The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

  They were camped on the edge of what one of the others had termed the Solamnic Wastes. A vast military unit had passed near here only recently. The tracks of an estimated two hundred horses cut a path through the wasteland. Knights of Solamnia, Helati had suggested, either returning to or moving on Vingaard Keep. A situation was brewing there that, at one time, might have drawn their interest. Now, however, they only wanted to go home.

  A squeal alerted the group to a possible attack. Axes, massive swords, and other weapons were flourished as the minotaurs rose. The squeal had not been torn from the throat of one of their kind; no minotaur would squeal like a pig. But there was a sentry out in that direction.

  Even as the first of the minotaurs started to move, the sentry stepped into the dim light of the campfire. In one hand, he held an axe that dripped with fresh blood. In the other hand, he held a quivering, cowardly goblin.

  “Two of these tried to jump me.”

  The minotaurs grunted, growled, and snorted in disdain. The goblin tried to look as small as possible. No one cared for goblins. Even Molok looked at the sorry sight in disgust.

  “Kill it,” was all he said.

  “Only in combat.” The sentry spat. “Executing this one would be a loss of honor.”

  The other minotaurs nodded. There was no glory in killing unarmed opponents. Outnumbered as he was, Molok knew better than to question the minotaur code of honor.

  “Besides,” the sentry went on, “this bag of shaking bones and fat spouted something that sounded of great interest.”

  “What was that?” Scurn asked impatiently. He would have killed the goblin there and then. Goblins were not deserving of a combat of honor. They were vermin, like rats.

  “Tell them. Repeat what you said to me, goblin!”

  “My … name is … Krynge, honorable, wonderful masters —”

  Scurn kicked the goblin in the side. “Quit drooling on our feet and get to the point! We might let you live.”

  The goblin seemed to take Scurn’s word to heart and began to babble. “My band – it were much bigger then – we found … knights. All dead but one. We have fun and then … and then a minotaur attacks, killing all but three!” Krynge smiled up at the group, revealing jagged, yellow fangs. “Three goblins against one minotaur not good odds, especially since one goblin knocked out. We retreat.”

  The minotaur on watch added, “I found the three of them skulking about like dogs. Two of the fools attacked me in panic, and I killed them. They died from one swing.” The sentry, smiling proudly, hefted his axe. The others nodded their appreciation for his skill. “This coward started babbling about ‘another minotaur,’ so I brought him back here for everyone to listen to.”

  “Another minotaur? So near?” Molok stepped up to the goblin and took the creature’s ugly head in his massive hands. “What direction came he from?”

  “South! Came from south!”

  “Kaz!” The ogre turned on Hecar and Helati. “It’s got to be Kaz!”

  Scurn stalked up to Helati. To her, his ravaged face was even more disgusting so close. “You said Kaz was dead! So did your brother! Only you two saw them fight, and I wonder about that. Explain!”

  Hecar stepped between his sister and the other. “Do you question my honor? Do you call me a liar?”

  The other minotaurs were working themselves up for a combat of honor. Many looked sympathetically at Hecar, knowing what he faced. More than a few of them had questioned their own honor in this quest. Hecar was standing up for much more than his sister and himself.

  Molok realized this, too, as he scanned the group, noting the reactions of each. Like Scurn, he no longer believed Hecar’s story, but unlike the disfigured one, he knew that every minotaur would be needed if Kaz was truly alive. The ogre was no fool; he had no intention of taking on Kaz by himself.

  “Hecar, he be thinking no such thing.” Molok put a hand on Scurn’s shoulder. The minotaur glared at him but did not interrupt. “Kaz’s body was never found. Why? Because he survived and hid – like a coward!”

  There was renewed muttering from the other minotaurs. They had reacted as the ogre wanted them to. Speak of honor and cowardice, and they would believe anything he said.

  The two minotaurs were still facing one another. Scurn still wanted Hecar, and the other still wanted to protect his sister. Helati was caught between bringing dishonor to her brother by speaking the truth or dishonoring herself even more by remaining silent. She chose the latter.

  “What about Greel?” Scurn asked. He was beginning to realize that he would gain nothing by fighting and killing Hecar at this time. The other minotaurs still favored Hecar, and Scurn, like the ogre, knew he could not hunt Kaz alone. Yet he could not bring himself to quit the argument altogether. He would lose some face if he backed down now.

  “Greel was not a swimmer,” one of the other minotaurs called out. “His clan is in mountains, where there are only streams. He never learned.”

  If not for the muttering this new fact brought forth, the surrounding minotaurs might have heard four simultaneous sighs of relief. Molok quickly took control. “You see? Greel drowned. He be no swimmer. True courage, that Greel. True honor.”

  Hecar and Helati exchanged quick glances. Greel had ended up in the river only because they had thrown his body into it after Hecar had killed him. As for honor, Greel had had none. It had been his intention from the first to strike Kaz square in the back with the spear. Only a shout from Helati had saved Kaz. Startled, Greel had succeeded only in mortally wounding Kaz’s horse. As far as Hecar and Helati were concerned, both minotaurs had died there. No trace of Kaz had been found – that much was true. Though their faces did not show it, the news of his survival both relieved and frustrated them.

  “Kaz lives. If he heads north, then he heads for the keep at Vingaard,” Scurn decided.

  “The knighthood would make him a prisoner,” Hecar protested. “He would not go there.”

  “He will.” Scurn looked at the others, his eyes lingering on Molok. “We will go to Vingaard. If Kaz is there, we will demand our right to him.” Some of the other minotaurs looked a bit uneasy at the thought of walking up to the keep of the knighthood and demanding a prisoner. Scurn snarled at them. “Are there cowards among us? Does anyone wish to return home without fulfilling his oath?”

  There was no answer. To turn back now would be a great loss of honor and an outright act of cowardice. Better death than that.

  “It is settled, then.”

  “What about this one?” the minotaur sentry asked. He pulled Krynge to his feet by the back of the goblin’s neck.

  Scurn bared his teeth.

  “Give him a sword. He will have the honor of fighting bravely for his life. A rare thing for a goblin.”

  Chapter 12

  He was standing in the center of the arena, unarmed. The crowd of minotaurs roared their respect and approval. Kaz acknowledged them by raising his fists high in the air and turning in a slow circle.

  His prowess was such that no one thought him a fool to take on an armed opponent with only his bare hands. Rather, they saw it as the champion’s way of evening the odds. If the challenger did defeat him, however, there would be no lack of honor in the victory. That he had challenged the champion, rather than working his way up in status first, indicated the challenger was either very brave or very foolish. That question would soon be settled.

  The overlords – the “outsiders,” as they were called – watched with mild amusement from their special seats on the northern walls. They were ogre and human commanders, one of the latter an aide to the warlord Crynus, leader of the armies of Takhisis. The arena was only a pastime for them; they were here to inspect the new companies of “volunteers” – slave-soldiers, in reality. The ogres and humans were not officers so much as guards. Oaths bound the minotaurs to those who led them into battle, regardless of consequence. A minotaur who had given his oath would die for his ogre captain, or should, if he was a proper represe
ntative of his race.

  Kaz and the crowd grew anxious as the moments passed. The champion was eager to claim yet another victory, one that would increase his standing. How long before the outsiders’ influence made him one of the ruling minotaurs? Not much longer, surely!

  The gate opposite Kaz slowly creaked open. The minotaur readied himself. He wondered if he would know his challenger. Perhaps it was one of the younger ones, fresh from the training session that Kaz himself taught. No, none of them would be so foolish. Each had already been tested and found wanting. They needed some experience before they could hope to defeat their instructor.

  Slowly a figure stepped into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd. The overlords leaned forward with interest.

  A Knight of Solamnia stood before the crowd. A human against a minotaur. True, the knight had a longsword, but he wore no armor and therefore had little protection against Kaz’s blows. The long mustache, characteristic of his kind, and the experienced manner in which the human carried himself spoke of a training as fierce in its own way as that of the minotaurs. Most definitely a Solamnic Knight.

  The man walked toward Kaz. His face slowly came into focus. It seemed to press right up to the minotaurs own. Kaz felt panic rush over him. Not this human! Not this knight!

  Not Huma!

  “It has to be this way, Kaz,” Huma explained calmly. He raised the sword, but instead of striking, he tossed it before the minotaur. “You carry no weapon; I will do the same.” The knight’s gray-streaked hair, an odd sight in one so young, fluttered in the wind.

  Abruptly the face before Kaz was no longer Huma’s but that of the one whom he knew to be Galan Dracos. The long, almost reptilian face leered at him.

  “Tell me your secrets, minotaur. What do you know of my power? What do you know of my sorcery?”

  “No!” Without thinking, the minotaur lashed out with his left hand, striking the sorcerer’s face and twisting his neck at a sudden and improbable angle. Kaz’s adversary collapsed to the ground. “Sargas take you!” He cried out the name of the dark god of his youth. “I don’t know anything! Leave me be and haunt another!”

  In horror, Kaz watched as the head of the corpse turned slowly to stare up at him. The face of Galan Dracos broke into a malevolent smile. “It is true. You do know nothing.”

  The face had slowly dissolved back into Huma’s. There was a bitter look on the knight’s face, as if the minotaur had betrayed him.

  Somehow that frightened Kaz as nothing else could. The world swam around and around, until he vaguely realized that this was a dream. A nightmare. As the dream ended, darkness began to seep in. Kaz tried to escape from the coming darkness, but could not. It clung to him, wrapping him as a cocoon wraps a caterpillar. He prayed desperately for day to come, fearing for some reason that he would otherwise never awaken. …

  *

  Daylight provided no relief from the nightmare. If anything, the utter emptiness of the keep proved even more overwhelming than the shadows or the nightmare. In the darkness, there had been the comfort that one might be able to hide. In the dull light of yet another murky day, there was the reality that whatever waited for them did not fear the day, and in fact was no more visible in the light than it had been in the dark. A bodiless, omnipresent thing.

  The bell had sounded twice so far this day. There was no set time; the bell ringer apparently acted whenever it suited his fancy – or perhaps it was the fancy of the Grand Master, if Argaen Ravenshadow’s tale was true.

  The elf was nowhere in sight when Kaz rose reluctantly. Kaz moved slowly, his muscles sore. The floor of the room proved most uncomfortable for sleeping, but Argaen had said it was the best of bad choices. The library had not been designed for personal quarters. Kaz wondered where the elf was and what he was planning now.

  Kaz jumped to his feet. Darius, already awake and performing some exercise ritual, paused as the minotaur turned to him. “Where’s Delbin?”

  “I thought —” The knight glanced at the kender’s abandoned bedroll. “He was here when last I looked.”

  “He’s a quiet one,” Kaz snarled. “I can’t say how many times he’s done this to me. I should be used to it by now, but I thought he’d exercise some common sense after what Ravenshadow told us last night.”

  Tesela sat up, awakened by the talk. “Perhaps he’s with Argaen.”

  “Maybe, but I very much doubt it.”

  Darius glanced out the window, as if he expected to see the kender perched outside somewhere. He stared off toward the center of the keep. “Do you think that he would dare go to the Grand Master’s quarters? It would appeal to a kender to do something like that.”

  “More likely the vaults below!” Kaz roared in anger, causing both humans to eye him with trepidation. He forced the anger down. “Just to be certain, we’ll make a quick search of the library.”

  “For what?” Argaen’s calm voice floated from the hall. The elf entered, carrying a basket filled with bread, fruit, and drink. He deposited the basket on the table and faced Kaz. “What seems to be the difficulty, my friend?”

  “Delbin. The kender. Have you seen him? Is he in the library?”

  “Not that I know of. Kender are troublesome to keep track of. …” Argaen’s voice trailed off. “Astra take me for a fool! I should have known better than to tell all in the presence of a kender, but I thought you had him under control.”

  “No one controls a kender completely,” Kaz retorted sourly. “And no one would want to. The problem now is what we should do. He may have sneaked off to investigate the vaults of the Grand Master!”

  “Vingaard has other places that would interest a kender,” Darius suggested.

  “I’ve – Paladine forgive me! – ridden with that kender for several months. He’s gone to the vaults!”

  “This is most distressing,” Ravenshadow muttered. His mind seemed to be concentrating on some calculation. “Do you think he could actually break into those vaults?”

  “Whether he can or not isn’t the point, elf! What is the point is that he could just as easily wind up on the end of a sword, if what you told us is true. Sane or mad, I doubt that the Knights of Solamnia have forgotten all their training.”

  “True. If anything, they have become even more fanatical. All in preparation for their imaginary foe, of course.”

  “Master Ravenshadow,” interrupted Tesela, “how is it that you remain here? Why do the knights not disturb you?”

  Argaen seemed annoyed and answered sharply, “I was an honored guest once. That thought seems to have remained with them all this time, although I have also done my best to remain unobtrusive. That is hardly a concern right at this moment. Gather your things and follow me! We must save your companion!”

  The elf moved with such impatience that the others barely had the time to react. Darius was forced to leave his armor behind, taking only his shield and his sword. Kaz removed his battle-axe from its harness. As one, they followed after the swift-moving Argaen.

  To their surprise, the elf did not leave the library immediately. Instead, he stood in the front hall and removed a blue crystal from his robes. While the others waited, he stared at it intently.

  Something blurry formed in the center of the tiny sphere, but no one could make out what it was. Ravenshadow held the crystal before Kaz. “You know the kender better than anyone else. Think of him, concentrate on his location.”

  “I dislike sorcery, elf,” Kaz snorted disdainfully. “It tends to be a treacherous, unpredictable path.”

  “This is hardly any such thing. Do you want to find your friend, or would you rather we searched the entire keep blindly?”

  With a black look, Kaz took hold of the crystal and concentrated on his diminutive companion as best as he could. He recalled the nearly perpetual smile on the kender’s face, contrasted with the odd expression that had been haunting his companion of late. Delbin’s book came to mind and Kaz pictured him writing his latest adventure in it, an adventure that pre
sently had the kender situated …

  “There! You see?” Argaen cried.

  Sure enough, the blurry image had been replaced by the crisp picture of Delbin. The kender was in a dark room lit only by a small candle. It did not appear to be the vaults, nor did it seem like part of the personal chambers of the Grand Master. The room was narrow and dusty, as if it had been unused for years.

  “Where is he?” Kaz could hazard no guess from what he observed.

  An unelflike laugh burst from the mouth of Argaen Ravenshadow. It was a laugh tinged with shock, relief, and something Kaz could not put his finger on.

  “Do you know where he is?” Darius, anxious, finally demanded.

  “He – he is in the library after all!” There was more animation in Ravenshadow’s visage than any of them had noticed so far. He was genuinely thrilled by his discovery. “Follow me!”

  As seemed typical of the elf, Argaen turned and rushed off without giving the others a chance to collect their wits.

  “Are all elves so quick?” Tesela asked testily. There were limits, apparently, to her kind, cleric soul.

  Kaz refrained from replying, choosing instead to hurry after the rapidly diminishing figure of their benefactor.

  *

  They found the elf in a study room of the library, sprawled over a long, yellowed parchment that Kaz guessed was at least a century old. Argaen was nodding and chuckling, a wild sort of chuckle that disturbed the minotaur. Again he wondered how sane Ravenshadow truly was.

  “Come see,” Argaen called out as they entered. Without looking up, he pointed at the center of the parchment. “This is a copy of the original design for this library. Your founder” — the elf glanced up briefly at Darius — “designed more than half of this … the secret half.”