Huma could not immediately identify the man who had attempted to sneak up on him. He was wearing a motley collection of armor, some of it ogre make, some of it bits and pieces of Solamnic armor. Huma would have let the man go, but now he wondered whether he faced a brigand, a man who might even steal from the dead.
His erstwhile opponent suddenly yelped, turned, and ran off at an astounding pace for one with such an ungainly form. Huma gave pursuit.
His exhaustion slowed him. As it was, Huma was just dosing on the man when the other scurried around a small hill. Huma followed suit . . .
. . . and immediately backtracked as more than a dozen horsemen and many, many more footsoldiers turned to stare in surprise at the two newcomers.
A tall man with silver-black hair and a neatly clipped black beard barked out an order. Huma did not hear the exact words, but he knew they had to do with him.
His luck ran out at this point, for the woods here were thinner and the riders quite familiar with the terrain, judging by their confident maneuvers. When he realized he could not escape them, the knight turned and steadied himself. These were not the human forces of the Dragonqueen, that much he knew, but whether they were allies or enemies was uncertain.
The first men rode at him. They were good horsemen, but he was able to ward them off at a distance with his sword. He was hard-pressed when a third man rode in and more footsoldiers after that, so that Huma found himself trapped in a rapidly shrinking circle. Still, none of the soldiers attacked. None had the desire to face that flashing blade.
“Stay your weapons! That is an order!”
The other riders arrived. The man who shouted the command urged his mount up to the circle, where the soldiers made way for him. He rode up to Huma and studied him. The commander was a man of strong features, though his face was lined from the responsibilities of leadership. Like many of the Knights of Solamnia, he had the rather hawkish features that spoke of old Ergothian blood—royal blood. His visage, though, was not as severe as those of the Grand Master or Bennett. The slight smile that played across his face would have been out of place on either of the two great knights.
“A Knight of Solamnia? A little far from Vingaard Keep, are you not, Knight of the Crown?”
Huma flushed at what the man must have thought of him. He did not offer a very competent picture of the knighthood. Huma tried to summon up some dignity, and replied, “I have been on my own for days. I have fought off monsters and warriors. My path has not been entirely by choice.”
He did not yet trust them enough to speak of the other things.
“I see.” The commander shifted in his saddle. “I am Lord Guy Avondale out of Durendi, a bit too far to the south for my tastes at present. Who are you, and what are you doing in the middle of Ergoth? Have the Solamnics broken through at last?”
“I am Huma, Knight of Solamnia, defender of the Order of the Crown. I was forced this direction by the Black Guard when the Dragonqueen’s dark minions crushed our lines.” He might have lied, built up their hopes, but he chose not to.
Avondale’s face turned white. The soldiers with him began muttering nervously to themselves.
“Do I understand you correctly? The knighthood has been crushed?”
“No, Lord Avondale. Our lines were crushed, but we were to regroup farther back. I, unfortunately, was pressed in the wrong direction. Vingaard Keep still stands as it always has and always will.”
The other gave him a sarcastic smile. “We in Ergoth are only too familiar with the strength of the knighthood, although it seems to have availed little. Glad I am to hear that the knights have not been totally vanquished, though.”
One of the other riders moved closer, and Huma whirled, his blade daring the man to try something. Avondale held up a hand to calm both of them.
“There is much I wish to ask of you, but you appear to be all in. You,” the commander pointed at the horseman who had moved closer, “give him your horse for now.”
“Yes, milord.”
Huma looked from the proffered horse to Guy Avondale and back to the horse. The noble frowned when he realized the young knight’s thoughts.
“This is no trap, Huma. We are as much the foes of the Dragonqueen as you are. Let past differences remain where they are—in the past.”
“I wish only the same, Lord Avondale.” Huma grunted and climbed thankfully onto the steed.
“Fine. When we get back to camp, I’ll see that you are fed. Then you can either rest or come straight to me.”
A thought came to Huma. “Milord, have there been any rumors of a lone minotaur wandering this region?”
“A minotaur?” Avondale looked at his seconds in puzzlement. They shook their heads. “It seems not. If there is one, we shall deal with it, never fear.”
Huma’s voice grew urgent. “Milord, that is what I do not want! The minotaur—I realize this will be difficult to accept—is an ally and must not be harmed. His name is Kaz.”
“Indeed.” Avondale studied Huma once again. Longer, this time. “I have never heard of such a thing and most definitely never thought I would hear it from a Knight of Solamnia. But I will do as you request. Is that sufficient?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Fine.” Avondale turned to his aide. “Return this column to some semblance of order. Have that one locked up when we return.” The noble found himself looking into the eyes of the young knight. “The man you were chasing was a deserter. You have my gratitude. I look forward to our talk.”
The horsemen and footsoldiers realigned themselves and, on Lord Avondale’s order, began to move south. Although Huma would have preferred to continue on toward the southwest, he trusted Lord Avondale.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea struck Huma, and he nearly slid off the side of the saddle.
“Gods!” The commander’s jaws worked, but, at first, he did not know what to say. “Derek, help keep him up! We do not want him to fall beneath the hooves of his horse.” Avondale took a closer look at Huma. “Gods!” he repeated. “He’s covered with wounds!”
There were no healers of Mishakal with the army. A new wave of plague had struck near Caergoth, and the clerics there had been among its first victims. Avondale muttered something about the plague being very particular, for it most often struck where it hurt the most. Caergoth had been previously untouched and was to have been the main source of supplies for Avondale’s forces. Huma slept for a full day, which worried the noble, for overwhelming fatigue was one of the first signs of the plague. Only when Huma woke, full of energy and gratitude, did Lord Guy relax. When he was satisfied that the young knight was completely well again, Avondale requested his presence for a private conversation.
The commander was a decent man, despite all Huma had heard about Ergoth from the higher-ranking members of the knighthood. Avondale was a brilliant strategist as well, although he would have much preferred utilizing his abilities to better his lands. The Emperor of Ergoth, a faceless entity known as Bestell III, had decreed that Lord Avondale should command the armies in his name. The noble, while a very loyal servant to his country, wished that his lord and master could have at least spared some of his highly trained and highly experienced royal guard to replace part of the already vastly depleted forces. Like his predecessors, though, Bestell III was concerned with his own well-being. There was always some reason that prevented him from deploying his personal guard anywhere farther than the capital’s gates.
The news of the knighthood’s disaster only added to Lord Avondale’s growing list of woes. “I still find it hard to reconcile, but I know you tell me the truth, Huma. As of now, I do not see how I can return you to your comrades. We are riding to Daltigoth, on orders of the emperor, and then will most likely turn back up north. I feel like a puppet whose master pulls the strings up and down.”