The Legend of Huma

Chapter 9

The path twisted and turned with amazing regularity. Had not Magius reassured them more than once, Huma would have thought that they were wandering in a circle.

He did not like the grove, which, even by day, was gloomy and full of shadow. Without the light from the staff, they surely would have strayed from the path.

Huma ducked away from a thorny vine crisscrossing the trail. After the first sharp sting from one of the countless barbs, he had closed his visor. Still, each thorn scraped at the metal on his body, and in irritation, Huma slashed stalk after stalk. Yet whenever he chanced to turn back, there would be no trace of his handiwork.

Ahead of him, Kaz cursed and brought his battle ax down upon a prickly bush. The injured minotaur chopped at the plant until only shreds remained. Almost immediately he walked face first into a hanging vine. The sharp blades of the ax came out and cut that vine to ribbons, too.

The abrupt drop at the next turn caught all of them by surprise. The shifting of the soil as the elemental made its way fooled Magius. His staff came down and the mage, expecting some sort of resistance, toppled forward. Kaz, next, stumbled forward onto the spellcaster. Huma twisted to avoid adding to the ungainly pile, lost his footing in a different place, and fell off the path.

Huma came to an abrupt halt, thanks to the huge shell of a once-mighty tree. He rubbed the back of his head, which had absorbed part of the shock, and looked up—at nothing.

There was no path. The trees of the grove dotted the area. Bushes, tall and many years old, filled most of the spaces between the trees. Shadows filled the rest. Deep, dark shadows.

Huma closed his eyes and opened them again, this time assuring that his gaze was not directed at the shadows. A chill ran through him. What he had seen—he froze. What had he seen? It defied any description he could have given it. He only knew that it was somewhere out there, waiting for him to carelessly turn toward it.

“Magius! Kaz!” The names echoed back to him. A quiet, mocking laugh seemed to come from everywhere.

“Huuuumaaa.”

At the sound of the voice, Huma reached for his broadsword—only to find his weapon gone. He remembered then that he had been carrying the sword in his hand. Yet he could see no sign of the blade when he searched the ground in the dim light.

Something tall and misshapen broke away from the other shadows and briefly passed through his vision. His nerves tightened as the mocker laughed once more. Huma pulled out a dagger, hoping that iron would make an impression.

His view vanished as something literally popped into existence right before him. He thrust hard with the dagger and encountered—mud and dirt. His hand sank into the mire, and he lost his grip on the small blade.

With wide eyes, he stared up into the ice-blue, crystalline eyes of the elemental.

Huma fought off a desire to hug the strange creature. The elemental stared down at him and spoke in the same gravel-filled voice it had used when responding to Magius.

“Follow.” A single, wonderful word to the knight, at that moment. Suddenly, blessedly, his sword was back in his hand.

The two crystals were sinking swiftly into the depths of the mound. At first, the living mound did not move and the knight thought the creature must be frozen in place. Huma sheathed his sword and leaned against the backside of the elemental’s earthen shell. He decided to dig the elemental out of its quandary. As his hands touched the mound, though, the earth beneath his fingers began to heat up incredibly and Huma quickly pulled them away. Two gleaming objects emerged from the mound.

Its crystalline eyes in place, the elemental repeated its previous message. “Follow.”

Huma jumped out of the way as the thing churned forward. Rather than turn as a man might, the elemental merely shifted its face to whichever direction it wished to travel. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and Huma, still staring in wonder, completely ignored the earthen servant’s command again. The mound did not repeat itself. It abruptly shambled up a small rise and promptly vanished.

Huma’s first instinct was to unsheath his sword. Then, he gritted his teeth and, with four long strides, he found himself standing before a loudly cursing minotaur and an anxious mage.

“Huma!” Kaz fairly crushed him in a bear—or rather, a bull—hug.

Magius smiled with relief. “When you fell off the path, your bovine companion was all for rushing after you. It was all I could do to explain to him that having two of you lost out there would be quite foolish.”

The minotaur dropped Huma and spun on the mage. “You wouldn’t go after him! Someone had to!”

“Someone did.” Magius pushed back his aristocratic locks. “While I can make my way through the grove, I would much prefer to send the elemental, who has nothing to fear, than risk myself purely for the sake of appearances.”

“You are a coward!”

“I’m practical.” Magius turned to his old friend. “If the elemental had not been here or had failed to find you, I would have followed you, that I promise.”

Huma’s acceptance of the mage’s explanation was met with a derisive snort by Kaz. Magius ignored the latter and, after a quick tap of the staff on the elemental’s present backside, the group was off again.

Though they did not encounter any more difficulties, Huma kept his eyes warily on the path at all times. Finally, they emerged into light. Brilliant light. It was as if the eternal cloudcover had finally given way to the golden rays of the sun. Even Kaz broke into a big, genuine smile. When Magius turned to speak to them, he, too, was grinning from ear to ear. He raised his staff high.

“Welcome to my home.”

They stared out into a wild, golden field. It would have been quite easy to believe that somewhere within the field elves danced and played. Butterflies and small birds flew hither and yonder while the bright, ripe wheat waved lazily after them. Small, furred creatures hopped among the occasional trees that dotted the forest perimeter. If there were truly a paradise on all of Krynn, this seemed to be it.

In the center of this wondrous field stood the citadel of Magius, a tower that, like the field surrounding it, might have been made of gold. A single gigantic wooden gate acted as a door. Windows dotted the top half of the tower, and there was even a small walking area up at the top. The tip gave the citadel the appearance of a spearhead, well-crafted and needle-sharp. The sides gleamed metallically, and Huma’s one regret was that it briefly reminded him of the sinister bronze tower perched precariously on the edge of the infernal Abyss.

Magius bowed and indicated they should go before him. The elemental had vanished, perhaps to patrol the outer limits of the grove once more.

“You are safe here, my friends. As safe as anywhere on all of Ansalon.”

The knight and the minotaur stepped out into the field like two children. Gone was anxiety concerning the war. Gone were the hatred, the fear. There was only the breathtaking beauty of the open land before them.

The mage watched them pass, the smile briefly vanishing from his face.

As they walked, a strange thing seemed to happen. The citadel grew. With each step it grew taller and taller. By the time they reached its gate, Huma and Kaz were forced to stare up into what seemed the ceiling of the sky itself.

“How can the dragons not see something of such scale?” There was no suspicion in the words of Kaz this time, only wonder.

“Like this field,” Magius replied. “Things are not always what they appear to be—or are seen to be. Someone created this place long before men ever set foot on Krynn. I have spent much time trying to discover their secrets, but the fragments hint at the handiwork of ogres. I cannot believe that ogres could ever build a place of such beauty. Perhaps, this was made as a garden paradise for the gods themselves. I think that would be more appropriate.”

Huma chose to spoil the serenity of the scene by coughing just then.

The mage grimaced. “Forgive me. You must be tired and thirsty. We shall go inside and be refreshed. After that, we shall speak.”

Magius raised his staff again and muttered a long string of seemingly nonsensical words. The staff, whose earlier glow had diminished, suddenly blazed with a new life. Both Huma and Kaz were forced to momentarily shield their eyes.

The gate opened, perhaps moved by some great, invisible hand. Magius was continually amazing Huma, although it might very well be that the castle, too, was a product of these ancients.

They passed through the gate and into a hallway which, while smaller than that of any noble’s estate home, outshone most by pure extravagance. Sculptures of elves, animals, tall manlike beings, humans, and what could only be the gods themselves lined the walls. Like an oversized serpent, a single stairway curled its way up to the floors above. A gold and red tapestry displaying the constellations draped one side while another one depicted a mountain that virtually towered over the landscape. It was so real that it drew Huma’s attention. At the back of his mind nagged the feeling that he knew this place from somewhere, although, in fact, Huma knew he had never seen the mountain before. He continued to stare at it until Magius’s voice broke the tapestry’s spell.

“Not all of it is original, but one cannot have everything. Be careful!”

The last was aimed at Kaz, who was busily inspecting an ageless sculpture of an odd-looking dragon. It was long and narrow, almost like a snake with legs and wings. What little remained of the coloring indicated it had once been green and blue, intermingled, an odd hodgepodge of colors for any dragon.

“This sculpture was made by one of my people.”

“Impossible. It must be elven. Look at it.”

Kaz snorted. “Do you think we have no artisans? I recognize the telltale patterns in the clay, even if your ‘well-versed’ mind cannot make anything out of them.”

“Why would anyone want to mold a dragon like that? I’ve never seen one so long and narrow. Did such exist?” Huma asked, turning to Magius.

The mage shrugged. “I have never uncovered evidence of such a beast. It is my belief that this is purely an artistic representation, the product of someone’s imagination. Another reason why it cannot be the work of minotaurs, not to mention the fact that it is far too old.”

“We were the first civilized race.”

“Civilized or domesticated?”

Kaz moved swiftly, but the statuette froze in midair some three feet before Magius’s face. The mage’s look of contempt was matched only by the intense disappointment draped across Kaz’s visage. “Make your next throw a good one, cow, because it will be your last. And next time use something a little less valuable.”

With a wave of his free hand, Magius returned the dragon sculpture to its resting place. Kaz snorted continuously, and his eyes were crimson. Suddenly Huma stepped between them, brandishing his sword.

“Stop it!”

The outburst was so savage that both mage and minotaur stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Huma looked from one to another with what he hoped was a ferocious expression.

“Ansalon, perhaps all of Krynn, may be lying helpless beneath the Dragonqueen, and you two are acting like schoolchildren!”

Kaz was the only one of the two to look ashamed. Magius took the reprimand as he did all else. He merely shrugged and pretended as if the incident had never happened.

“There’s much more to see, but I imagine you two might wish to get some rest. Am I correct?”

“On that point, at least,” Kaz muttered.

Huma sheathed his sword, but his temper was still aroused. “What happens after that? Can you contact your order? We cannot stay here forever. You came looking for us. Don’t you have a plan?”

“Of course.” The answer came quickly, but there was something in the spellcaster’s eyes that Huma thought belied his response. Here, again, was a Magius with whom he was unfamiliar. Here was a Magius who held back secrets from the one person he should have been able to trust. How he had changed.

Or is it I who am changing? thought Huma. In the old days, he would have never truly questioned Magius or probed at his friend’s answers. The knighthood had opened his eyes to the veiled half-truths that played so large a part in most people’s lives.

Deliberately, Huma said, “I should like to hear your plan.”

“In good time. There are far too many matters here that I must attend to immediately. While I do so, you two may relax and perhaps enjoy some food.”

Magius tapped his staff on the ground. Huma felt a shiver cut through him. Then he saw the mist.

It fluttered about Magius as a pet bird might around its master. Huma could not feel any sort of breeze, nor was there any seeming source of the mist. It moved as if with a life of its own.

“Guests. Guide.” Magius spoke the words, not to Huma or Kaz, but to the cloud—and it responded:

“Guesssstssss. Guiiiiiiidde.” The mist’s voice sounded like steam escaping from a doused campfire.

“Rooms for the night.”

“Rooommmmss.”

Magius grimaced. “Air elementals are so slow.” He waved his hand at the floating mist. “Now, if you please.” To Huma, the spellcaster said, “When you are fed and rested, things will be clearer.”

Kaz let out a deep “hmmmph,” which Magius ignored. The air elemental, given the command to begin its duties, floated impatiently around the two “guests.”

“Commme. Rooommmmmss. Guesssstsss.”

Their host watched as they followed the mist creature up the spiral stairs. When they were out of earshot, Kaz leaned toward Huma, who had taken the lead, and whispered, “This mage is your friend?”

“Yes.” Huma found it difficult to answer with assurance.

“Pray that he still considers you in the same way. I think that this tower and its secrets would make for a very secure, very permanent prison.”

The knight did not argue the statement, having already considered that possibility.

If this were indeed a prison, it was one to which many a villain would have begged entry and incarceration. After becoming at least partially used to the misty servants, Kaz and Huma had no difficulty enjoying the meats and fruits, not to mention the wines, which would have been fit bill of fare at any royal court.

The rooms, too, were resplendent, albeit much too large for a normal-size person like Huma. Kaz, on the other hand, found the furnishings perfect for his bulk and pointed this out as more clues that the tower was some remnant of his own race. Huma knew that no one had ever recorded minotaurs this far west until the wars had begun, but he kept his doubts to himself.

They had been given separate rooms, something which Kaz had at first protested as an obvious ploy to divide and conquer.

“Had he desired to, Magius could have struck us both down any one of a hundred times,” Huma countered. “You saw the way he handled you in the corridor.”

“Luck. Let me take him on, one to one.”

“And he will leave nothing but ashes. Magic is as much a part of him as breathing is to us.”

The minotaur smashed one massive fist into the wall. To his satisfaction, it yielded quite nicely. “In my homeland—”

Huma stopped him before he could go any further. “This is Ergoth. These are human lands. Human ways.”

“Are they? Have you forgotten the battle already?”

“I have not. I only think that you should trust me. I know Magius far better than you.”

Kaz quieted, but not before replying, “I hope you do. For both our sakes.”

It was those words that Huma contemplated as he sat against the bedboard. Despite the drain of energy from their walk through the grove, he had found himself unable to sleep. Kaz, on the other hand, might have been dead, save for the fact that his snores resounded through the walls and into Huma’s room.

The candles, lit before he had entered, had melted to the point where many were of little or no use at all. The flickering made odd shadows around the room, and Huma eventually found his eyes returning to one particularly high and deep shadow in the far corner. It was so dark, he almost believed that, if he chose to, he could have walked right into it and through the wall.

“Huma.”

A hand, open, thrust out from the shadow. It was followed by another. The knight edged away from that side of the bed and toward his sword, which hung next to the bed.

“Huma, I must speak to you.”

“Magius?”

“Who else?” Arms followed the hands, and then the rest of the mage appeared as well. “Forgive me the dramatic entrance,” Magius whispered, “but I wish to avoid speaking with the minotaur, who might be displeased with some of what I am about to say.”

“And I won’t be?” Huma was feeling irritable. The mage’s tricks were beginning to wear even on his boyhood friend.

Their eyes met, and Magius quickly turned away. “You might be. But at least you also see reason. My powers need only slip once for that two-legged bull to do me in.”

“I could not entirely fault him, Magius.”

“I know.” The spellcaster put his face in his hands. “How dearly I know.”

Huma stood up, walked over to his childhood friend, and rested a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder. “Tell me, and I will promise to listen with an open mind.”

Magius looked up, and they were briefly back in their early days, when neither had cared about anything more lofty than fun. The look vanished almost as soon as it appeared. The elegant Magius held out one hand. Instantly, the staff was there, awaiting his commands.

“You see before you a magic-user of great power—and even greater potential. I was not the first to say that. Fat, cheerful Belgardin said that the day he sponsored me.”

Belgardin. Huma remembered the old mage. He had been the first to see the power welling within the young Magius. Power such as he had never seen before. Belgardin was a high adept of the Red Robes, and this enabled him to realize the help the boy needed while still calculating the prestige that accompanied the training of a possible Master of the Order—any order.

“He was right. You remember. I excelled at all things. I was the brightest candidate they had ever seen. I mastered spells even some established adepts had difficulty with. I was a prodigy.” The hint of conceit in the voice of Magius was quite reasonable; everything he had said was true.

The mage’s face fell serious. “You ordinary people hear of the Test and all the rumors about what goes on.” Magius made a cutting motion with his free hand. “The rumors pale in comparison to the truth.”

The Test was the final proof of a mage’s ability to cope with the power. It did not matter which of the orders he or she belonged to. All magic-users took the Test.

Magius dropped the tip of his staff to the floor and leaned heavily upon it. “I cannot say what others have gone through, just that some did not survive. I went into the Test with every possible scenario plotted out in my mind. I thought they would send dark elves after me, force me to kill an elderly or ill person. Perhaps, I believed, they would have me stand at the edge of the Abyss and face the Queen herself. I knew some of it would be illusion, but much of it would be very real. Real enough to kill me.”

Huma nodded understanding. Word naturally leaked out. Some of the rumors, it seemed, carried elements of truth.

The handsome face broke into a smile, one that seemed mad under the circumstances. Magius laughed lightly, although Huma could not guess what he found so funny. “They fooled me completely. Or perhaps even they do not truly know all that goes on during the Test. I suspect that sometimes the power itself takes a hand. Whatever the case, I was confronted with the one thing I found I could not accept.

“My death. My death in the future.”

There was nothing Huma could say to that. He might deny that it was real, try to convince Magius that it had to be all illusion, but what could he say that he himself believed?

“Somehow, I succeeded in surviving. I think that madness was what waited for me if I failed. I fooled them by entering into another type of madness then. A madness created by the realization that what I saw would indeed come to pass. I left the tower, left the Test, knowing my fate and determined to do something about it.

“And I found I could not. Not by the strict bylaws of the Orders. Despite their supposed freedom from restrictions, neither the Red nor the Black Robes offered anything that could assist me. They were still too limited, and I certainly was not cut out to wear the robes of white, as you well know.”

Magius chuckled at the last, then sighed. The candles had burned down to nearly nothing.

“With a realization of the restrictions placed upon me by the Three Orders, I decided that I would be forced to step beyond the lines they had drawn in order to—if you’ll pardon me for saying so—change the future.”

Huma stepped back involuntarily. The wild spells, the outlandish clothing, so different from the austere robes of other mages. He shook his head, not believing that it were possible to do what Magius had done.

“Then and there,” Magius was saying, his attention focused inward, “I turned from the formalized, stifling training of the Conclave and became a renegade.”