Any loyalty Rennard had ever owed to his dread master
had* died with his body. Morgion rewarded failure with
death. Rennard had failed to kill the Solamnic warrior who
had discovered that there was a traitor in their midst.
Rennard had failed to kill Huma.
Rennard knew then the fate of the doomed peasants.
They would die, a few at a time, in the name of the faceless
god he once had called master.
“What do you see, specter?” Erik demanded.
“I see that your sword would be a kind fate to these
folk, Erik Dornay. They are being culled and sacrificed in
the name of Morgion.”
The Knight of the Rose gripped the hilt of his sword
tightly. “You are certain?”
“I think I know well enough. The poor wretches are
easy prey for the cultists. Look at what lies here. They do
not have the strength to bury their dead anymore.”
The young knight was grim, pale. He sheathed his
sword. Slowly, Erik returned to his horse.
“What will you do?” Rennard asked.
Dornay would not look at him. “I am leaving. I have no
need to stay. You should be pleased. I won’t kill them”
As the Knight of the Rose mounted, the wraith
appeared before him. “You haven’t spared the people. You
merely have given their deaths into the hands of others.”
“They are no more concern of mine.” The young Solamnian
Rmounted his steed, trying to depart. “I’m finished with
the knighthood, Oathbreaker. I have sung the ‘Song of
Huma’ for the last time.”
He sounded resolved, but he was shaking. Rennard
knew that a battle was going on inside the young knight,
one that in some ways was as painful as the one Rennard
himself constantly fought.
“Very well,” the ghost knight told him. There was only
one thing he could think of to do, and he prayed that both
his memory and the spirit of Huma – who seemed to have a
hand in this – would guide him. “I will stand aside.”
Erik began slowly riding away. As he passed the
wraith, however, Rennard began to sing.
“Huma’s death calls me!
His death!
Temper me with such death!
Paladine, lord god of knights!
Huma’s life is all our lives!
Dragon-Huma survives!”
Dornay halted. The cursed knight continued to sing,
finding that the words – or words enough – were given to
him. The melody would forever play in his mind.
Erik pulled tightly on the reins, turned the horse
around, and gazed at the phantom. Rennard continued to
sing softly, his own memories of Huma adding a vibrancy
to the saga that made it come alive, for his memories were
tinged with truth, not stretched by time and legend.
“You – ” Dornay began.
A stone whistled through the darkness and struck the
young knight soundly on the side of the head.
He grunted and fell from his mount. His charger
hesitated, but when Rennard ceased singing and started
toward the fallen knight, the terrified animal shied away.
Rennard stood over Erik, wondering what had
happened, what a ghost could do to help. Even if he were
able to touch the mortal, he might do more harm than good.
He might infect Dornay with the plague he carried. Morgion
would laugh at that.
When the shadows began to move, the ghost drew his
sword, prepared to face his own enemies. Then he saw that
these were not the ones who hunted him, but mortal men,
well-versed in hiding from their victims.
“The armored one is down,” said one.
Someone else spoke, but his words were too quiet for
the ghost to hear. Then there came an answer.
“Crazy or not, he is a Knight of Solamnia! No, I have
something different in mind for him. Perhaps HE will
please our lord.”
Seven figures, more like ghosts than the ghost himself,
gathered around the fallen knight. They did not see Rennard,
who stood among them.
“Take him,” said one whose voice was a harsh rasp. He
turned to another, who was trying to catch the reins of the
horse. “Forget the beast! If he causes trouble, a little dust
will settle him!” The hooded figure rolled Dornay over,