his mount and used the tired beast as support.
“Tomorrow, Lucien. I’ll find them tomorrow.” He
clenched his fist. “cThey’ll pay, the murderous carrion!
They’ll pay a hundredfold for your life. As my name is Erik
Dornay, so I swear over and over it shall be!”
With some effort, Dornay mounted. He didn’t give the
corpse a second look, but for a brief instant his eyes
returned to the general area where the ghost stood,
watching. Frowning, Erik finally urged his horse along the
trail. The animal needed no encouragement; it set off at a
brisk pace, fueled by its obvious desire to get as far from
Rennard as possible.
The horse’s desperate efforts were useless. This young
knight interested Rennard too much to let him go. The
mortal might know where Rennard was, why he was here.
And the ghost was anxious to know the reasons behind the
vengeance that drove the young Solamnian to turn against
the Oath and Measure.
Rennard had one other reason, one that he did not like
to admit to himself. Night was fast approaching and night –
in his mind – brought the hunters. But would they close the
circle with a living person nearby?
Perhaps not.
Better the company of a Knight of the Rose than yet an
other confrontation with the bitter souls who owed their
damnation to Rennard.
Rennard gripped the hilt of his sword and vanished after
the diminishing figure of Erik Dornay.
*****
Shortly after nightfall, Dornay ended his ride and made
camp in a small copse of tangled trees. The halt was not by
choice, if Rennard was any reader of expressions, but made
out of necessity. The horse s breathing was ragged; it was
doubtful that the unfortunate animal would have lasted
much longer without rest. Dornay himself nearly collapsed
as he dismounted, but the young knight took care of his
horse, fed and tethered the animal. He built a small campfire,
over which he set a piece of meat to cooking.
The aroma of the cooking meat drifted over to Rennard.
The smell brought a terrible hunger for food. Without
thinking, he stepped toward the fire. The horse, sensing
him, neighed loudly and pulled on its reins.
Erik, just removing his helm, looked swiftly around.
Rennard paid no attention to the knight. The ghost bent
down by the fire and stared at the meat. He nearly forgot the
agony of the plague that eternally tormented him.
“Paladine, Kiri-Jolith, Morgion, Takhisis . .. Gilean . . .”
Rennard chanted in rapid succession. “If there be one who
still watches over me, let me eat! Let me taste it. . .”
The meat sizzled. The ghostly knight reached out.
His fingers went through it, just as they had passed
through the water earlier.
“Not again!” Frustrated, Rennard swung his hand at the
makeshift spit.
Dornay’s meal, spit and all, collapsed into the fire.
Rennard stared at his hand. Erik leapt forward and tried
to rescue his meal. Cursing, the young knight dusted off his
food and reset it to cooking.
“Did I do that?” wondered the ghost. He reached out
again, but, to his dismay, his fingers could not touch it. He
could only watch as Dornay removed the hot flesh a minute
or two later and began to eat. Rennard envied every bite.
“This is madness!” Rennard cursed. “Better the ravages
of plague or the thrust of a thousand swords than to suffer
this hunger!” He stepped back, intent on departing but
strangely reluctant to leave.
Dornay lifted a flask of cool water to his mouth.
Rennard rushed from the encampment. He had traded
the endless running for this? Which was worse, he
wondered, the fear or the desire?
Searing pain made him stumble – the ever-present
torture of the plague. Rennard gritted his teeth and struggled
to remain standing. Fever consumed his already dead flesh.
Chills shook a body that did not exist.
Then a melody drifted to him, a melody that seemed to
ease the plague’s torment. Rennard slowly recovered, and
as he did, his attention focused on the song.
“Dragon-Huma
temper me now
Dragon-Huma
Grant me grace and love
When the heart of the Knighthood