“As further proof of Kaz’s guilt,” Scurn was saying, “we have this.…”
Scurn held up a small spherical object in his hands. The Grand Master recognized it immediately as a truthcrystal, a minor magical artifact that reenacted some historical scene over and over again. Lord Oswal watched the magical image as Kaz struck the ogre from behind, murdering him again and again. The Grand Master remained unmoved. The trouble with truthcrystals was that they did not live up to their name. Any decent mage could create distortions. To the minotaurs, however, who shunned sorcery and yet were too ready to believe it, it was all too real.
Lastly, a written proclamation from those who served as elders among the minotaurs was produced, dictating that, by the laws of that race, this posse was performing a deed of honor in seeking out one who was a disgrace, a coward, and a murderer. The proclamation emphasized Kaz’s fleeing from the scene, a dishonorable act, more than the death of the ogre. According to minotaur code, that was enough to have him executed—or, at the least, sentenced to a battle of impossible odds.
Lord Oswal read the proclamation over. He greatly trusted Kaz, but he was, in the end, an avid proponent of justice and law. The minotaurs who ruled their race were, until their own kind removed them, legitimate masters, and their word was lawful.
“Why come here? Why show me this?”
“We believed the minotaur would come here. Is such the case?” The look in Scum’s eyes dared the Grand Master to lie.
He would not. “Kaz was here two days ago. He has gone south with a small force of my own men.”
Oddly, there were some looks of relief and murmured comments among the crowd of minotaurs. A male and female who, as far as a human could discern, resembled one another, seemed most pleased. The leader was not.
“South! We missed him by two days? Where does the coward go in the south?”
“The ‘coward’ rides to the mountains just north of Qualinesti. He and my nephew ride to face a magic thief who threatens not just Solamnia but also all of Ansalon with his actions!”
“Kaz rides into danger?” asked the female minotaur.
Scurn snorted in disdain. “With a force of knights at his back, he can afford to be brave!” To Lord Oswal, he asked, “You claim this as truth?”
The elder knight straightened. “My honor is my life, minotaur! You have my word!”
The disfigured minotaur smiled cruelly and, replacing the proclamation and the magical sphere, pulled out what appeared to be a crude map. “In that case, my lord, I would ask you to show me exactly where they travel … all in the interest of honor and justice, which we also hold dear.”
* * * * *
How long? Has the Final Day come and gone while I remained frozen here, helpless?
Kaz had heard nothing more from Sardal Crystalthorn. Perhaps the elf, satisfied with the results of his trap, had no more need to speak to him. And Kaz would have to remain where he was, forever staring out at the golden void.
No more had the melancholy thought escaped his mind when he found the opposite was true, for motion began to return to him. He could breathe, turn his head, flex his arm, blink! It was astonishing to think how wonderful it was to blink his eyes! Below him, the horse, too, began to move, neighing and shaking its head as it realized that it could run once more—or fall.
For with the return of motion came a return to falling! Kaz frantically tightened his grip as best as possible, hoping, selfishly, that the horse would somehow soften the minotaur’s own landing.
Then, as abruptly as it had first appeared, the golden void gave way to green grass and trees—a forest, in fact. The moment the horse’s hooves touched solid ground, Kaz was tempted to ride as if demons were after him. One important thing prevented him, though. That was the figure of Sardal standing before him, a wizard’s staff held high.
The elf was smiling and his robe was of the purest white. Kaz did not trust him for a moment.
“I thought for a while there I’d never get you out of that trap! I thought minotaurs were competent enough to follow simple instructions like giving parchments to unsuspecting, deceitful dark elves!”
Kaz looked around. The trees told him nothing. He could be in any forest, though he had a suspicion that he knew this one. “Where am I? How long—how long was I trapped in—in whatever that was?”
“You are fairly near your destination. A bit south, in Qualinesti, if you really want to know. It is now three days since you apparently departed Vingaard Keep.”
“I was only trapped for a day or so?” Not an eternity?
“I imagine that it would seem a lot longer, considering that you would have no need to eat, drink, or sleep. It was meant as a punishment.”
“Punishment?” Kaz’s eyes burned red. His hand went to his battle-axe, the same battle-axe that none other than Sardal Crystalthorn had given him.
“Not for you, but for Argaen.”
“Argaen?”
“I knew he had gone beyond all limits. Always, with his lack of ability, he has turned to the younger races for inspiration. He studied the traits of each race, especially the humans, for several years. He even lived among them. Yet, while the humans have many worthy traits, it was the worst of them that attracted Argaen. Argaen was always one who, lacking all but the least magical prowess, felt he had somehow been deprived of a birthright. So, secretly, he began to steal magic. By that I mean he stole items of power from those around him.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“The truth, sadly, was only discovered recently, when he sent me what he obviously believed was an innocent note asking for information about the mad human mage, Galan Dracos! It became very clear that he wanted the treasures of Dracos that the knights had gathered. Until recently, he had been singularly unsuccessful in gaining entrance to the secret vaults. What happened, Kaz? How did he slip past the safeguards of the vaults? Argaen was never much of a thief when it came to physical traps.”
Kaz told the elf all about what had transpired, starting with the party’s first glimpse of Vingaard Keep and leading up to the moment when he had opened up the parchment. Sardal shook his head wonderingly.
“All that work gone to naught! Do you know, minotaur, that I invested much power in that prison I was forced to free you from? It’s not something I can do again too soon, you know. What was it that Argaen stole from Vingaard?”
Kaz described the emerald sphere and its chaotic power, drawing on memories of what Huma had told him as well as more recent information. When he had finished, he asked, “The knights, Sardal, and my friends—what has become of them?”
“They moved on. Bennett gave you up for dead or a prisoner of Argaen. Either way, it was his assumption that the best course of action would be to continue on despite your loss. Such a loyal companion.”
“Bennett is a Knight of Solamnia. I would’ve done no less.”
“I fear, however, that they are going to run into some difficulties. You see, what remains of the Dragonqueen’s armies has slowly been gathering near here. In secret, so they think. But such as they cannot hide from the eyes of elves. Your friends are riding into great danger, minotaur.”
“Then I’m wasting my time here!” growled Kaz. He started to turn his mount around. “Which way?”
“Time is never wasted if you plan well,” uttered the elf philosophically.
Kaz pulled up short, craning his head so that he could look back at Sardal. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I have a quicker way of getting us to our destination … and he should be arriving just about now.”
The minotaur’s mount suddenly shied as it scented something off in the woods. Kaz readied his dwarven axe. Whatever the horse had scented was moving slowly, taking its own pace.
Out of the woods behind Sardal Crystalthorn came a huge beast. It was at least as large as the horse Kaz rode. Huge paws touched the ground lightly and silently. A red tongue hung from a maw large enough to swallow Kaz’s arm
. The fur was sleek and silver.
It was the biggest wolf that Kaz had ever seen. From his past experiences with those mockeries of this magnificent creature, the dreadwolves, the minotaur had gained a certain distrust of anything that resembled them.
“I discern the reason for your distrust, warrior, and I mourn the fact that so many cubs have become the playthings of twisted beings like Galan Dracos and Argaen Ravenshadow. You may place your trust in me, however, for your cause is Habbakuk’s as well as Paladine’s, and my lord Habbakuk’s cause is ever mine.”
“What is it, Sardal?”
Sardal did not deign to answer, for the subject of Kaz’s question was more than capable of speaking for himself.
“I am Greymir, who runs with Habbakuk, lord of the animals, and serves him in the mortal world. My liege has commanded, at this elf’s request, that I give you both safe transport to that place of darkness where the scavenger called Ravenshadow even now moves ever closer to his greatest folly and a resurrection of Krynn’s greatest threat.”
As pale as a minotaur could be, Kaz continued to gape at the magnificent beast. With the banishing of Takhisis, he had thought his existence might turn forever to more mundane business. He had tried to do his best to shun the likes of sorcerers and magical quests, but obviously not with much success. It was as if time were reversing itself. Once more Kaz was one of those caught in a game involving the gods. Greymir’s presence was all that Kaz needed to convince himself that this had gone beyond some elf’s petty ambitions—but how far beyond?
“What—” he began.
“As you said,” Sardal interrupted, “time is wasting. Dismount and take only what things you truly need.”
“We’re—we’re going to ride that?”
“You who’ve ridden dragons should certainly not fear me,” Greymir commented smoothly.
The minotaur’s horse, after its initial fear, was now eager to rub noses with the huge wolf. Kaz trusted animals’ instincts only so far. He held up Honor’s Face so that Greymir’s reflection, if any, would be clear.
“A noble weapon, that,” Habbakuk’s emissary remarked. “And you are more or less correct about the reflections—or lack of them.” Greymir’s visage was plain to see in the battle-axe. So, then. The dwarven weapon had not failed Kaz so far. He would trust in it.
“I trust you are satisfied,” Sardal said, a little petulantly.
“I am.” Kaz dismounted. The battle-axe was returned to his shoulder harness as he reluctantly stepped over to the great wolf. Greymir lay down so as to allow the minotaur to climb onto his back. So huge was the animal that there still remained room on his back for the elf, who immediately joined Kaz. The weight of two full-grown figures seemed to make no difference to Greymir, for he rose to his feet with ease. The wolf stared at Kaz’s horse, and the steed trotted off, as if given orders. Greymir pawed the ground.
“Hold tight!”
Greymir raced with a speed only a dragon could match. Trees whirred full speed in the opposite direction. Birds flew in place. Kaz knew that Greymir’s paws did not even touch the earth. This was the stuff of legend, the stuff of wonder. This was the stuff that one breathless minotaur would have preferred never to have experienced.
Daylight was losing its battle with the night. Kaz knew his companions must have reached the mountains nearby now. Fifty against how many?
“They will have aid,” came a voice that he recognized as the wolf’s. The magnificent creature could listen to his thoughts.… “You are the most worrisome minotaur I have ever observed.” This last was followed by a chuckle from Greymir.
Kaz concentrated on maintaining his grip.
The mountains swallowed them up. Entering those mountains was like entering a new and fearsome world. It was too reminiscent of the evil that had hung over Vingaard Keep so long. It was the renewed presence of the emerald sphere of Galan Dracos.
“Not long now,” came Greymir’s voice.
A mocking howl suddenly echoed through the mountains. Kaz snarled, recognizing the sound. No living animal howled like that.
“Dreadwolves,” Greymir commented sadly. “My twisted young,” the wolf continued, his anger swelling. “And there is nothing I can do for them. They are only shells with vague, tortured memories.”
The howls echoed from everywhere. Argaen knew they were coming and was trying to slow their progress with his illusions. This time, however, no one would be fooled.
“The elf is ignorant of us—and they are not illusions,” Greymir growled, pulling to an abrupt stop, gazing at the horrid scene unfolding before them.
“Habbakuk and Branchala!” Sardal whispered.
Suddenly dreadwolves were everywhere, surrounding them. Kaz ceased counting after fifty or so. The sight was sickening, as if the burial ground of all wolves were suddenly upturned by evil Chemosh, lord of the undead. Countless red orbs stared sightlessly at them. Rotted tongues hung out of maws filled with yellowed teeth. Bones showed through.
“Hold tight. Prepare to defend yourselves!”
A dreadwolf atop a high ledge laughed. It was a very human, very maniacal laugh. Kaz had no time to think about it, however, for Greymir was already moving again.
The dreadwolves attacked as one.
Hampered in his movement, Kaz could only make a partial defense as dozens of bloodthirsty horrors swarmed about the swiftly striding wolf. Even his partial blows, however, were enough to dismember several dreadwolves, although the monstrosities immediately rose up again, as their body parts drew back together. It was difficult to kill something that was already dead and could pull its body parts back to one complete form. Still, time was bought.
Greymir never paused in his flight, but somehow managed always to have a dreadwolf in his jaws or trampled under his feet. Monster after monster was tossed aside. But Kaz and Sardal had cuts all over their legs and sides. Greymir had scores of minor wounds. Given time, the dreadwolves might have brought them down.
With a few amazing strides, the gigantic wolf broke free of his unliving counterparts, striking one last foe with his hind paws as he passed by. The dreadwolves gave chase, but they were soon left far behind.
“Thank the gods that is over,” Sardal muttered.
Kaz, happening to gaze skyward, saw something he had hoped never to see again. “We’re far from safe, though, Sardal. Look up there!”
Circling menacingly above a mountain a short distance to the north was the stone dragon.
Greymir began slowing. “I have brought you as far as I can. You will have to go by foot the rest of the way, but it is not far. Perhaps it is even too close.”
“Where will you go?”
“I asked one boon when my lord Habbakuk sent me forth, and he did grant it.” Greymir came to a halt. “Please dismount.”
The two did. The great wolf turned to face toward the direction they had just come from, back where the dreadwolves still roamed.
“We thank you sincerely for your aid, emissary of Habbakuk.”
“Your request gave me an opportunity of my own. I could not come to this land without a reason. If anyone should be thanked, it is you and the minotaur for enabling me to complete a task that has long been overdue, a curse upon my kind.”
In the distance, they could hear the howling of a dreadwolf or two.
Greymir’s burning eyes narrowed at the sound. “I could do nothing before, what with you two on my back. Now I shall deal with them properly. May you gain success in your own quest.”
With that, the huge wolf raced off.
“It has pained him for the past few years that such as the dreadwolves exist,” Sardal said. “He goes to destroy those twisted forms so that the souls of the pack members who once fostered them may rest in peace.”
“I thought they’d all died with their original master, Galan Dracos. Where did Argaen Ravenshadow learn such foul sorcery? I wouldn’t have thought him capable of it.”
Sardal looked at him grimly. “Argaen is not capabl
e of it, although he may have come to believe that he is responsible. Argaen, you see, is only a tool. No, minotaur, the dreadwolves still obey their first and only master.”
“The emerald sphere! I felt it!”
“Yes, my friend. Galan Dracos lives!”
CHAPTER 19
“Those mountains in the midst of the range, I think,” Bennett commented calmly to Sir Grissom. The other knight nodded obediently. Behind them, Darius, Tesela, and Delbin listened with various combinations of impatience, anxiety, and anger. Kaz was gone, swallowed up by some fiendish trap. It was not the column moving too slowly that bothered them, but that Bennett seemed to accept the disappearance of Kaz so easily.
“This is war,” he had replied to Tesela’s angry questions. “As much a war as the one fought more than five years ago. Kaz knows, if he is indeed alive.”
There were traces of recent activity, men on horseback and on foot. The tracks went toward the mountains, away from them, parallel to their own path—essentially everywhere. A few times, men had thought they had seen the stone dragon.
“Ready arms,” Bennett ordered.
The men in front had lances, should the foe block the mountain paths. The men in the ranks were divided between those with bows ready for any enemy hiding in the rocks and mountainsides, and others who had swords in case they were set upon from low ground. It was the unspoken duty of Darius that he would watch over the cleric and the kender. He was more than willing to test his blade in their defense. Tesela, meanwhile, was composing herself. In defense of the column, she would utilize her powers as best as she could.
Even Delbin was ready. He had succeeded in finding a sling and ammunition. The sling was a lucky find; he had been looking for his book, in order to record the coming battle. The sling seemed as though it might be useful, so he kept it at the ready.
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