Kaz the Minotaur

by Richard Knaak

  As soon as Bennett vanished, Kaz began to regret sending him away. He was finding the imposter quite a deadly swordsman. The man was tall and, between his arm and longsword, had a lengthy reach.

  They traded blows for several seconds, but something seemed to be eating away at his opponent’s determination. The knight imposter was hesitant in his movements.

  Of course! “Your friends seem to have abandoned you, human!”

  Kaz had struck the right nerve. “Unlike you, minotaur, we are faithful to our mistress. They—they would not abandon me!”

  In the background, Kaz could hear the shouts of men in the camp. His opponent began to fight with renewed vigor. It seemed, the human was correct; the camp was now under attack.

  “We will overrun your Solamnic friends, beast, but don’t worry. You won’t be alive to see it!”

  “I’d wager you wore a black suit of armor five or six years ago,” Kaz snarled. “You’re dead wrong on two counts, though, guardsman! First, the knights defending the camp will prevail, and second, I plan to be very much alive!” He gave the human a grim, toothy smile. “Yes, you look to be one of the Black Guard. By the way, I saw your warlord, Crynus, die. He had become quite a madman by then.”

  The guardsman’s sword wavered.

  The battle-axe caught him in the chest and across the neck. It sliced through the breastplate without slowing. Slowly he toppled to the ground, his head only loosely attached to his neck.

  Cursing, Kaz stood his ground and waited for some sign of a new foe. Nothing.

  Moments later, several knights, Bennett’s aide Grissom among them, came running in his direction. Kaz turned toward them with relief, only to find half a dozen swords pointed in his direction.

  “What’s this?” he growled.

  “What have you done to the man on watch here, minotaur?”

  It was obvious that neither Grissom nor the others knew exactly what had transpired here. Kaz knew that some of the knights distrusted him, but not to this extreme.

  “Talk to your commander, human! I was the one who discovered our danger!”

  Grissom hesitated. “Why would you betray them? You once fought for the same side.”

  Kaz sighed. How many times would he have to explain this?

  “Have those weapons lowered, Sir Grissom! The minotaur is an ally, a valuable one!”

  At the sound of Bennett’s voice, the other knights stood aside. Grissom saluted his superior. “My apologies, milord! All we knew was that you had come into the camp warning of danger!”

  “Do not apologize to me, Grissom. Apologize to Kaz; it was his honor you impugned.”

  “Milord?”

  Bennett looked at his aide critically. “Is that so difficult to understand? Must I apologize for you? I certainly will, because he deserves it. After all, he may have saved all our lives.”

  Grissom exhaled sharply and turned back to Kaz. “I apologize for my quick judgment, minotaur. I assumed that there was only one person who could be responsible for this.”

  “They killed the man who stood guard here,” Kaz explained to the man, “and one of their own took his place so that no one suspected. We’re fortunate we caught them before they could really get organized.”

  “They tried to attack the camp only seconds after I was able to warn the men,” Bennett interjected. “They were hardly expecting the entire camp to be awake and ready. One wave came in. We killed perhaps six or seven and wounded a few more. We lost only one man besides this one. They fled almost immediately afterward. The cowards!”

  “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them. This man was one of the warlord’s Black Guard, Bennett.”

  “There seemed to be quite a few of them roaming around in central and southern Solamnia. Kharolis, too. Raiding runs have increased noticeably,” To Grissom, Bennett said, “See if you can find the body of our brother who gave his life here. Before we leave tomorrow morning, he and the other man will be given rites. Double the guard for the rest of the night.”

  “As you command, milord. What of this one?” Grissom tapped the body with the tip of his blade.

  “Have someone gather the enemy dead. We’ll have a separate pyre for them—and wish them ill on their way to their mistress. If we leave them as is, they might become breeding ground for some plague, and that’s the last thing we need.”

  Two knights were left to stand guard while all but Grissom went in search of their dead comrade. The aide saluted and returned to camp to take care of the other orders Bennett had given him. The Grand Master’s nephew stayed with Kaz.

  “How did you know he wasn’t one of us? I don’t know half the men in my command. Too many of them are from outside the Order of the Rose.”

  “Est Sularis oth Mithas.”

  “ ‘My Honor is my Life.’ It’s the code by which we live. What about it?”

  “He couldn’t tell me what it meant if his life depended on it—which it did.”

  Kaz had a theory about the dwarven axe’s name, Honor’s Face. What had the dwarf been like who had forged such a unique weapon? Had he been aided by some mage, or visited, perhaps, by the god Reorx himself? Kaz now believed that the mirrorlike flat side of the axe head apparently reflected the faces and forms of only those with honor, those who could be trusted. Enemies, beings without honor, cast no reflection—a handy tool that the minotaur wished he had known about earlier. He wondered if Sardal Crystalthorn had known of it.

  Sardal Crystalthorn. He had almost forgotten about the other elf. Was Sardal in league with Argaen? Kaz decided it was doubtful, or else the elf never would have given him the dwarven battle-axe. Giving such a fine weapon to Kaz, in addition to saving his life, was not the act of a dark elf.

  “Minotaur?”

  Kaz blinked. “What, Bennett?”

  “It might be good if you got some rest. You look nearly asleep on your feet.”

  It was true. Buried in his thoughts, Kaz had been drifting further and further from consciousness. Elves and magic battle-axes could wait until morning. Sleep was a luxury that Kaz had been unable to afford of late. He needed to catch up now, before they came upon Argaen Ravenshadow.

  * * * * *

  They were not bothered again that night, though the watch remained fully alert. The dawn came with Kaz and the others feeling only slightly refreshed. A full day of rest was really in order, but no one was willing to sacrifice that much time. There was a sense of urgency where this mission was concerned.

  As they drew ever nearer their destination, Kaz began to worry about the human, Darius. The young knight rode close to Tesela and often talked to her, but Kaz, glancing back now and then, also knew the man was looking up into the heavens more and more, with a fatal stare. He knew what Darius was looking for: the stone dragon that had left him for dead.

  Kaz had seen that look before, during the war. Darius was waiting for the beast to come and try to finish the task. It was almost as if he felt that it was unfair he should have survived when the others had perished. Such beliefs led to foolish, even suicidal, actions. The Knights of Solamnia, Kaz thought, were too eager to die. What bothered the minotaur more was that he knew his own race was susceptible to such compulsions.

  Even Kaz was becoming too pessimistic. In an effort to ease his mind, he reached into one of his pouches for one of the dry biscuits the knighthood had provided. They had little in the way of taste, but they were solid and filling. Long used to such fare, Kaz discovered that his fondness for them was actually growing—another sign, he was sure, that his mind was rattled.

  What he touched in the pouch was not one of the biscuits, however, but rather a scrap of parchment. He grasped it by one end and pulled it out. It was a rolled parchment that someone had sealed with amber. Where, Kaz wondered, had he—Of course! With all that had happened to him, he had forgotten completely about this little item. This was the parchment that Sardal Crystalthorn had asked him to deliver to Argaen Ravenshadow. All this time … He wondered what message
the dark elf had sent along. Again the minotaur wondered: Could Sardal be in league with the magic thief?

  Kaz decided to break the seal and see what Sardal had written.

  The amber proved to be more of a problem than he would have expected. A flick of his thumb should have broken it off, but his nail kept sliding away. In exasperation, he pulled out a dagger and worked on it. The dagger, too, slipped from the seal.

  Cutting around the amber turned out to be a tricky maneuver, what with trying to hold on to the reins and the bouncing of his horse. Nonetheless, he managed to trace a circle, and the seal fell to the earth. Kaz put away his dagger and started to unroll the parchment.

  A golden void opened up before him.

  “Kaz!” someone cried, possibly Delbin.

  “Pala—” The minotaur had no chance to complete his oath before his horse rode blissfully into the void. The search party, everything, vanished.

  The void was beautiful, inspiring, but Kaz had no time for such contemplation. It was all he could do to hang on as the horse fell and fell and fell and fell … until it seemed they were destined to keep falling until the Final Day. Not once did his steed give any indication of panic. It still tried to gallop, apparently ignorant of its predicament.

  At last their descent began to slow. The minotaur felt his own movements begin to decelerate. In a matter of seconds, it became nearly impossible to do anything but breathe, and even that was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Like a fly trapped in honey, he thought helplessly. A fury was building within him, one that in combat made him a terror. Now, though, it did nothing but further frustrate him. For all his strength, he was unable to move, to defend himself.

  As he and his mount came to a complete stop, so, too, did his capacity, even to breathe. Kaz was certain he was going to die now. He waited for suffocation to wash over him. It did not. He almost wished for it, for now came the fear that he was meant to be trapped in this void forever, ever staring off into the beautiful golden nothing.

  “Aaahh, minotaur!” a voice boomed all around him. “What have you done to yourself now?”

  He knew the voice. It was Sardal Crystalthorn who had snared him.

  * * * * *

  “Kaz!” Delbin shouted.

  Several of the knights were forced to restrain their horses. Bennett stood in the saddle and looked around in vain for the minotaur. Darius cursed, and Tesela prayed to her goddess for some clue as to what had happened to the minotaur.

  Bennett sat down. “The Abyss take that dark elf! This must be his doing! He’s been watching all along, waiting for the proper moment!”

  “Do you—do you think Kaz is dead?” Darius finally ventured.

  “No, but I think the thief must have captured him somehow.” Bennett turned to look at the others. “We have to move on. Kaz’s only chance—our only chance—is to find the elf before he grows any stronger! With any luck, we will be able to save the minotaur. Wherever he is, if he lives, Argaen Ravenshadow will know.”

  Tesela removed her hands from her medallion. “I can feel nothing where Kaz is concerned, but that may mean very little. There’s no trace of him in this area. That much I can say with confidence.”

  Bennett nodded, as if that were the confirmation he had been waiting for. As far as he was concerned, there was no more time to waste. “It’s settled, then. We move on.”

  As the knight turned to signal the others, Tesela and Darius exchanged looks of uncertainty. If Kaz was a prisoner, spirited away by their enemies, what chance did this small force of knights have against such formidable power?

  Nonetheless, no one even suggested turning back.

  CHAPTER 18

  It was two days after the column had departed in search of Argaen Ravenshadow. The Grand Master was trying to discover everything that had been done in his name over the years his mind had not been his own. What he had discovered shamed him. All this time, he had imagined he had fended off the evil, the madness. Staring longer and longer at proclamations that bore his name, proclamations that he remembered vaguely as having started out as something else, he knew why the general populace had turned on the Knights of Solamnia. After finally having the courage to hope for a brighter future, they had been seemingly betrayed by those sworn to watch over them. It was like the great war all over again, when the knighthood had fought on and on while it was the ordinary citizens who paid the price for decades of stalemate.

  Lord Oswal was stirred from his work by the sudden intrusion of one of his guards. “Milord?” the man whispered urgently again.

  “What is it?”

  “We have a party of travelers at the gates, demanding justice.”

  “Justice?” Were the people revolting already?

  “It—it might be best if you saw for yourself.”

  Oswal pushed his chair back and stood, wishing at that moment that his brother Trake had not succumbed to the poisons of the traitor Rennard, for then he would still be head of the knighthood.

  “Give me a few moments. Tell them I am coming.”

  “Milord.”

  The Grand Master looked around for his boots. His boots discovered—how they had gotten underneath the bed was something he would never understand—the Grand Master readied himself and started for the gates. Knights of his royal guard saluted and fell into line behind him. With all that had happened, the knights remaining in the keep had become virtually paranoid about the safety of their lord. Whether he wanted them to or not, his guards were now determined to be with him during any matter that hinted of trouble.

  The captain of the watch saluted him as he reached the gates. “Well, where are they?”

  “Outside, milord.”

  “Outside? Have you forgotten your manners? Just because someone has a grievance, there is no reason to leave them barred from Vingaard.”

  The watch captain paled. “With all due respect, Grand Master, I think you should see for yourself!”

  Lord Oswal had found that his patience was short these days. “Nonsense! Not another word! Have they given their word that they come in peace?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “How many are there?”

  “A dozen or so, mi—”

  “A dozen? Let this fearsome army in, captain. Now!”

  “As the Grand Master desires.” It was obvious that the other knight still had qualms, but he would obey his lord.

  The order to open the gates was given and obeyed with great speed. The Grand Master, with his guards standing at the ready, stared in amazement at the newcomers. Small wonder that his men had been hesitant! They were minotaurs!

  Other than Kaz, Lord Oswal had seen precious few minotaurs this close up. And the few he had seen were either prisoners or had died by his sword. In all honesty, a band of minotaurs was probably the last thing he had expected.

  “Who is in charge here?” a nasty-looking, disfigured giant snarled.

  The Grand Master folded his arms and, in a voice that had more than once silenced his rivals in midsentence, replied, “I am in charge here, minotaur. I am Oswal, Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia! For what reason do you leave your lands in the east?”

  “We are here on a mission of honor and justice. Such things, I have heard, are held in great esteem by the Knights of Solamnia. As for my name, I am Scurn.” The minotaur gave a perfunctory bow. Lord Oswal took an instant dislike of him.

  Studying the others, Oswal, for the first time, saw the ogre standing in the rear of the group. “What is that doing with you? Is that one your prisoner?”

  “Molok is one of us. It is he who first brought forth the news of the disgrace one of our own has brought down upon us.”

  “One of your own?”

  “His name, noble lord, is Kaziganthi De-Orilg, as listed in the formal charges. A son of the clan of Orilg, of which we are all distant relations. Orilg was one of the mightiest of our early champions, and Kaz has brought such dishonor to the clan that we were sent to bring him back for j
ustice.”

  An insight into the family structure of minotaurs would have interested the elderly knight at any other time. It was known that family was foremost, but to hunt down a fellow clan member for staining the honor of the clan … perhaps there was not so much difference between the minotaurs and humans, after all. Lord Oswal yearned to learn more, but there was the more urgent matter of the charges.

  “You still have not mentioned what it is that your kinsman is supposed to have done.” Judging from the look in Scurn’s eyes, the Grand Master doubted that this one needed any excuse to go hunting down Kaz. That look of hate was mirrored in the ogre’s eyes, Oswal noted.

  A strange pair, the Grand Master thought.

  Impatiently Scurn explained. “In the war, Kaz was sworn to the service of one of the armies sent into Hylo.”

  “A slave-soldier.” Oswal was interested to see that some of the minotaurs—he realized that certain of them were female!—cringed a bit at that word.

  “Nevertheless,” the disfigured leader growled, “he was sworn to the service of that army, and an ogre captain in particular. Kaz served ably”—Scurn seemed reluctant to admit as much—“until the taking of a human settlement. He disagreed with the decisions of his captain.”

  Not surprising, the elder knight thought. Ogres were notorious for their sadistic streaks.

  A memory began to surface. Huma and Kaz had told him of this time. As the Grand Master recalled, the ogre captain had been in the process of amusing himself privately with the slaughter of old folk and children, something horribly dishonorable by minotaur standards. Did the group here know that? He doubted they would take his word for it.

  Lord Oswal found his eyes drifting to the ogre in the back. What was his part in all of this? Was he a blood relation to the one who had died? A comrade? The knight’s experiences with ogres had always led him to believe they worried little about anything except their own lives. That this ogre had sought out the minotaurs for a crime against one of his own kind, even murder, was unusual. If the minotaurs were not so caught up in their beliefs of honor—as, regrettably, many knights were—they would have seen the incongruity of the situation. No, this ogre had to have some other motive besides justice. Most ogres would have settled for revenge, if they even remembered the incident at all after a few months.