided, yet not a wolf. It was too cold, too—evil.

“We had best be off,” Kaz quickly decided. “This is no place to be at night. The scent of death is sure to draw visitors here and I, Knight, would prefer to move on.”

Huma’s eyes were still staring back at the direction of the cry. He nodded sharply, suddenly much more pleased with the minotaur’s companionship. “Agreed.” He reached out his right hand in friendship. “My name, friend Kaz, is Huma.”

“Huma.” The pressure exerted by the hand that covered Huma’s was not enough to crush every bone, but it came close. “A strong name, that. A warrior’s name.”

Huma turned quickly away and picked up his bags. How wrong the minotaur could be! A warrior, indeed! Within his armor, Huma could feel every portion of his body shiver. He tried to imagine Bennett in his place, acting in the proper manner of a knight born to command. The thought only frustrated Huma more, for he knew that Bennett would never have ended up in a situation such as this.

They left the camp, with its dying fire and scattered refuse, and headed in the direction Huma had chosen. Neither spoke now, for varying reasons. Behind them—thankfully, sounding no closer than before—the cry rose again.

The two wanderers found it impossible to travel too far before being forced to rest. Huma’s head still bothered him, and Kaz was not fully over the effects of the drugged food he had been fed following his capture by the goblins.