The Legend of Huma

Chapter 19

“Have you nothing to say?” Rennard asked. “We have time. All sleep here. The walls are thick. They will not hear our swords. Yes. I think we have time.”

“In Paladine’s name, Rennard. Why?”

Huma could almost see the face, despite the hood and darkness. He could almost feel the bitterness as Rennard spoke.

“When I lay dying of plague all those years ago, I pleaded with Paladine, with Mishakal, with all the gods of that house for release. They did nothing. I lingered, wasting away. My visage shocks many now; it would have horrified them even more had they seen it then. I had contracted the Scarlet Plague, you see.”

The Scarlet Plague. Of all the forms unleashed over the years, the Scarlet Plague had been the worst. The knighthood had been forced to burn whole villages when the greatest healers could not keep the disease under control. The victims wasted away, but each day was agony and many killed themselves long before the disease had the chance. The name came from the redness of the skin as the victim eventually burned up from the sickness. It was a frightening thing, still talked of in whispers.

“Then when I was sure the agony would finally kill me, I was visited—not by the gods I had pleaded to, but by the one god willing to take away my pain, for a price.” The point of the blade rose again. “Morgion. Only he cared to answer my prayers, though I had never looked to him. He was willing to take my pain from me, make me whole if I would become his. It was no difficult decision, Huma. I accepted immediately and gladly.”

Huma prayed for something—Lord Oswal stirring, knights coming to investigate the darkness, something—but all remained quiet. How long had Rennard planned? How long had he waited for this moment?

Huma heard more than saw the blade coming at him. That other knight moved confidently in the dark. Yet Huma managed again and again to counter each strike, though he knew that Rennard’s skill in personal combat was considered second to none. Especially now, when he faced a Huma who also fought within himself.

Then, as suddenly as he had attacked, Rennard ceased. He chuckled quietly. “Very good. Much like your father.”

“My father?”

They had worked their way farther from the doors, toward where the clerics stood when they offered ceremonies. Rennard pulled back his hood, and even in the dark Huma could make out the pale, drawn skin. “Father. Oh yes. That was why I protected you, you know. The mark of Morgion, even on an unsuspecting person, is a sign that that one is not to be harmed by any who serve Morgion.”

Huma remembered the words of the cultists in the ruins. They had seen the mark and had argued about it. Skularis had not known the reason for its existence.

“What a sentimental fool I am,” Rennard continued, “for wanting to save my kin.”

Kin? Huma shook his head in growing horror.

“You are so very much like my brother was, Huma. Durac was his name—Durac, Lord of Eldor, a land overrun soon after he and I joined the knighthood. Nothing remains of Eldor today, save a few pitiful ruins. Just as well. Unlike the Baxtrey domains, where Oswal and Trake ruled jointly, I would have inherited nothing. As eldest son, your father inherited.”

“Stop it!” Huma swung violently at the man who had betrayed all he believed in. A man who had once been a friend.

Rennard defended himself easily. After several moments, they parted again.

“I belonged to Morgion long before our father sent us as squires to Vingaard Keep. From the first, I tried to protect Durac. He was family, after all. The others who followed Morgion might not understand that, so I planted within him the same invisible mark that protected you from them. It proved to be a futile gesture. Your father died in battle only a year after becoming a knight. He stayed back with a handful of others to block a passage through the eastern mountains in Hylo—the only passage that would allow the Queen’s forces to attack from the rear. The rest of us rode to warn the main army. There was nothing I could do. Ironic, is it not? I wanted to tell him the truth about me at that last moment, but of course I could not. Little did I know at that time that he had left a wife and son.”

Huma quivered, part of him yearning to hear the story, part of him repulsed.

“You must ask Lord Oswal about Durac sometime—when you meet him on the other side!” Rennard charged Huma, catching the anguished knight off guard. They struggled together, and Huma found himself staring into a face half-twisted by madness. Gone was the emotionless facade that he had always wondered about, the mask behind which Rennard had hidden his treachery. Huma succeeded in pushing the other knight away.

“What was her name, nephew? Karina? I saw her only once, years later, when I finally located the village he had frequented before his death. She was a beautiful woman—wheat-colored hair, elfin face, slim—a woman full of life. I thought of wooing her, but then I saw you—Durac all over again, though only a lad—and knew that she would shun the horror that I was. I was a fool to think of anything other than my promise to my true lord.” Rennard’s sword cleaved the air as it came down at Huma. The younger knight rolled to the side and into a squatting position.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” Huma’s voice was cold and lifeless as he finally relived the days of his mother’s fatal illness, which had seemed to come from nowhere.

“You should thank me. I thought of you. I wanted you to be the knight Durac should have been. I believed I could keep you unaware of the truth.” Rennard smiled obscenely.

“The dream. I had a dream about your foul god.”

“I thought I might draw you to my side, make you a comrade and spare us this.”

“What by the platinum dragon goes on here?”

Both combatants froze as light streamed into the room. Bennett stood in the doorway, flanked by two of his fellows from the Order of the Sword. A quick glance showed Rennard’s realization of his mistake; Bennett must have retired on his own or at least have departed, and Rennard had had no chance to treat him as he had treated all those unsuspecting others.

“Rennard? Huma?” Whatever his faults, the son of the late Grand Master was not slow. He took in the scene, saw the tattered cloak and hood that covered Rennard’s armor, and knew what the knight represented.

Bennett pulled out his sword and pointed at the traitor. “I want him!”

“How quickly the veneer of dignity vanishes in the face of petty emotions,” Rennard comment wryly. Without another word, he took a savage swing at Huma—who dodged—and then Rennard bolted over the pews.

“He has nowhere to go!” Bennett’s resemblance to a bird of prey was even more obvious now. His eyes were wide and burned intensely, yet they caught every movement, studied all angles. His movements were fluid, calculated. Bennett was a hawk about to dive upon its prey. He stalked Rennard now.

But Rennard stepped into the shadows of the wall—and slid through. Huma reached the walls before the others and felt the spot. He did not think that Rennard had used sorcery to get away, as Magius had done once. No, it might—yes! Huma’s fingers found a slight indentation, and the wall suddenly gaped open to swallow him. Behind him, he could hear Bennett shouting for the other two to follow, then the wall closed once more. Huma had no time to wait for them.

Where did Rennard hope to go?

The elder knight’s rapid footsteps were barely audible, moving upstairs. What did Rennard hope to find up there?

This was not an ancient, hidden stairway as Huma first suspected; he passed two windows on his way up to the next level.

The stairway ended at a trapdoor in the ceiling. Cautiously, he reached up and, with his blade ready in his other hand, pushed it open. Wind and rain rushed to meet him.

The attack he expected did not occur.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of Bennett and his two companions. Huma did not want them to be the ones to face Rennard. That was reserved for himself. Slowly, Huma stepped up and out, into the rain.

The roof was empty. There was no place to hide, no place to flee to. The knight walked to the nearest ledge and peered over. Knights were beginning to gather below; Bennett had sounded the alert.

The first of Bennett’s two companions lifted himself out onto the roof. “Where is he? Did you catch him?”

Huma shook his head. Where was Rennard? The newcomers also combed the roof, but they could not discover a trace. Rennard had simply vanished.

Bennett refused to believe this. Knights searched all the nearby buildings and, when that failed to turn up anything, searched the rest of the Keep as well. Rennard’s belongings were gathered and inspected, but they offered few clues.

The clerics had rushed to Lord Oswal’s side the moment they learned of the attack. To their amazement, he appeared to be recovering. As one cleric explained to Huma, Bennett, and the others who had assembled, Lord Oswal’s body was throwing off effects of the dose that Rennard had administered earlier—thus the assassin hoped to effect a second dose before the High Warrior had recovered.

As the knights dispersed, some to continue the search for the traitor, some to their various duties, Huma felt a hand on his shoulder. He started, his first thought that Rennard had come to finish him off. The figure behind him spoke.

“It’s Bennett.”

Huma turned slowly around, and the two faced one another. Oswal’s nephew seemed to be fighting several emotions all at once, for his face registered traces of embarrassment, anger, and confusion. At last, he reached out a hand.

“My gratitude for all you’ve done.”

Uncertain as to how to react, Huma simply took the hand in his own and shook it. “I failed to capture your father’s killer.”

Bennett forced his face into immobility. Huma knew that the other knight was very uncomfortable. “You unmasked him. You saved my uncle. Even—even fought that pale traitor to a standstill, something I never could have done.”

The hawk-faced knight saluted briefly and departed. Huma watched him disappear, a brief smile playing on his lips before he, too, turned and left, hoping to find some trace of Rennard.

It came as no surprise, two days later, that Lord Oswal became the new Grand Master. He had remained isolated before that decision, with only the Council members speaking with him. All possible opposition by Bennett had vanished; in fact, the new Grand Master’s nephew was petitioning to step up to the Order of the Rose. There was every likelihood that he would be recommended. It was also likely that he would be wearing the trappings of High Warrior himself before long.

Huma struggled to get through those two days. When he was at last granted an audience with Lord Oswal, Huma shook visibly. To him, the Grand Master was a figure almost as revered as Paladine, for he was, after all, the living symbol of the Triumvirate’s desires.

As Huma knelt in supplication, an odd sound reached his ears and he dared to look up. Flanked by an impressive honor guard consisting of veterans from all three Orders, the Grand Master was sitting on his throne and chuckling.

“Get up, Huma. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me. Not now.”

Huma rose and came closer. “Grand Master—”

A sigh. “If you must be formal, make it Lord Oswal. I do not have the pretensions of my brother—not yet.”

“Lord Oswal, before I start, tell me of Durac of Eldor.”

“Durac? I’ve known two or three. Eldor . . . I’m not sure—”

“Please. You know which one. Rennard’s brother. My—father.”

The new Grand Master, stared open-mouthed. “Father? Durac? Then, Rennard—”

“My uncle.” Huma forced the unsavory word from his mouth.

“Paladine!” Lord Oswal’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Huma, I am sorry.”

“Sir. My father?”

The Grand Master wiped something from his eye. “I’m sorry, Huma. I wish I could tell you everything, but I honestly don’t remember much. Durac was a good knight, although a little overenthusiastic. He was a brilliant, almost natural fighter, picking up skills as easily as I might pick up a knife. I remember that he spent much of his time west, but I never knew it was because he had a family. I do remember, though,” Oswal said, rubbing his chin, “him shouting to us as we left him and the others to hold the pass. Now I realize what he meant. When he said ‘watch over them,’ I thought he meant the men. What a fool! He meant his family, and only Rennard really knew.”

There was little more the Grand Master could add, which disappointed Huma, though he did not show it. It was Oswal who broke the uneasy silence by saying, “You have my permission to start out for Ergoth and your mountains. How many knights will you need to accompany you?”

“None.”

“None?” The Grand Master leaned forward, his hands gripping the throne tightly. “As you yourself mentioned, this is a matter of the utmost importance. I want to ensure your success. Paladine has seen fit to give us this chance, but I will not let you take unnecessary risks.”

“What Paladine seeks must be from me alone,” Huma replied. “I feel that now. I cannot explain how I know. It simply feels right.”

Oswal sighed and leaned back. “You say that with great conviction. My head tells me that you are wrong, but my heart listens to you. I think, in this matter, I will go with my heart, for that is where belief begins.”

“Thank you, milord.”

Lord Oswal stood. Huma followed suit. The Grand Master clasped Huma on the shoulders. “Regardless of your birth and who your parents were, I shall always consider you my son.”

They held one another briefly, then Oswal broke away. “Go on. Get out before I become even more a sentimental fool than I am.”

Few knights were around the courtyard when Huma chose to leave. He had wanted it that way. It would make the departure easier, at least for him. A part of him felt as if he were running out, that he should remain in Vingaard Keep until Rennard was found and punished. Yet Huma no longer wanted any part in the other’s capture. He had known the gaunt knight far too long to simply forget all those past times, when the two had been friends.

One figure he did note. Bennett, standing on the parapet and scanning the Keep. The Grand Master’s nephew was still searching for his father’s murderer. The search through Rennard’s belongings had uncovered ancient plans for the Keep that had been thought lost forever. They included two passages within the temple that not even the clerics knew about.

The dour Bennett turned from gazing out at the lands surrounding Vingaard and noted Huma. He nodded slowly and then turned away. That was all.

Huma’s path took him through another half-dead village. He had been riding for an hour. Twice, Huma had met patrolling knights, and each time he had brought them up to date on the futile search going on in Vingaard Keep for the traitorous Rennard.

The inhabitants of this particular village eyed the lone knight differently than those Huma had passed in other places. There was a tension in their very movements, a great sense of fear, as if they expected to see the Dragonqueen herself swoop out of the sky at any moment. Slowly, they began to mill around Huma and his horse.

The warhorse slowed nervously, its nostrils flaring as it stared at possible enemies. Huma pulled tight on the reins, re-exerting mastery over the beast. He did not want to have the lives of innocent commonfolk on his hands.

It soon proved impossible for the horse to proceed, so concentrated had the small crowd become. The villagers enveloped animal and rider in a wave of human fear. Huma began picking up muttered questions, dealing with the events in the Keep.

A grimy, bony claw touched his right leg. A rasping voice asked, “Is it true? Has the Grand Master been murdered? Are we no longer safe?”

“I heard that the Council wants to surrender!” cried out a voice that the knight could not locate.

That last statement increased the anxiety of the villagers. They crowded even closer, oblivious to the danger they faced from the hooves of the trained steed. Huma tried to wave them back.

“Stand aside! Let me through! If you don’t, the horse might hurt you!”

“He’s fleeing!” cried the same voice. “The knights are lost!”

“We’re all lost!” shrilled an old woman. She fainted and was lost in the press of bodies.

“You can’t leave us!”

“You’re tryin’ to save your own skin!”

“Get back!” Faces filled with anger and confusion moved through Huma’s vision. Hands clawed at him. The horse, spooked, reared. Those closest to the animal’s front came to their senses and turned to escape. But those who had been behind them continued to move forward. An elderly man fell. The knight succeeded in calming his mount and then sought to clear a path so that he could help the old man.

“He’s betrayed us all! He struck the elder down! Take him!”

Ragged, gaunt figures surged on Huma. He pulled out his sword and threatened them with it. The villagers backed away but were by no means ready to give up—not when they feared the Knights of Solamnia were abandoning them to the tenderness of the Dragonqueen.

This time, Huma spotted the instigator, a figure clad in the garments of a simple farmer, standing off to the side. The man made no move to run when he realized he had been seen. Instead, he drew a broadsword and revealed once more the face of evil.

Huma directed the horse through the crowd, forcing people back with his sword and thanking Paladine that no one had yet dared him to strike. He reined the steed to a stop less than six feet from the figure.

“Bennett still thinks you might be in the Keep.”

Rennard smiled briefly. “I was until Lord Oswal’s appointment became official. Then I came here to give them the news.”

Huma leaped off his mount, never taking his eyes from his uncle nor sheathing the sword. “To put fear in their hearts, you mean. To break down trust, make us fight among ourselves.”

“It is—my calling. But not just these. Villages all over this area. I’ve not slept since yesterday.”

“They finally found your secret passages.”

“I know. I left the maps on purpose. I had no more need of them.”

“This is insane, uncle.”

“Uncle. A word I never thought you would use. Yes, it is insane. The whole world is insane. I strive to make it less so.” Rennard pointed at the villagers, speaking quietly enough that they would not hear him. “The fear will spread. They will march on the Keep in their desperation, and the knighthood will be forced to drive them away, with at least some loss of life, I believe. The great Knights of Solamnia will suffer both the notoriety of their actions and a terrible blow to morale. I need not go on.”

“This has all been planned.”

“Of course. I could have killed the entire Council, but that only would have strengthened the knighthood’s resolve. That is why I have traveled the near lands, in disguise, stirring the pot.” Rennard straightened and the sword swung slowly back and forth. “My only remaining duty is you, Huma. I knew you would choose this route. I cannot allow you to return to this—cavern. It may be a madness on your part, but I think not. I cannot risk being wrong about something like that.”

His sword came up swinging. Huma immediately blocked the thrust. The villagers stepped away as the two knights fought, but the people’s horribly expectant looks showed Huma that they were waiting to see one of the knights die, so completely had they become Rennard’s pawns.

The gaunt knight swung and gave Huma an opening. Rennard’s skill allowed him to parry much of the blow, but Huma’s blade still slipped under and struck a glancing blow on the other’s right side. The blade clanged off a solid surface beneath Rennard’s tunic, however, and a cunning smile flashed briefly across the pale knight’s features. Beneath the cloth, he still wore his armor.

Their blades clashed time and time again as they struggled through the rain-soaked village. The human wall that surrounded them bent and twisted, but never revealed a gap. Huma wondered what would happen to him even if he defeated Rennard. The villagers might very well fall on him.

“Very good!” hissed Rennard. “I trained you well!”

“Well enough.” Huma said no more. He knew he needed to save every ounce of strength, for Rennard was living off his madness and fighting with daunting power and ferocity.

Huma slipped in the mud just as Rennard’s blade flashed past his throat. The traitor fell forward, and Huma caught him sharply in the leg. Rennard did not scream, though his leg was awash in blood almost immediately. He hobbled away from Huma.

They turned to face one another again. Huma was on the verge of exhaustion, while Rennard was becoming faint from the terrible wound across the front of his right leg. Huma’s blade had just missed the muscles and tendons that would have cost Rennard the limb.

“Surrender, Rennard. You will be treated fairly; I swear it.”

The pale knight looked more drawn than normal. “I think not. A traitor such as myself, who has killed one Grand Master and almost another, could hardly expect fair treatment from the knighthood.”

Huma knew that his strength would return the longer they talked, while Rennard’s would only continue to seep away. Even now, it was difficult for the other to stand.

“Come, nephew. Let us finish this.” With amazing stamina, Rennard charged Huma, attacking with a variety of moves. Huma stood his ground and slowly began to move on the offensive. Rennard’s face became blurred as all was reflex, and the lessons—ironically, Rennard’s lessons—allowed Huma to counter each and every move.

A thrust broke through Rennard’s defenses. It caught him in his sword arm and the traitor almost dropped his weapon as the injured limb jerked uncontrollably for a moment. He was left wide open, and Huma’s blade came within an inch of his face.

They were both caked with mud now. Rennard had lost the madness that had possessed him, and he now seemed to realize that he had all but lost. Huma was better than he; his eyes knew it even if his face revealed no emotion. Now, it was all Rennard could do to prevent the killing blow.

Huma broke through his uncle’s guard again, and Rennard suddenly wavered on two badly bleeding legs.

He collapsed to his knees.

That broke the spell. Huma blinked, looking down at Rennard, whose life fluids were mixing with the muck. A look of disgust spread across Huma’s face.

“It’s over, Rennard. I won’t kill you. It would serve no purpose.”

Rennard tried to stand. On one knee, he waited, his sword at shoulder level, ready to defend.

“I will not go back, Huma. I will not suffer the mockery of a trial.”

Huma lowered his sword. “Let me help you. You were a good knight. One of the best.”

The laugh that Rennard responded with became a hacking cough. The cultist barely kept from toppling over. “Do you not understand? I’ve never been a knight! Since that day, my life has been in the hands of another god, and I have failed even him. Look at me!” Rennard smiled feebly and Huma was shocked to see that his former companion’s pallid skin was slowly turning scarlet. “My reward for failure. I never truly have been cured, I’ve merely lived day by day.”

“Rennard. A patrol will be by. They can locate a cleric.”

“No cleric will touch me.”

Whatever spell or nightmare the former knight had cast upon the village was gone, for now the people were screaming and crying at the sight of this, one of the worst plagues. Within seconds, the two armored figures stood alone.

“Rennard—”

It had become a strain for the other knight even to speak. The plague was coursing through his body.

“Don’t come near me, Huma. It spreads through touch.” Rennard was smiling. “There’ll be nothing left when it finishes. They’ll be lucky if they find more than a shell.”

Where was a patrol? Huma scanned the horizon in frustration.

“...or whatever it is worth, nephew,” sputtered the dying figure, “I hope you find what you are looking for. Perhaps there still is a chance.”

There! Huma spotted distant figures on horseback. They were moving too slowly, though. Much too slowly.

“Huma . . .”

The young knight looked down. Rennard’s face twisted with pain. “Pray to Paladine, Rennard! The patrol is nearing this village. When I explain—”

“There is nothing to explain, save that they must burn my body where I lie.” Rennard straightened and gripped the hilt of his broadsword with both hands, to steady it.

With a speed that belied his sickness, Rennard ran the edge of his blade across his throat.

“No!” Only the realization that he would carry the plague prevented Huma from wrenching the sword from the ragged figure. It was too late already. No cleric could bind such a wound in time.

Rennard’s limp hand released the sword, which fell and buried itself in the mud only a moment before Rennard’s lifeless form did the same. Huma dropped his own weapon and fell to his knees.

“No.” His voice was less than a whisper. Huma put his face in his hands and let his battered emotions run their course. Faintly, he heard the clattering sound of many horses, and then all was silent.