The head of the dead titan was twisted upside down, and Huma discovered that the lower jaw rested firmly atop the upper. That meant that the sword was buried within a tremendous mass of pure metal, with no way to retrieve it. Angered, Huma banged his hand against the snout of the creature; the shock brought his senses back, and he briefly wondered at his obsession with the ancient blade. Best if he-
He kicked something with his foot. It made a metallic sound, and Huma looked down to see the very object he had been seeking. With a startled cry, he fell to his knees and practically cradled the weapon. It was to be his. This was a sign.
From the moment his hands touched it, the blade had begun to glow again. Huma basked happily in that glow, for it soothed him and made him forget the terrible events of the past few days. Reluctantly, he sheathed the sword and crawled on top of the great beast. Wyrmfather’s sloping neck proved to be an excellent ramp from which Huma could climb to one of the upper tunnels that dotted the cavern and seek the mysterious smith. That was, he believed, his logical destination.
Neither the endless mounds of gold nor the gleaming caches of jewelry interested him, now that he had the sword. The mirror still intrigued him, but he could not carry it with him through the cavern. He consoled himself with the thought that he could return for it if he succeeded.
With a proper blade in his hands for once, Huma was soon feeling rested and confident as he strode up the amazingly long neck of Wyrmfather.
The tunnels immediately above were naturally lit, though not to the degree that the lower ones had been. Gazing down one, Huma could see no difference between it and the passages he had traversed originally. Dark shadows were everywhere. Emboldened, now that he held a weapon worthy of him, Huma stepped off the neck of the petrified Wyrmfather and entered the closest tunnel.
He became impatient as time dragged and he found only more corridors. Where were the challenges? Wyrmfather had been one, but Huma knew there must be two others. Still, he thought, they could not possibly compare to his brush with the huge beast. Perhaps having faced Wyrmfather was test enough.
One hand stroked the pommel of the sword. Maybe there was no actual need for whatever else lay within this mountain. The sword alone was worth an army, and Huma controlled the sword.
His impatience grew as he continued to follow what seemed like endless tunnels. All Huma wanted to do now was leave. Challenges no longer concerned him. The blade was all he needed. What could the cavern offer that would better a weapon of such power and perfection?
The thought of a flank under his command occurred suddenly to him. After all Huma had accomplished, Lord Oswal surely would reward him. Not only had he brought back a weapon of great value, but he had exposed Rennard and saved the elder knight’s life.
A major command position had always been Huma’s dream. From there, it could not be long before he would command an entire army.
A smile began to spread across his face.
“Step no further.”
At first, Huma had not noticed the figure standing before him. Clad in a long, flowing cloak of gray, the figure blended in well with his surroundings, especially with the shadows now dominating. The figure’s face was gray, as were his teeth and tongue. The only noticeable change from the previous encounter with the gray man was that he was not smiling in the least this time.
“You again!” Huma was happy to see the odd mage—if mage he was—because he now could boast to someone other than himself. “I have beaten your challenges, easily! I’ve come to claim my prize—not that it seems so important now.”
“Certainly. Leave your sword where you are and walk forward.”
“My sword?” The gray man might have asked for his arm.
“Your sword. I always assumed the acoustics in here were fairly good. Am I wrong, then?” At the moment, the mage’s face was as unreadable as Rennard’s had always been.
“Why?” Huma did not care for this suspicious move. The gray man was a servant of the Dragonqueen after all. It must be that the gods now feared Huma’s power—and why not?
“That thing there is not allowed within these chambers. It should not be allowed anywhere.”
“This?” The knight held aloft the magnificent sword, admiring the way it glowed so strongly. He had thought it well-made before, but the radiance of its fully awakened beauty was something to behold. Give it up? Huma would fight first!
“That ‘wonderful’ blade you bear is known as the Sword of Tears. It’s a relic from the Age of Dreams. Through it, Takhisis seduced the ogre race, twisted them from beauty, until all but a handful strayed from the path. It is said to be the weapon with which the champion of darkness will challenge light on that final battle before the last day. It is pure evil, and should be banished. If there is any true choice.”
“You’re wrong. This is the key to our victory. Look at it!”
The gray man shaded his eyes. “I have. Many times. Its wicked travesty of illumination still irritates after all these centuries.”
Huma lowered the blade, but only so he could point it toward the man barring his way. “Is it that? Or are you one who shuns the light in general? I think it is you who are the danger.”
“If you could only see your face.”
“My face?” Huma laughed arrogantly. “The Sword of Tears, you say. Could it actually be called that because of the tears that the Dragonqueen will shed when at last faced with a power stronger than she?”
The gray man’s face screwed into an expression of disgust. “I see the horrid blade has not lost any of its charm.”
Holding his sword possessively, Huma folded his arms. “I’ve listened to your little tirade long enough. Will you let me pass now?”
The guardian brought his staff up to eye level. “Not with the sword.”
Huma only smiled and thrust the sword into the rocky wall to his left. The blade sank in as if the tunnel were made of curdled milk rather than stone, and the weapon flared with emerald light. With similar ease, the knight drew it out. The blade looked unscratched, while that portion of the wall had lost its natural glow.
The gray man only curled his lip and said mockingly, “You had better strike it again. It may have some fight left in it.”
Huma glared at him. “Your last chance. Will you yield?”
“Not unless the sword is forfeited.”
“Then I shall slice a path through your body.”
“If you can.”
The knight raised the Sword of Tears, which seemed to glow more brilliantly—as if in anticipation—and stepped forward. The gray man stepped out of his defensive position and—threw his staff on the tunnel floor. Huma stood there, arm raised, momentarily stunned.
“Have you surrendered, then?”
The hooded figure shook his head. “If you would continue, you must strike me down.”
Strike him down! a voice shouted in Huma’s mind. The green glow of the Sword of Tears dominated the tunnel now. Strike him down! the voice repeated.
“This is—” Huma struggled to complete the thought. The voice became insistent. Strike him down and gain your prize!
“—wrong!”
“Give up the sword, Huma. Only then will you be free.”
“No!” The word issued from the knight’s mouth, but it was not he who had spoken. Instead, the source seemed to have been the blade itself, which now caused Huma’s arm to rise as if he were intending to smote the gray mage.
“No!” This time, it was Huma who spoke. He collapsed against the side of the passageway and regarded with sudden disgust and horror the thing he held in his hand, despite the brilliance that caused even the gray man to turn away.
Take me! Wield me! I was meant to glory in blood! I was meant to rend the world for my mistress!
“No!” The denial came more firmly now as the shock in Huma’s eyes gave way to anger. He had torn free from the malevolent artifact’s spell. The blade had asked the impossible of him—to purposefully strike down one who neither deserved it nor sought to defend himself. Huma had not been able to do so with Rennard, and he could not do so now with the dun-colored guardian.