Kaz the Minotaur

Chapter Six

A lone drop of water struck the side of his muzzle. Kaz, already on the verge of waking, shivered uncontrollably in the grip of memories of tumbling and drowning. There had been another dream, too-a bad one, like so many he had had of late, but all he could remember of it was that it, too, concerned water.

When he was certain that he was neither asleep nor drowned, the minotaur carefully opened his eyes just enough to get some glimpse of his surroundings. When the world around him finally registered in his waterlogged mind, his eyes widened.

“Now what?” Kaz succeeded in muttering, though someone would have had to put his ear to his mouth to hear him.

He was alone in a room, staring directly at the top of a tree just outside. It registered almost immediately that the reason he could see the top, even gaze downward at it, was that he was in the tree. It was a very high tree, too, because even from the mat he was lying on, he could see that beyond the treetop were countless more trees, nearly all shorter than the one he now occupied.

His surroundings were as simple as they were astonishing. This home, this one room, had not been carved into the trunk of the tree. Instead, it was almost as if the tree had obliged whoever had decided to make his home here by splitting apart at this juncture and then coming together higher up. There were natural depressions where the occupant stored a few unidentifiable objects. The floor was covered with mats, obviously woven from plants, and there was no furniture.

Kaz rose slowly from the mat. With each movement, he expected the return of pain. When the pain did not come, the minotaur began to touch his head and arms. All the wounds-and there had been quite a few-were healed!

Kaz snorted. Like most minotaurs, he was distrustful of magic tricks. Under other circumstances, he would have shied away even from the healing powers of Tesela’s goddess. Minotaurs believed that the more one succumbed to the simplicity of magical solutions, the weaker one became. Whether that was true or not, Kaz pondered, it was too late to change what already had happened. Someone had healed him, and by rights the minotaur owed that person a debt of gratitude.

Cautiously he stepped toward the open entrance. He looked around for a weapon and noticed a small round pot made of clay that sat in a natural shelf near the entrance. Kaz hesitated. It was a beautiful piece of work and looked incredibly ancient. Intricate patterns and pictures had been painted all around its circumference. Most of the pictures dealt with nature, though one revealed a group of beings dancing in a circle. Kaz studied that picture more carefully. The dancers were elves.

Who else, he argued with himself, would live high up in a tree but an elf?

‘The pot will not bite, my friend. It never has.”

Kaz whirled and reached for a weapon he had already told himself was not there. Behind him, sitting in a spot the minotaur knew he could not possibly have overlooked earlier, was a tall, handsome elf with long silver hair. If judged by human standards, the elf looked young-until one looked at the emerald eyes. This tree-dweller, Kaz knew, had seen more years pass than several generations of minotaurs.

The elf was clad in a brown and green outfit that made him look like a prince of the forest. There was even a long cloak. Kaz snorted angrily when he saw that the elf was smiling at his inspection.

“Who are you?” he snarled.

“I am Sardal Crystalthorn, my friend. I think this is perhaps the twelfth time I’ve told you that.” Sardal seemed amused by something.

“How long have I been here?” Anger began to give way to surprise.

“Just over two weeks. You were nearly dead when I found you. I am impressed. Everything I have heard about minotaur stamina was evidently true, and then some.”

‘Two weeks?” A sudden, fierce desire to be away from this place, away from everywhere, shook Kaz. He turned and bolted toward the entrance of Sardal’s home. A hand, impossibly strong for being so slender and pale, held him back. Kaz swallowed as he stared down into yet more treetops. He had assumed there would be a ladder or steps, but there was nothing. Evidently elves did not need ladders or steps.

“Come back inside before you do something foolish.”

‘Two weeks!” the minotaur muttered again.

“You were injured worse in spirit than in body,” the elf said gently. He led Kaz away from the opening.

“How did you find me?”

Sardal’s face was empty of emotion. “I did not. Others found you. They wanted nothing to do with you, but they knew that I have a fondness for meddling. It is why I live here and not with them. It is also their excuse to interfere while pretending not to.”

Kaz began to pace. He could not say what bothered him more, the two lost weeks or the thought that he was so very high above the ground in the company of an elf. “Am I in Qualinesti, then? Did the river drag me that far south?”

The elf gave him the slightest glimmer of a smile. “Hardly. It always amazes me that other races are so boundary conscious. Do you think that we stop and turn back the moment the ‘accepted’ border comes into sight? Only races like minotaurs and humans would think like that. When we elves-and those in Silvanesti-created borders, it was only for the peace of mind of others. We do not believe in such things, although we do have our general territories and places no other race travels through. But actual borders we definitely do not have.”

Sardal, Kaz decided, was as convoluted as Delbin when it came to explanations. “So, where am I?”

“Almost directly north of the human city of Xak Tsaroth. If you had looked in any other direction than the way you did, you would have seen the mountains that border this part of the forest on each side.”

Kaz nodded. He recalled vaguely from the map where he was now. If he was correct, the settlement controlled by the elder, Drew, was almost directly east.

“If I may ask you a question,” continued the elf as he reached for a jug containing some liquid, “how did you come to be attempting to swallow the entire river?”

After the aid Sardal had given him, Kaz more than willingly told the elf the entire story. He began with the murder he had supposedly committed, which had actually been a fair combat against an ogre captain who had been needlessly torturing old and young prisoners. The minotaurs did not care about that, however. He had also broken several blood oaths in turning on the ogre and then running off rather that facing the so-called “justice” of his masters. He concluded the distasteful subject with, “I suspect that that is of more concern to my people. Killing or executing to preserve honor is common among us.”

After that, Kaz unconsciously turned to other matters, as if to avoid thinking about his situation. News of the north especially interested the elf, and the more Kaz talked about it, the more questions Sardal brought up. By the time the minotaur concluded, the elf had extracted nearly every bit of information Kaz could think of.

“You must be greatly skilled to have avoided those other minotaurs all this time,” Sardal commented.

“I survived twice as long as most during the war. Wasn’t just that, though. Me, I’ve dealt with humans; I know better than my pursuers what to expect in this territory-the past few days excluded. Besides, while one minotaur might be able to sneak through a land, a group of a dozen or so is about as inconspicuous as an advancing army. Someone always knows, and I generally find out soon enough.”

“Yet they almost caught you this time.”

Kaz grunted. “They’re getting better. Or maybe I’m getting tired. Still, I think I’ve got one edge. There’s dissension in their ranks. I always wondered and now I know. Some of them just want to go home. The only thing holding them back is their oaths, and those are to leaders with no honor of their own, lackeys left over from the days when ogres and humans really ruled. I think a few of them might-and I may only be hoping- actually be slowing the group down purposely because they believe in me.”

The minotaur put his face in his hands and sighed.

“You have a dark shadow over you, minotaur. I think perhaps that the gods have something planned for you.”

He gave a brief smile. “Or you may just attract trouble as a flower attracts bees.”

Kaz began to scoff, then recalled his dreams and visions. They might be merely that, visions and dreams, but there was always the chance they were not, that they were actually omens. Could he dare ignore them?

Sardal, his eyes never leaving the minotaur, continued. “Of your companions or your people, I have no word. Most elves like to avoid the affairs of other races. I have long known the folly of such acts. There were things that occurred during the war against the Dragon-queen that should shame any elf, but still, most would rather continue to ignore the outside world.”

“Delbin knows that I planned to travel to Vingaard Keep and confront Oswal, the Grand Master. He may go there, and it is possible that the human cleric, Tesela, will go there also. If not, I still have to go there myself. I have to discover why my former comrades have turned against me.”

“Not just you. From your words and the stories of others that I have heard, the Knights of Solamnia have turned away from E’li, he who you know as Paladine. If so, we may yet again see the evil of the Dragonqueen.”

“She cannot return. Huma made her swear by something called the Highgod, I think.”

The elf’s eyebrows rose. “Did he, now? A pity, my friend, that you cannot remember the oath. I suspect there are holes in it big enough to fly a dragon through- if there were still dragons, that is.”

Kaz recalled some of the images from his dreams. “She would need the help of another fiend like Galan Dracos.”

“There are other ways. We have no idea what precautions she might have made. What will you do about your countrymen who pursue you?” Sardal asked.

“Like Delbin, no doubt they think I am dead.”

“Yet you might still encounter them.”

The minotaur snorted angrily. “I will deal with them if I have to. It is Vingaard that concerns me. To honor the memory of Huma of the Lance, I will settle with the knighthood one way or the other.” Kaz rose. “Enough prattle. Show me how to reach the ground, and I will be on my way.”

Sardal rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “It occurs to me that I may yet be of some substantial aid to you, minotaur, if you have no objections.”

“What do you intend?” Kaz’s tone indicated he was hesitant to accept yet more assistance.

“Nothing complicated.” Sardal began to gather a few items he thought might come in handy for his guest. His mind briefly flickered to what his fellows would say when they discovered that, not only had he healed the beastman, but he had also given him supplies and even spoke to him like an equal. Smiling, he dropped the thought and continued with the discussion.

“When you get to Vingaard-and I have no doubt that you will-ask for an elf named Argaen Ravenshadow. He is like me and has worked among humans for generations. The elders call him a maverick, but as with me, they never fail to make use of him when it proves necessary to deal with outsiders. Let all who are there know that Sardal Crystalthorn wishes him to place his protection over you.” At Kaz’s expression, the elf added, “Do not be a fool, minotaur. The knighthood respects him greatly, else-but that is unimportant. You will be doing me a favor as well.” Sardal held up a small scroll. “I want you to give him this. He will have need of it. I would have joined him in another month, but now I may turn my mind to other interests.”

Kaz took the scroll and then the rest of the items the elf had gathered for him. One very important object was missing. “Where is my axe?”

“Lost somewhere at the bottom of the river, I suppose. Never fear. I will find you a replacement. Come.” Sardal walked to the entrance of his home and then turned when he realized Kaz was not following him. “I thought you wished to depart.”

The minotaur took a step forward and froze. “But how? You have no ladder, no rope…”

Sardal smiled. “None that you can see. It is only a matter, however, of changing one’s perceptions.”

Kaz shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

A sigh. The elf reached out his left hand. “Take my hand. I’ll lead you. I can see that you have dealt with elves before, and also that you have never been to Qualinesti. I know how the arrogant ones in Silvanesti would treat you as an ogrespawn. My people are not much better, but they are better.”

Kaz hesitated. To be led blindly by the elf was bad enough; to remain here, untrusting of one who had saved his life, was worse. Sardal Crystal thorn was indeed far different than the uncaring, haughty elves of Silvanesti, whom Kaz had had the misfortune of encountering once during his wanderings, much to his regret.

He took Sardal’s hand and closed his eyes tight.

“Just keep walking. When I stop, you stop.”

The sensation Kaz felt was akin to walking down a flight of spiraling stairs. With great effort, he defeated the urge to open his eyes and see what he was really walking on. Kaz was no coward, but sorcery always left him feeling defenseless. What if he should open his eyes only to find that there was nothing but empty space beneath him?

“You said you used a battle-axe, did you not?” Sardal’s voice broke into his thoughts. It seemed as if they had walked miles already.

Kaz found he was sweating-and standing still as well. “Why have we stopped?”

“We are at the bottom, of course.”

The minotaur opened his eyes. They were indeed standing at the base of the tree. Kaz turned to face the leviathan, and his eyes followed its growth upward. The true height of the tree became clear to him. His stomach began to churn. “How- No! I have no wish to learn. Your tricks can remain your secrets.” He recalled the question Sardal had asked him. “Yes, I use an axe.”

“I had thought as much when I first saw you.” The elf was suddenly holding a massive, gleaming double-edged axe. The side of the axe head had an amazing mirrorlike finish, and in spite of its tremendous size, Sardal was having no trouble with its weight.

Kaz studied the weapon with admiration. The axe was perfect, from head to handle. The blades could well cut through stone. The minotaur noted some runes on the handle. “What is that?”

“Dwarven. A gift from an old friend, sadly dead in the war. This was his finest work, and he entrusted it to me rather than to his squabbling apprentices. The runes are its name; every good weapon should be named. This one, translated to Common, is Honor’s Face.”

“Honors Face? What sort of name is that for a battle-axe?”

“Never try to understand a dwarven mind.” Sardal turned the axe over to his guest. “I think, though, that you have both the strength and the proper spirit to yield a weapon with such a name.”

“Is it magic?” Kaz wanted to keep the blade, but a magical weapon…

“I think the magic lies more in the skill of the artisan who created it than the warrior who wields it, although I cannot promise that it has no magical abilities. I’ve noticed none. But you will not be disappointed with it, I am certain.”

Kaz tested the axe, swinging it this way and that, performing maneuvers with it that would have left many another fighter without at least one leg and several fingers. At the end of the short exercise, he hooked it into his harness with one graceful motion. His eyes were bright with pleasure, though he tried to conceal his enthusiasm. “Excellent balance.”

Sardal nodded, impressed in spite of himself with the minotaur’s skill. “May you need it as little as possible. I am sorry that I have no horse to lend you, but I can lead you along a path that will make up some of the time you have lost.”

“Lead me? You’re going with me?”

“Only to the edge of the forest.” Sardal pointed in a northerly direction. “Beyond that, you will be in the desolation of northern Solamnia. Since you have been kind enough to take that scroll to Argaen, I see no reason to enter that unclean land myself.”

“Is it that bad?”

The elf gave him a curious look. “How long has it been since you were last there?”

“After the death ceremony for my companion, Huma, I rode south and have not since ridden back. I have visited the lands east, west, and south of Solamnia, save that part of Istar my people call home, but never have I come within a hundred miles of that region again.”

“You respected Huma greatly.”

“Do you know the Solamnic phrase ‘Est Sularus oth Mithas?’

“ ‘My honor is my life.’ Yes, I have heard it before. It generally precedes the Oath and Measure of the knighthood.”

A somber look crossed the minotaur’s bullish visage. “Huma of the Lance embodied that phrase; he was that phrase. I’ve tried to live up to his memory since his death. I don’t know how well I’ve succeeded, if at all.”

“You’ve been unwilling to return to Vingaard solely because of that.” There was no mockery in Sardal’s voice.

Kaz gathered up his things. “I have. If you’d ever met Huma, you’d understand. We met when he rescued me from a band of goblins who had trapped me by surprise. To say that he was shocked at what he’d rescued would not be far from the truth, but that didn’t deter him. Minotaur, human, or even goblin, Huma always sought the best in a being.” Kaz paused. “I think he cried inside for nearly every foe slain. I rode beside him long enough to see that. From our first encounter with the silver dragon to the final confrontation with Takhisis, he was a human who embodied the good of the world. He dared the unthinkable, too, whether that meant defending a minotaur against his fellow knights or seeking out the Dragonlances, which were our only hope.”

Crystalthorn remained silent as Kaz paused again briefly to organize his thoughts, but his eyes glittered as he listened.

“We were separated time and again, but each time I met a Huma who, despite the adversities fate had placed before him, refused to give in. He was the first to make use of the Dragonlances, and he led the attack when there were but a couple dozen of us, mounted on dragons of our own, to face the dragon hordes of the dark goddess. I say us, elf, because he allowed me to be one of the select, an honor like none I shall ever know again. Most of the riders and their dragon companions died before it was over, and a braver group I’ve never met, but the greatest was Huma. He faced Takhisis with only the silver dragon, whose human form he loved dearly, at his side and defeated Takhisis, though it cost him his life.” Kaz shivered. “I arrived as he completed the pact with the Dragonqueen, her freedom for Krynn’s. By then, Huma was almost dead. He asked me to pull the Dragonlance from the goddess’s thrashing body-she wore the form of the five-headed dragon then-and despite my overwhelming fear-fear I still recall to this day-I performed that horrible task because Huma had asked it of me. I don’t think I could have done it for anyone else.”

Sardal waited, but after Kaz had not spoken for several seconds, he prompted, “And?”

The minotaur looked at Sardal with reddened eyes. “And he died, elf! Died before I could get back to him, find help for him! I’d sworn my life to protect his, and I failed him!”

Kaz busied himself with rearranging his equipment. Crystalthorn hesitated and finally, quietly, commented, “I think you find it harder to face your companion’s spirit than you do your own people.”

The minotaur, his things in hand, was already walking in the direction the elf had indicated. His response was low, almost muffled, but Sardal’s sharp ears still made out the single word as the elf moved to catch up.

“Yes.”

They had come to a blighted section of the forest. Some of the trees ahead of them were dead, and it reminded the minotaur of the war.

“When I was with Huma,” Kaz was saying, “we thought that all Ansalon must be like this-dead or dying forests and little, if any, wildlife other than carrion crows and other scavengers. It seemed amazing that so many areas had not suffered nearly the damage we thought they had during the war.”

Sardal agreed grimly. “The northern portion of the continent suffered most, but there are areas in every corner of Ansalon that will not be normal for years to come-even in Qualinesti or Silvanesti. Our much vaunted solitude gave us nothing. Men won the war for us, though some remember only that men also fought for the forces of darkness.”

They camped in the forest overnight. Kaz had, at one point, assumed that Sardal was going to lead him along some magic path, but the only magic lay in the fact that only an elf could have ever found this obscure trail.

The night passed without incident-Kaz could scarcely believe it-and the two continued on. They were beyond the point where the minotaur had been thrown into the river, but Kaz paused this day to stare at the rushing water anyway.

“I lost a good comrade here as well.”

“I see no reason why you might not meet up with the kender once more.”

Kaz laughed. “It was not Delbin I was thinking of, though, horrible as it is to admit, I grew used to him. No, elf, I was referring to a strong, loyal horse I’d ridden for five years and never even given a name.” He touched the axe handle. “If some give weapons names, a good steed certainly deserves one.”

“Give him one now.” Sardal smiled. He had never met a minotaur like this!

The minotaur nodded. “When I think of a worthy one.”

They continued on, and early the next day they finally reached the last of the trees. Beyond, the ghost forest began.

“Astra’s Harp!” cursed Sardal. The elf was visibly shaken.

Kaz, meanwhile, found himself caught in the past. Before him stood a nearly dead land, seemingly untouched since the war. He remembered the goblins and the dragons, the piles of dead, and the curses of the ogre and human commanders as they drove the minotaurs forward. The battles gave him a moment of pride, until he recalled that it was Huma’s comrades he had fought much of the time. There had been other battles, this time alongside the Knights of Solamnia, and about those he felt better.

Five years. By now he would have expected to see at least a few tender shoots, a blade of wild grass or two- not this barren deathscape before them.

He heard what sounded like thunder and looked up into the sky, only to understand belatedly what it was he was actually listening to.

“Riders!” Kaz pulled Sardal back.

Some distance away and riding as if the Dragonqueen was on their tail, could be seen a band of knights, twenty, perhaps. As the two watched, the party rode unhesitatingly through the dead forest. They could have only one destination in mind, Kaz knew: Vingaard Keep.

“Those knights come from different outposts and keeps,” the elf commented.

Kaz wondered how he knew and then recalled the tales of how superior the vision of elves was. “They come from different places?”

Sardal nodded. “I was able to glimpse some markings. Each knight has an insignia that represents the keep or outpost he is attached to. Most of the southern forts are represented in that group. It is curious. I am almost tempted to go with you, if I did not have other important matters…”

The elf quieted, as if he had said too much. Kaz pretended his attention was still totally focused on the vanishing riders. “They should get there days ahead of me. Perhaps the Knights of Solamnia prepare for yet another war.”

“Against whom?”

“I can’t say,” Kaz muttered. “But it would explain in part why they seem to have turned their backs on their people. It may be that the remnants of Takhisis’s armies are gathering together. I could have misjudged them.”

“Do you think so?”

“I won’t know until I get there.” Even to Kaz, the words sounded lacking.

Sardal straightened. “I will leave you, then.” He held out a hand, palm toward the minotaur. “May E’li and Astra guide you-also Kiri-Jolith, who I think would particularly care what happens to you.”

Kiri-Jolith was the god of honorable battle and resembled a man with a bison’s head. Typical of some of the contrary ways of the minotaur race, he was held by some in as high regard as Sargas, Takhisis’s consort, despite the fact that, if they met, the two gods would have fought a battle royal. Kiri-Jolith was E’li’s-Paladine’s- son.

The minotaur returned Sardal’s hand sign, then turned his eyes briefly to the ghostly forest he was about to enter. “I think my easiest route would be to follow the knights. They’ve left me a fairly obvious trail. What do you say, Sardal Crystalthorn?”

When Sardal did not answer, Kaz turned back to where he had last seen the elf. There was no sign of his benefactor, not even a footprint. Kaz knelt down and studied the ground. He could follow his own footprints for as far as he could see, but of Sardal’s, there was no trace. It was if he had never been there.

Kaz grunted and rose. “Elves.”

He turned back to the bleak lands of northern Solamnia, and shouldering his pack so that it would not interfere should he need the services of Honor’s Face, he started walking. Before he was a hundred paces into the wasteland, he became aware of the sudden absence of all the normal sounds of the forest save one-a familiar one from the war.

Somewhere a carrion crow was calling to its brethren. Kaz knew that the only time they cried like that was when a feast was imminent. Somehow the birds were always there when warriors were about to die; then they would perch and wait for the feast.

The minotaur hoped it was not the crows they were expecting.