No! Huma nearly shouted. The Grand Master dead! Trake had never cared for Huma—in fact, despised him as did his son, Bennett—but Huma could not help feeling the grief, as would all his fellows at the death of the head of the knighthood.
“I did not know. The people in the village seemed uneasy, but they did not—”
“They do not know!” the other knight hissed. “Lord Oswal has decreed that no word shall pass from the Keep until a new Grand Master has been chosen! If word should leak out that we are in such disarray, our last defenses will crumble!”
Last defenses? “Tell me—”
“Garvin.”
“Tell me, Garvin, what happened when the darkness overcame our lines? Where do we stand now?” Huma clutched at the arms of the other knight.
“Didn’t you come through it?” Garvin eyed Huma curiously. “The front is no more than two days’ ride either east or west. The warlord’s Black Guard moves untouched through the south. Most of our outposts are cut off. We are cut off.”
“Is there no hope?”
Garvin stiffened. “We are Knights of Solamnia, Huma.”
Huma nodded, knowing they would fight to the end, regardless. His mind turned to the cavern, the challenges, and, mostly, to the sword. He yearned for it now. In his hand, it would cleave through the Queen’s evil forces. Solamnia would be victorious. Huma might even carve for himself some tiny kingdom—
He shook his head violently, and Garvin frowned in puzzlement. Huma forced the ungodly thoughts from his mind. The sword was not Paladine’s legacy to the knighthood. For all its majesty and power, something about it sickened Huma even as he yearned for it. Not that it mattered; he had lost everything when he had fallen through the mirror. It was hopeless.
No! He straightened and gave Garvin an apologetic smile for his odd actions. There was still time if he could make someone listen.
“Garvin, where might I find Lord Oswal?”
“Now?” The other knight stared at the darkened sky from the shelter. “It is past supper, I know that. He would be in his quarters. He is preparing for the Knightly Council tomorrow night.”
“They are going to wait until tomorrow night before choosing a new Grand Master? The Queen’s servants could be at our gates tonight! The dragons at the very least!”
Garvin nodded. “So Lord Oswal said, but the Council will be the Council.”
“I must speak with him now, then.”
Huma hurried out into the rain.
It had never really rained like this since the war’s beginning, Lord Oswal decided. In the past, it had always been nothing more than a mist. Now, it was almost as if the rain could wash it all away.
The High Warrior started from his daydreaming. He was becoming senile, he decided, to be thinking of rain when the fate of the knighthood and of the world might rest on getting the dunderheads of the Council to speed up their decision on who would be Grand Master. He had ruined his own chances by admitting to his indecision at the rout. It had been only a momentary lapse, shock at the sudden turn in events and the realization that they could not fight this attack. The losses had been costly.
Oswal’s nephew Bennett was maneuvering his own faction. He always remained within the bounds of the Oath and the Measure, but he was ambitious and would try to manipulate the decision. Logically, one of the three heads of the Orders should be the late Grand Master’s successor. But Bennett believed he should follow his father. Trake had always desired that. Only Oswal stood in his way, now.
“Lord Oswal?”
He looked up to see Rennard watching him intently. The pale knight stood next to the only other chair in Oswal’s room.
Rennard. Despite his cold exterior, the High Warrior had almost as much regard for Rennard as he did for Huma. Only—Huma had been lost in the debacle. Huma apparently had stood fast in the end.
“What is it, Rennard?”
“You’ve still not formulated your plans. I think it might be wise—”
There was a commotion outside as the two guards stationed at his chamber doors argued with someone. The newcomer was insistent, and there was something familiar about his voice.
“Rennard, what—?”
The pale knight had opened the door and—the elder knight could scarcely believe it—now gaped open-mouthed at a bedraggled knight struggling with the two guards. It took only seconds for Lord Oswal to recognize the newcomer, and then he, too, was staring in surprise and delight.
“Huma!”
The sentries immediately stopped struggling as they noted the tone of their superior. Rennard recovered also and, typically, simply said, “Let him by.”
Released, Huma burst into the room. “My Lord Oswal, Rennard—”
“At attention, Huma,” the gaunt knight interrupted.
Huma immediately stiffened. Rennard turned to the High Warrior, who nodded. To the guards, Rennard said, “Resume your posts; that is the High Warrior’s orders.”
Once the door was closed, Lord Oswal stared at the trembling knight. Huma had something to say and wanted to say it before it burst from his head, it seemed.
“At ease, Huma. Come and sit down. Tell us about the miracle that allows you to return from the dead.”
Huma knelt before the elder knight. Relieved at last, the story spilled from him in a torrent.
Lord Oswal and Rennard listened intently as each part of Huma’s tale unfolded. The quest of Magius—the chase of the Black Guard—the ever-present dreadwolves—the mountains, the cavern, the dragon, the sword ... Had it not been Huma who spoke, neither of the knights would have believed a word. As it was, they truly believed.
The great clang of metal upon metal, so much like the sounds of the Keep’s own forge, interested Lord Oswal most. He asked Huma his opinion of the noise.
“A workplace of the gods. There is no other way to describe it. If it is not Reorx who shapes the metal somewhere within that mountain ... I can add nothing more, save that I feel I must go back,” Huma said, adding, “If Paladine wills it.”
“Well.” It was all the High Warrior could say at first. Rennard simply nodded.
Lord Oswal thought for a moment. “This sword sounds fascinating. Could it—?”
Huma interjected immediately. “I fear it is lost to us. Wyrmfather acts as its tomb.”
His tone was cautious. He wanted them to forget the sword, not only because of his wariness of it, but because of the temptation Huma felt to grip the blade and wield it.
The High Warrior took his words at face value. “I’ll trust to your judgment.” He looked from Huma to Rennard and then back again. “It seems to me that we cannot let this matter sit for very long. Time is running out for all of us.”
Nervous enthusiasm in control, Huma quickly spoke. “I need only transportation. A horse—are the dragons about? One of them, maybe?”
The High Warrior frowned. “There is nothing I can do for you anyway, Huma. Not at present. If I send you off on some wild quest, I lose the chance of keeping the knighthood from the hands of those more interested in power and esteem than the Oath and the Measure. You will have to wait until a new Grand Master is chosen.”
Huma looked perplexed. “But, surely you—”
“I have been found wanting. It may be another.”
“But—” Huma could not believe his mission was to be delayed—possibly denied—for such a petty reason.
“I believe I can win my case, Huma. I’m sorry, but you will have to wait. Rennard, he is one of yours. See to it that he is cleaned up, fed, and allowed to sleep. I’ll want to see a clearer head on his shoulders come the morrow.”
“Yes, milord.” Rennard put a friendly but firm hand on Huma’s shoulders. The younger knight stood up reluctantly.
They parted silently. Huma’s depression deepened. Not only was his quest threatened, but so was the life of a man who had been the closest thing to a father he had ever had. No one but Lord Oswal could lead the knights in this time. Bennett, for all his prowess, lacked experience. Even Huma knew that. The Knights of Solamnia needed strong leadership, leadership that only Lord Oswal could provide, Huma believed. Without Oswal, the knighthood would splinter.