Kaz the Minotaur h2-1

by Richard A. Knaak

  It was some time before Kaz felt up to facing the others. Tesela gave him water and a cloth. Wiping his snout dry, the minotaur glanced at the two humans. Both were pale, especially Darius, who looked at least as bad as Kaz felt.

  “What… what happened?”

  “We all became ill,” Tesela said gravely. “We were poisoned, I think.”

  “I had a wild notion about that before I-” Kaz’s eyes widened. “Tesela, how close was I to death?”

  “As close as Darius. You’re bigger, but you finished your bowl. He was only halfway through.” The cleric beamed. “Mishakal guided my hand. Through the medallion, she could protect me, but not you. I had to act as her channel. That was what the medallion’s glow meant. It was warning us of the danger.”

  Kaz stumbled to his feet. The selfsame pot of soup still sat on the table. Kaz sent the pot and its contents flying. “Sargas take that elf! Where is he?” The minotaur turned his gaze toward the window. “It’s dark. How long has it been?”

  “Midnight is upon us,” Darius offered. “We owe a great deal to the lady here, and to her mistress.”

  Tesela shook her head in wonder. “I didn’t think it was possible to heal someone so quickly. Not someone as near death as you. I think, given practice-Mishakal forbid! — and the will, I might be able to do it as quickly most every time! If only I’d known! The lives I could have saved!”

  Kaz felt his legs grow steadily stronger. Try as he might, though, he could not yet lift his battle-axe properly. “Where is Argaen Ravenshadow? For that matter,” Kaz suddenly recalled, “where’s Delbin?”

  “Mishakal forgive me!” Tesela leaped to her feet. “He could be dying of poison at this very moment!”

  The trio searched the main room of the library as quickly as possible. It became apparent that neither Delbin nor Argaen were in the immediate vicinity. With a sinking feeling, Kaz knew where they should look.

  “The vaults!” he muttered.

  That Delbin could get past the much-vaunted safeguards of the Knights of Solamnia was a certainty in the minotaur’s mind. Why Ravenshadow would try to poison them was another question.

  “What can we do?” a pale-faced Darius asked.

  Kaz shook his head, trying to clear it. He lifted his axe and knew that he still lacked the strength to use the weapon properly. Battling against crazed knights was not something he wanted to do, anyway. And Kaz did not doubt the abilities of Argaen Ravenshadow. Somehow he had gotten Delbin to agree to try to enter the vaults, perhaps by holding as incentive the lives of the two humans and Kaz.

  “We’ve no choice,” the minotaur said reluctantly. “I can’t leave Delbin, and I can’t fight. I think we should demand an audience with the Grand Master. Sane or not, I think that any warning I give will be enough to stir Oswald interest. You two had better remain here in case I’m wrong.”

  “Would you call me a coward, minotaur?” Darius demanded. “And yourself a fool? You have more of a chance of succeeding if you are accompanied by a member of the knighthood as your guard.”

  “They might run both of you through without a second thought,” Tesela reminded them. “Argaen said-”

  Kaz snorted angrily. “Argaen said a lot of things that I find suspect now.”

  The column slowed. Bennett had no desire to call a halt now, but advice from his uncle rang in his head.

  “Making good time in the day is no reason to go blindly in the night, lad,” the elder knight would say. “Many’s the time a patrol rode straight into an ambush. Go slow… steady but slow.”

  “Steady but slow,” he muttered.

  “What was that, milord?” the ranger next to him asked.

  “I want you to go scout up ahead. Be careful. We’ll be following at a slower pace.”

  The man looked at him critically. “You intend to travel during the night?”

  “We must. Can’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “The-” How can I put it? Bennett wondered. “The- presence-has withdrawn! We should have felt it by now, tearing at our minds, threatening our sanity…” The knight let his voice fade away as he recalled some of the things he had done under the sway of that power, that spell. He cursed silently.

  The ranger was happy his face was hidden by the darkness. His nervousness always grew worse when Bennett talked like this. There was always the fear that the madness had left a permanent mark on those he rode with. The ranger sighed.

  Bennett was still insistent. “We will move on! You have your orders, man!”

  “Yes, milord.” The ranger urged his horse forward and rode off.

  Staring off into the darkness, Bennett tried to make out Vingaard Keep. He knew that, on a sunny day, the outline would have been visible near the horizon. Sunlit days were a rare commodity in recent months, however. It was almost as if the war were beginning all over again.

  A bad feeling was developing, a feeling that something was going to happen very soon, and that Bennett was going to arrive too late to do anything about it. A disquieting feeling.

  With a wave of his hand, he summoned one of his aides. The knight saluted his lord. “Sir?”

  “How are the men holding up, Grissom?”

  “We are Knights of Solamnia, milord!”

  At one time, that would have been all the answer Bennett needed to go charging pell-mell through the dark toward Vingaard Keep. Not now. Another knight, these five years dead, had taught him otherwise.

  “How are they really holding up, Grissom?”

  The broad-faced knight shrugged. “They could use rest, but none of them are unfit. We could ride three more days before the first would begin to keel over. I think some of the horses would go first.”

  The hint of a smile touched Bennett’s lips. “If we ride through the night, we can be at Vingaard before morning. Have you felt anything at all, Grissom?”

  “Nothing, milord.” The aide sounded hopeful. “Could that mean the threat has been crushed? That the spell has been broken by our brethren who remained behind?”

  “Unlikely, if you recall our own minds as we rode off to-what was it, anyway? — to crush our nonexistent enemies to the south or something?”

  “I… forget.”

  Bennett nodded. “I force myself to remember. We have much to answer for, spell or no spell.”

  “What do you think is happening at Vingaard, then, milord?”

  Gauntleted hands tightened their grip on the reins. “I cannot say for certain, Sir Grissom, save that I think our final destination will be a true trial of our strength, in mind as well as in body.” Bennett muttered a small oath to Paladine, then added, “It’s time we moved on. Send word down the column. Slow but steady, Sir Grissom.”

  “Milord.” The other knight turned his horse around and departed.

  Bennett continued to stare in the direction he knew Vingaard Keep had to be, trying not to think too much about what he would do once the column made it there. He wondered whether they would be, as he feared, too late really to do anything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You realise,” Darius whispered, “that this plan of yours might be the product of the same sorcerous madness that has affected Vingaard and the lands surrounding it.”

  Kaz nodded almost imperceptibly. “Very much so, but then, everyone we’ve been dealing with suffers from the same affliction, so that means what we’re doing is practically normal, doesn’t it?”

  The silence of the empty keep was at least as eerie in its own way as that first night when they had been stalked by the winged thing and attacked by the wild knight. Time almost seemed to be holding its breath, waiting. The hair on the minotaur’s back began to rise.

  “Look!” Tesela whispered.

  Blinking, Kaz joined Darius and Tesela in staring at the scene unfolding before them.

  The amassed figures did not resemble the phantom knights, though distance and the flickering light of the torches made it impossible to say for certain. Kaz estimated may
be four dozen. The thought occurred to him that maybe these were phantoms, too, but he discarded that idea almost immediately. These were flesh-and-blood Knights of Solamnia, and they looked ready to defend the stronghold of the Grand Master at any cost.

  ‘They still haven’t seen us,” Darius whispered quickly. “You two could remain in the shadows. I am one of them.”

  In lieu of a reply, Kaz straightened and stepped into sight.

  Not one of the knights so much as turned a head. They remained where they were, resolutely guarding against… what?

  Darius, accompanied by Tesela, quickly stepped up behind the minotaur. One knight slowly turned his helm toward them. Then another. And another. Like some bizarre puppet show, ten or twelve of the figures turned to stare in the direction of the trio. They stared-and did nothing else.

  “I like this not,” Darius muttered.

  “Really?”

  At Kaz’s whispered suggestion, the three walked toward a knight whose armor indicated he was of some rank in the Order of the Crown. Acting as if he were the minotaur’s captor, Darius ordered Kaz to come to a halt. With great uneasiness, he steeled himself and stepped forward to speak with his fellow knight.

  “Knight Darius, late of the keep in the province of Westia.”

  With his helm completely obscuring his face, it was impossible to tell whether the other knight even took any notice of Darius.

  “I have with me the minotaur named Kaz, brought here at the command of the Grand Master himself.”

  A mournful howl filled the air of the keep. It was answered by other howls from all about the citadel.

  ‘They’re coming!” the knight Darius had been speaking to shouted suddenly. All around them, the forms were beginning to move with a determination that amazed the trio. Lances were made ready. A few knights secured their torches and reached for bows. The arrows they fitted had tiny bits of moist cloth tied to them. Kaz realized the men were making fire arrows.

  In the shadows all around, they could hear the padding of feet, the harsh breathing of several large creatures, and the occasional repetition of the mournful wail.

  Kaz glanced at the knights. “They’re ignoring us…”

  The howling was replaced by growls.

  “Interesting timing,” Kaz commented sourly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After the day’s quiet and Argaen’s betrayal, I just think that this attack is too well timed.”

  “A diversion!” Darius blurted.

  “Here they come!” someone cried.

  White shapes began to burst from the shadows, long, sinewy white shapes so very familiar to Kaz. Baleful blind eyes, burning red, contrasted greatly with the dead flesh of the hairless beasts.

  “Dreadwolves!”

  The others looked at him. From him they knew of dreadwolves, but actually to see one was quite another matter. The repulsive dreadwolves charged toward the thin line of valiant knights.

  Darius could not stand it. “Kaz, we cannot abandon my brothers! Mad or not, they fight for their lives!”

  “Our mission is just as important! Whatever Argaen plans, I want to make certain that he doesn’t end up bringing Vingaard Keep down around us!”

  A fiery arrow caught a dreadwolf in midleap. The creature tumbled to the side, then rose again. When it realized it was on fire, it began to roll on the ground. The arrow snapped and the head buried itself deeper in the creature, but it didn’t concern the dreadwolf. It was not alive but was merely a parody of life.

  Kaz, frustrated, took Darius by the collar. “Listen, human,” he snorted madly. “In times past, the dreadwolves were controlled by the sorcerer, Dracos! Dracos should be dead, but someone or something is controlling those monsters! I think the key lies in the vaults! Someone should go down there and investigate!”

  Another dreadwolf became skewered on the end of a long lance. Somehow the defenders were succeeding in keeping the battle a stalemate.

  As Kaz released his grip on Darius, the truth of the situation dawned on him.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about, Darius,” he said quickly. “They’re like the knight we fought-illusions!”

  They watched another dreadwolf, pinned to the ground, vanish. The knight who had pinned him down with his lance seemed to take this in stride, calmly awaiting the next one.

  “Come on!” cried Kaz. “I doubt we have too much time!”

  Though they had half-expected it, it was still a bit of a shock to discover that the building was empty. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the halls. Kaz, the only one of the three who had ever been in the Grand Master’s citadel, led the way.

  Kaz only hoped that Oswal had no intention of hanging him from the point of a lance. It would certainly spoil the reunion, not to mention any chances of catching Argaen before it was too late. Kaz wondered what the elf’s plan was. What did he intend to do with whatever artifact or power lurked down in the vault?

  They turned down the hallway and found two elaborately decorated doors blocking their path. Kaz tried the doors and, when they proved to be locked, clasped both hands together, raising them high in the air and bringing them down hard where the two doors joined.

  The doors burst open with a loud crash. Splinters flew everywhere.

  Beyond the entrance, seated in a throne atop a dais and guarded by a dozen stern figures, was the still-majestic form of the Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia. Even from where he stood, Kaz could see the strain that Lord Oswal was under. Despite that, Oswal continued to radiate a power of majesty.

  The aquiline features, so much like those of his nephew though tempered by age, came into view as the Grand Master looked up at those who had dared invade his inner sanctum. The eyes seemed to pierce the trio.

  “So!” Oswal suddenly raged. He stood up and pointed a condemning finger at the three. “You think to twist my mind with still more of your masks, your illusions? I feel your weakness! The knighthood will triumph!”

  With odd dreamlike movements, the guards on the steps of the platform began to draw toward the newcomers. The Grand Master fairly wept with delight. “They see you! I’ve survived your spell of madness, then!”

  “How is it things keep getting worse and worse?” snarled Kaz. He stepped in front of Darius and Tesela and raised both hands high in the air, palms toward the guards so that they could see he was unarmed. “Lord Oswal!”

  The figure standing before the throne stiffened. “A good ploy, but not good enough!”

  “What does he mean?” Darius whispered.

  “Quiet!” Kaz hissed. To the Grand Master, he called, “Lord Oswal, you know me! I am the minotaur, Kaz, friend of Huma and the knighthood!”

  “Kaz?” A peculiar expression moved slowly over the elder knight’s face. “Kaz is dead! I ordered his capture and execution on nonexistent charges before I realized that there was a spell of madness enveloping the keep and that I had been affected along with the rest of the men. I ordered all their executions-Arak Hawkeye, Lord Guy Avondale, Taggin… So many died before my eyes.”

  The guards were nearly upon them. Darius stepped up next to Kaz, his sword committed in the minotaur’s defense. “Milord, I am Darius of the Order of the Crown, from a keep in the south. I know not the whereabouts of Lord Hawkeye or the one you called Avondale, but I do know that we only recently had word from Taggin, ruling knight of one of the southernmost keeps in Ergoth. He is alive and well.”

  “Taggin? Alive?” As the Grand Master momentarily faltered, so too did the movement of the guards. It was as if they were extensions of his will.

  Kaz suddenly eyed them more closely. Extensions of his will?

  “Lord Oswal,” Kaz began, his eyes still on the other knights, “when we-when we buried Huma, you said the world needed heroes, which was why you had such an elaborate tomb built for him.”

  The Grand Master seemed to slump a little. “I recall that.”

  “I thought it more appropriate to honor him the way he would have wante
d it, by a simple burial and a marker noting only his name.”

  “The knighthood needed a standard. They, too, needed a hero.” The guards seemed frozen in stride as the Grand Master spoke of that time. “He was a cleric of Paladine in the end, you know. A just reward. He deserved it more than I ever did.”

  “He truly lived up to the Oath and Measure, Grand Master.”

  “Kaz.” The Grand Master took a step toward them.

  Suddenly the loyal guards simply ceased to be. They were, as Kaz had surmised, phantoms. He wondered whether or not the knights combating the dreadwolves had been phantoms as well. Phantoms fighting phantoms.

  Kaz bowed his head as the Grand Master approached.

  His two companions had already done the same. “My Lord Oswal.”

  The Lord of Knights came down the steps and walked over to the minotaur. He clasped Kaz on the shoulders. “It is you. I’m certain of it! More lies! All he ever spoke were lies!”

  Kaz cocked an eyebrow. “Argaen Ravenshadow?”

  A puzzled look crossed the elder knight’s face. “The elf? Is he still here? I ordered him ousted from the libraries shortly after he came here. No, friend Kaz, I fear the one I speak of is none other than the mortal consort of Takhisis herself, that scaly-faced renegade mage, Galan Dracos!”

  “Dracos!” Kaz shook his head, remembering the dreadwolves outside.

  “Dracos indeed! Who are your companions, Kaz the Minotaur?”

  “I am Tesela,” the healer said.

  “A brave friend,” Kaz added.

  “Milord.” Darius was down on one knee. “Darius, from a keep in Westia.”

  “The province that Kharolis claims but leaves to the knighthood to defend? Where are your brethren? I was told to expect emissaries from most of the southern keeps.”

  “They… milord, I’m afraid they are dead. A dragon, so I believe.”