Dracos had no reply for that, or at least the dreadwolf repeated no message. Huma struggled, but his bonds, held together. Four of the cloaked figures grabbed him roughly and lifted. Their combined odor was nearly overwhelming.
He had hoped to get some idea where they were and where they were going, but his view was obscured by the moth-eaten sleeve of one of his bearers. He suspected that they still were quite close to the building where he had foolishly fallen victim to one of the cult’s traps. Huma knew something of the followers of Morgion. They were expert at keeping their plots and membership secret. That they were taking him to the catacombs meant that they lived beneath Caergoth itself, a frightening revelation. Small wonder no trace of the origins of the plague could be found. It was not from something within or near the city, but beneath it.
A breeze wafted some of the stench from his nostrils. Huma assumed that they must have stepped from one of the ruined buildings back into the night. He sought desperately for some plan of escape, suspecting that the catacombs would be virtually impossible to traverse. But he was tightly bound and gagged, and his situation seemed hopeless now.
The group had traveled a short distance from the building when Huma heard what appeared to be the hoot of a night bird. The ragged figures came to an abrupt halt as they belatedly realized what Huma had recognized instantly.
There was a hiss as something hurtled through the air and then one of Huma’s bearers went down, an arrow in his chest. The knight had time to brace himself as the others lost their grip on him and he fell to the ground face up.
Then it was pandemonium as brilliant light left the hooded figures with nowhere to hide. Well-placed arrows took down two more before the cultists could get their bearings. The one called Skularis ran past Huma’s field of vision. He was foregoing the honors of command for the safety of fleeing. It was a short-lived flight, however; not one, but three arrows caught him in the back. The Nightmaster wobbled like a mad puppet and collapsed in a heap.
Armored figures were now rushing out even as the light dimmed. Of the cloaked villains—there had been more than a dozen, Huma was shocked to realize—only four were still standing. They lacked any substantial weapons, and the first soldiers to wade into the combat made the mistake of believing themselves safe from harm. That mistake was made evident when one of the dark clerics pulled forth a small pouch and threw it at the nearest armored figure. Huma could hear the man’s scream and the shocked cries of other soldiers as all the ravages of the plague seemed to occur within the space of seconds.
A familiar figure stepped before him and leaned down to test the bonds. “What a fool I was! I should have known ...”
The archers were taking over. By the time Avondale had finished cutting Huma’s bonds, the last of the cloaked menaces lay dead.
“The dreadwolf? Did you get it?”
“Dreadwolf?” Avondale scanned the area worriedly. “I have not seen it!”
“My sword!” Huma’s weapon lay half-buried under one of the cultists. He tugged at it mindlessly, his only concern that the four-legged horror must be stopped. Somehow, impossibly, the creature had evaded the fighting and was escaping. Huma did not want the dreadwolf tracking him down again and transmitting to its master the knight’s location and activities.
He heard Lord Avondale call after him, but he ignored him. He had to see the thing destroyed.
A scrabbling of running feet alerted him. He followed the sound at full speed, only barely missing numerous holes and mounds that threatened to send him flying if he made a misstep. He did not think of the dangers.
Huma leaped over the remains of a stone wall. The plague had not directly caused all the damage around him; the crazed riots and torching of plagued homes had done that.
He landed on rubble. Suddenly, his foot slipped from beneath him and he was falling backward. By the strongest of efforts, he succeeded in keeping his grip on the sword. The errant foot twisted beneath him, and he gritted his teeth in pain.
As he lay there, stunned, the fearsome visage thrust itself into his face. The long, yellowed fangs hovered near his throat, and the blood-red tongue flickered in and out of the massive jaws. The sightless eyes revealed only death to the trapped knight. The dreadwolf’s front claws pressed sharply into Huma’s chest.
“Rather would I deprive the mage of his puppet friend!” The jaws closed in on the knight’s throat.
Huma swung the blade hard against the dreadwolf. It was an awkward angle, and the cut he inflicted was negligible. But it did throw the beast off his chest.
The dreadwolf rolled over once and landed on its feet. The crimson eyes glowed fiercely, and the thing’s lips curled back in hatred. Huma raised his sword high.
Suddenly, the creature burst into flames. One second it had stood there, preparing to strike, the next it was a fireball. Huma looked on in amazement, and then noticed a new figure stepping out from behind the ruins of what had once been a fairly large inn.
“Magius!”
The mage quickly raised a finger to his lips and indicated the need for silence. He was thinner, and much of the vanity was gone from his manner. The once-brilliant gold sheen of his hair was now a miserable brown, and it was cut much shorter. Had it been burned away? Magius was also wearing something else Huma had not seen him dressed in since the early days of training—a crimson robe.
“Come! I have laid a confusion spell on Lord Avondale’s men, but it will not be long before they realize which way you really ran!”
“But—” Huma knew it was madness to follow his old friend again, but the bonds forged strong yesterday were just as powerful today.
“Come!” Magius repeated urgently.
Huma followed.
They moved with astonishing speed through the town, eventually coming to the far southern end. Two horses awaited them there. Magius indicated that the more massive of the beasts was for the knight. Only when they were well on their way did Magius speak.
“We must ride hard for some time. There is a Solamnic outpost to bypass.”
“Outpost?” Somewhat unfamiliar with regions south of Solamnia, the news came as a great shock to Huma. Knights of Solamnia! In Ergoth!
“Was that you who unleashed the light?”
“Yes,” Magius replied. “I’ll explain in the morning, after I am sure we have lost whatever pursuit the Ergothian no doubt has organized already!”
Huma slowed the horse. “Why are we running from Lord Avondale?”
The mage’s eyes flashed. “Are you blind? Do you think the Ergothian was aiding you out of the goodness of his soul?”
Huma refrained from snapping back that, yes, he had come to trust the noble. Where was the crime in that?
“You told him that there was something in the mountains, didn’t you? You told him about the path!”
“You’re babbling, Magius. I don’t even know about any path.”
Magius grimaced, and Huma realized that the mage had let something slip. The spellcaster recovered quickly, though, and said, “You told him there is something in the mountains to the southwest that could bring victory against Takhisis. He is first and foremost an Ergothian noble, Huma. Ergothian nobles are noted for their willingness to do whatever they must in order to increase their own prestige and power. Think what you have told him. What a great prize it would be for him to deliver to his emperor. Think about how the emperor would reward the man who succeeded in bringing peace to Ansalon at long last. An Ergothian noble would kill for something as valuable as what we seek.”
The words—or perhaps it was the tone—almost seemed hypnotic. Huma kept telling himself that Lord Avondale was a good man. Yet would his loyalty not be first to his emperor rather than to a wandering knight? He had offered Huma safe passage, but only if the knight first traveled with him. Huma shook the madness from his head. He was not sure anymore what was right or wrong, except that he wanted to find that mountain. He was now headed that direction, and it seemed pointless to turn back now.