The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

  The sky burst into flames and Kaz was forced to cover his eyes.

  When he opened them again, the sky was clear of clouds, and the sun – the long forgotten sun – was shining majestically – triumphantly.

  The sun gleamed brightly now. Huma no longer felt cold, though he did not really feel warm, either. Sleepy. That was how he felt.

  He discovered the medallion from Lord Avondale in his open hand. Paladine’s face shone brilliantly in the sunlight. The glare was too much. Huma closed his eyes. He could not close his grip on the talisman. That was all right. When the sun began to shift, he would like to look at it again.

  His thoughts turned to Gwyneth and what they would do, now that the war was over at last.

  Chapter 32

  “A temple. They’re building you a kender-cursed temple when all you wanted was a place to rest.”

  Kaz turned his horse away from the magnificent tomb. Lord Oswal shared the minotaur’s distaste for the elaborate trappings Huma had never cared for in life, but there had been other things to consider.

  “The people need a hero,” the Grand Master had explained with a somewhat dubious expression on his aged face, “and the knighthood needs a standard to grow by. Huma has provided both.”

  Kaz wondered then how long it would take the people to forget Huma, or to think of him as they did other legends – as just one more story. Humans, dwarves, kender, and elves – they all had a tendency to forget or gloss over truth as time went on. Even minotaurs were guilty of that.

  He studied the path ahead. Bennett said he believed the plains could be back to pre-war conditions within five or six years. Kaz estimated nine or ten. Still, the road was serviceable and that was what counted. He wanted to be far away before the knights discovered him missing. There was so much that one of his kind had never seen before. Qualinesti sounded interesting. The elves might offer an experience.

  The day was bright and warm, something Kaz was unaccustomed to. He was thankful he had packed plenty of waterskins. Until he was more familiar with the land, he would have to be careful to conserve.

  The massive warhorse Lord Oswal had given him moved swiftly along the trail. There were many dips in the ravaged path and much of his equipment was jostled around. The belt pouch slapping against his right side became such a nuisance that he finally pulled it off. Metal clanked against metal from within.

  Kaz pulled his steed to a halt and reached into the pouch. He pulled out two objects. The first was a seal bearing the sign of the knighthood on one side. The reverse side had the minotaur’s name chiseled in it, as well as the fact that he was indeed a minotaur. A mark above his name indicated he was under the protection of the Knights of Solamnia. Kaz had scoffed at first, but the Grand Master was quick to point out that few people had anything good to say about minotaurs. The tales of Huma that had already circulated made no mention of Kaz. Many of the knights still could not reconcile the legendary knight’s friendship with a being that most people considered a beast.

  Kaz carefully replaced the seal in the pouch and eyed the second item. It was the medallion of Paladine that the knight’s lifeless hand had released when Kaz had lifted him up to Bolt’s back. The minotaur had stuffed it into the pouch for safekeeping and until now he had forgotten it.

  Sunlight gleamed off the medallion and Kaz looked up at the sky again. Things were changing. The dark dragons were gone, but so were the metallic ones. Bolt had departed without comment after they had brought back the bodies. No one had seen a dragon since.

  He kicked the warhorse lightly in the sides. As Kaz rode, he continued to finger the medallion. It had occurred to him to keep it, so that he would always have a token of his encounter with Huma. But now he was not so sure that it was, by rights, his.

  The medallion was halfway back into the pouch when he came upon the lone tree on the right side of his path. The others near it either lay uprooted or were dead. Only this one held any life – a few branches sprouting new green.

  On impulse, Kaz reached over and, when he was even with the tree, hung the talisman by its chain on a branch that overlooked a part of the trail.

  “Est Sularis Oth Mithas,” the minotaur muttered.

  Turning his gaze back to the trail before him, Kaz suddenly urged his mount to great speed. He would not slow the horse until the tree and the tomb were long out of view.

  Silver And Steel

  (1020 PC)

  It had finally come to this. A summer-long campaign that had seen the Dark Queen pushed until the remnants of her tattered army were grouped around her at the base of a massive obsidian obelisk. A few thousand ragged warriors and their tired, dirty families, waiting for the Queen to do something before the final attack.

  Huma, his army spread out on the hills overlooking the black tower, climbed from the back of the silver dragon he rode and studied the scene below him, looking for the trap he knew to be there. The Queen’s line of retreat had been straight, as if this had been her destination.

  Glancing to his right, he could see the movement of his men, the knights on horseback, and the bowmen in front of them but behind the pikemen, as they formed just below the crest of the hills. Long, straight lines, marked by colored flags. The movement of their feet, the pawing of the horses, stirred the dry soil, creating a choking cloud of dust that engulfed them like a thick, morning fog. Slowly, their equipment rattling as the metal pieces struck one another, they fell into a strict military formation. They were a silent group, tense and strained, waiting for Huma to order them forward to the attack.

  The scene to the left looked much the same. The men were moving forward. Their weapons, held at the ready, flashed in the afternoon sun. The women and children stayed at the rear of the battle line, setting up their camp and preparing bandages and splints, preparing to clean up the battlefield after the fighting.

  The support vehicles, ox carts and wagons, the support men – those who made the weapons, the squires who aspired to be knights, the grooms, and the drivers – stood in the rear, sweating in the hot sun and watching everything, wishing that they could somehow get into the battle.

  Near them was the makeshift band. Pipes and drums and flutes that could stir the men with their melodies and inspire them to greater efforts. They choked on the dust that stuck in their throats. Wiped the sweat from their faces as they waited for someone to do something. Waited for Huma to order them forward.

  The silver dragon that Huma rode was gone suddenly, and standing next to him was a tall, slender woman with a mane of silver hair. She wore a breastplate of green armor, molded to her, a short, leather skirt, and shin guards that matched the green of her breastplate. In her right hand – a delicate, thin-boned hand with long, slender fingers – she held the hilt of a jeweled broadsword, the silver tip stuck in the dust at her feet. There was a look of grim determination on her face, because she knew what this event meant. She knew what the outcome of the battle had to be, and knew the cost to her and to Huma.

  She turned to look at Huma, a huge man with a big, flaming mustache and long/black hair that brushed his shoulders. He wore armor of silver, a helmet with a plume of crimson on his head, and he held the dragonlance that was nearly twelve feet long. The barbed tip was of pure silver, and the shaft was of polished wood. It was a special weapon, forged by the dwarves with the Hammer of Kharas. The weapon that could destroy the Queen and her army maybe the only weapon in the whole world that could do the job.

  Huma stepped to his right and touched the woman’s shoulder, as if assuring himself that she was real flesh and blood and not a mirage created by the enemy. She reached up and took his hand in hers, turning her face, framed by her silver hair, so that she could smile at him.

  “We have her trapped now,” said the woman, her voice quiet, almost soothing.

  “Yes,” Huma agreed. “There is nowhere for the Dark Queen to go now. Still …” He didn’t finish the sentence, feeling an anxiety that he couldn’t place. It was almost as if evil were radiat
ing from the obelisk … as if the Dark Queen had led them to the spot to be destroyed.

  “It will soon be over,” she said, quietly, as if speaking to herself. “All over.” She stared at Huma, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she reached out and touched his bearded cheek with the tips of her fingers.

  “None too soon,” he responded gruffly. Yet, he, too, felt a hollowness inside him because he knew what the end of this battle would mean for them personally: a few years of happiness at the very most and then a permanent separation, but that was the price they must pay for the destruction of the Dark Queen.

  “You don’t regret our decision, do you?” she asked him quietly.

  “Daily. Hourly. Every time I think of what we could have had, I regret it. But it is beyond us. There’s nothing we can do about it.” He turned to face her, drinking in her beauty, a fine, light beauty, created by illusion, but a perfect illusion that could be preserved for all time if they would pay the price. But they could not.

  She nodded, afraid to speak. Afraid of the pain that would creep into her words. She turned away and looked at the army of tired men who sensed that the end was near. Tired, dirty men who had never lost their belief that Huma would lead them to victory. Men who knew Huma would not betray them, and who believed that – one way or another – this day would see the end of the terrible war.

  “I wish …” she started and found that she was unable to finish the thought. What could she say? She knew from the beginning what the rules were. She knew what it meant for her to take human form, and she knew what the ultimate cost would be for her. And yet, she hadn’t realized that it would be as high as it was. And now it was too late.

  Huma took her hand, holding it in his own; he squeezed it tightly so that she could not get away from him. There were a hundred things that he wanted to say to her. A thousand, but he didn’t have the words. In his heart, he knew that they had made the right decision, but that didn’t make it any easier. Rather than telling her that their time together, however short, was worth the sacrifice, he said nothing to her. He knew that she knew, and that was all that was important. The words didn’t have to be spoken aloud to be heard.

  A silence descended over the valley and the hills around it. The clouds of dust drifting on the light breeze did little to break the heat of the afternoon. The eerie quiet spread outward, as if everybody held their breath, waiting for someone else to take command. Huma pulled the woman closer to him but could not feel her body press his because of the heavy armor he wore. A sweat born of the heat and the anxiety of the moment dripped down his face and ran down his sides; he didn’t like the way the Dark Queen had fled to the obelisk. He didn’t like the way her army had halted at its base, as if finding protection in its shadow. It smacked of a trap, and that frightened him because he hadn’t expected it.

  For a moment everything remained static, the two forces separated by one-hundred yards of open, dry, flat ground. No one moved; the only sounds were the flapping of the knight’s pennants in the hot breeze and a quiet rattling of the metallic and leather equipment. And then the woman vanished. A shimmering of light that looked like the heat rising from the plains near him and she was gone. Huma mounted the silver dragon that appeared next to him, holding the dragonlance in his left hand, the butt resting on his thigh. He saw the commanders of his army, the captains of the pikemen, the bowmen, and the knights, watching him, waiting for his orders. He saw the Dark Queen and her army and knew that the wait was over.

  Huma leaned forward, his mouth near an ear of the silver dragon, and said, “It’s time.”

  The massive head of the dragon nodded once, and a tear dropped from its left eye.

  Huma raised his lance high over his head, then lowered it with a snap of his wrist. At his command, there was shouting in his lines and the bowmen drew the strings of their weapons back. As one, they let their arrows fly, a black cloud of death that arced at the Queen’s waiting men, slamming into their ranks. As the second volley was fired, the pikemen began a slow advance on the enemy, their shields held in front of them, the tips of their pikes pointed at the Queen’s soldiers.

  A shout seemed to rise from one-hundred-thousand throats, a roar that came from both armies. The Dark Queen, a beautiful woman dressed in black armor and mounted on a black horse, waved her men forward. They came on, running across the no-man’s land of dried, dead grass, raising a cloud of dust that obscured them and the obsidian obelisk behind them.

  Like the sound of the sea smashing onto a beach, the two armies collided. There was the ringing of metal against metal and a grunting of effort as the men of both sides fought with one another. Huma’s men momentarily retreated under the heavy onslaught of the Dark Queen’s men, but their line finally stabilized.

  From his position on the hillside, Huma, astride the silver dragon, could watch the fight. His men waded into the conflict, their swords swinging, chopping at the enemy. Men fell, wounded, screaming in pain and fright. Others dropped, dead before they hit the ground. A few broke and ran, but no one paid attention to them. Even as far from the battle as he was, Huma could see the blood beginning to flow. Puddles of it under the bodies. Streams of it began to form rivers. The dust, churning under the feet of the men, was suddenly wet with blood.

  Huma’s men forced those of the Queen to retreat. As their line collapsed and her men died, fresh soldiers forced their way into the front ranks. Some, armed with maces, tried to crush the skulls of the attackers. Others, using spears and pikes, thrust into Huma’s forces, killing and wounding.

  The sight of the battle was almost too much for Huma to bear. It had turned into the bloodiest, goriest affair he’d ever been witness to, as the men killed and were killed. Huma tore his eyes away, unable to stand the sight, but he could still hear the sound of it. He could hear the grunts and cries of the fighting men. Hear the ringing of the metal of their weapons as they slammed into each other. Hear the screams of agony of the wounded and the shrieks of pain from the dying. He realized that there was no glory in war. There was only the bloody and cruel deaths of brave fighting men.

  Huma had not been cut out to be a leader. He hated sitting safely on the hillside, watching the battle while his men fought and died on the plain below him. But, from his position, he could see all of it, could see how the Queen was deploying her army and could counter it with his. He could spot his weaknesses and strengthen them, and he could spot hers to exploit them. Flanking him were the knights, the flower of his army, waiting for their orders to attack.

  It should have been a quick, easy victory. The Queen had little left in the way of an army. Huma had pursued her all summer, gaining strength as she lost it. He had pushed her, he thought, across the dried plains until her back was against the ominous obsidian obelisk. She lost men in every skirmish. More men than Huma.

  And with each loss, her supporters deserted her. Sometimes, using her magic, or that of the black-robed magic-users, she created illusions to frighten Huma’s men. Once, believing they were being attacked by a race of tall, raven-haired female warriors who didn’t know fear, Huma’s men had turned and fled, leaving him alone astride his silver dragon.

  Huma had ridden forward, head bowed like a man in a high wind, the dragonlance held point down. He had ridden into the hordes of women, ridden unharmed through the illusion of their arrows and the illusion of their swords. He had ignored all that, attacking into the ranks of the black-robed men behind them, scattering some and killing others. He’d chopped them down so that they could never use their powers for evil again. As the magic-users ran, or died, the illusions they had created vanished.

  His army had stopped running then, turning to look at the empty plain. A few men, killed by their own fear or trampled under the feet of their friends, lay dead. Huma and a beautiful woman with silver hair stood alone, the Queen and her army having escaped the onslaught because of the illusions.

  Now Huma sat behind his army, watching them pressing the Queen’s men, killing them i
n large numbers. Hacking them to pieces. Pushing the enemy back toward the obsidian obelisk and the Queen.

  There came a crack of thunder. Clouds began boiling overhead, coalescing from the clear blue. Crimson clouds that turned brown and black before shooting into yellows and oranges. Lightning flashed as the thunder boomed. Splinters of it struck the top of the obelisk so that it began to glow an iridescent yellow. Sparks flew from the top of it as the wind picked up, swirling down around the shaft of the obelisk, whipping at the clothing, the robes, and the pennants of the Queen’s army. The booming grew until it sounded like the dirge of a giant base drum. A crashing sound that rocked the ground, sending vibrations through it.

  Suddenly, a formation of soldiers appeared at the base of the obelisk. Each was dressed in glowing black armor matching that worn by the Dark Queen, and each soldier carried a silver broadsword as he fanned outward. Ignoring the coming storm, they hacked their way into Huma’s army, killing his troops quickly, forcing them back to retreat.

  Around them, the Queen’s soldiers who had been killed earlier seemed to come to life again. Dead men trailing blood, missing limbs, stood, raised their weapons high, and attacked again. Gory horrors on their feet, shrieking with inhuman voices, waving their weapons over their heads. Attacking. Chopping. Killing.

  With a cry of rage, of despair, Huma lowered his dragonlance and the silver beast under him leaped forward. With a roar of anger, the knights joined him, urging their horses onward. The line of men, nearly a hundred yards long, swept past their own soldiers to strike the reinforcements issuing from the obelisk and the ground around it.

  Now in the thick of the battle, surrounded by his own men, Huma leaped to the ground. He jammed the base of the dragonlance into the dirt, determined that he would not retreat beyond that point. He drew his sword, the blade held upright in front of him, flashing in the bright sunlight as it peeked through the seething clouds over the battlefield; he waited as the black soldiers of the Queen advanced on him.