"Love and War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthology)

"TAS!"

"Well, right. So if you do fall — which you won't — they will get you. You'll be all right. Now let's go or we're going to have an appointment with Tigo real soon!"

That last, more than any of Tas's assurances, decided Keli. He grasped the rope, silver and gold, woven of magic and light. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, sucked in a lungful of air, and left the ledge.

Tas followed.

Behind them Tigo raged, a beast whose prey had flown, wingless, from his reach, abandoning him to his impotent anger.

The air was cool and shivery by the night-dark lake. Far over the water's black surface stars reflected and, Keli thought, as he hunched closer to the fire, something else did too. Ghostly light and shimmer, faintly rainbowed and silver. A residue of Raistlin's magic? The boy thought so.

None sat waking now in night's darkest hour but Keli and Tas, the half-elf Tanis, and the dwarf Flint. The young mage had been the first asleep. Keli knew nothing of magicor its tolls, but it was clear to him that Raistlin's light weaving had left him drained. It seemed to Keli that the thin young man was hardly strong enough to exert such effort often. Or, the boy thought as he stole a covert glance at the sleeping mage, maybe he is. Even in exhaustion something of power and strength had lighted the mage's eyes.

The mage's brother was Caramon, warrior big, with mischief dancing in his brown eyes, a kind of magic of his own. He slept so soon after his brother that the difference could hardly be measured. His snoring was like low thunder.

"Asleep between one bite of rabbit and the next," Flint had growled. "We could be witnessing the dawn of a new age of miracles." Keli had wanted to laugh at that, but he didn't. The old dwarf bore a forbidding look in his eyes, scowled easily and grumbled often. Here was one who would need a wide berth.

For a time it looked as though Sturm would stay awake long enough to make good his claim on the first watch of the night. He didn't. Likely, Keli realized, his friends knew him well enough not to argue the point. And well enough to know that Sturm's exertions in the lake would put him quickly to sleep.

Tanis — his red hair the color of copper in the firelight, his long elven eyes sometimes the gray-green of leaves turned to an approaching storm, more often emerald bright — divided his time between smoothing Flint's grumbling and listening to the endless stream of Tas's chatter. This he did with the air of one who knows that a storm will not end until all the thunder has rolled and all the rain has fallen.

These, then, were Tas's friends of whom he'd been so certain. Of all of them only Tanis and Flint remained awake to hear the tale of capture and escape told in odd tandem by Keli and Tas. Though neither, Keli thought indignantly, seemed to want to credit Tas with the heroics Keli stoutly attributed to him. His back propped against a rock, his feet as close to the fire as he dared put them, Keli now looked first at Flint, then at Tanis.

"If it hadn't been for Tas, Tigo would have killed me. He's a real hero."

"Hero!" Flint laughed. "That one? Aye, lad, and I'm Reorx's forgemaster!"

"He IS," Keli declared stoutly.

Tanis tried, for the sake of Keli's rising anger, to swallow his own laughter. He glanced at Tas crouched before the fire. The kenders dignity was not in the least disturbed by Flint's customary derision.

"He saved my life," Keli insisted. "He got those two good and lost, found the caves behind the falls, and the stairs that led up to the top. I'D never have known about the caves or the stairs or the bridge."

Flint shook his head. "I don't suppose Tanis's tracking or Raistlin's light-weaving had anything to do with the fact that you're here and safe, lad?"

Keli did not quail before the dwarf's gruff question, but defended his friend. "They did, and I thank you all for what you've done. But — but you were almost too late. And — " Keli foundered, looking from one to the other. They were still amused, and Keli could not understand what was so funny. "And — Tas DID save my life."

"Risked your neck about a half a dozen more times than you remember or know about is more like it," Flint growled. "It's lucky you are that you're here to tell us the tale.

"Look at you, lad, you're half-starved despite eating a rabbit and a half, and dead tired. Get some sleep now, you'll see the right of the matter in the morning."

"I know the right of it," Keli maintained. He looked to Tas, who only shrugged.

"They're a little slow," the kender drawled. He grinned then, suddenly, and that grin was like the flash of a comet across a midnight sky. "But they always manage to catch up." He stretched and yawned hugely. He shot one quick look at Flint and then winked at Keli. That wink, always trouble for someone, sparked Keli's smile.

Flint started to protest, but Tas only grinned again. He waved an off-hand goodnight and went to find a place to sleep. As tired as he was, Keli knew he wouldn't be able to sleep yet. He settled down more comfortably near the fire and sighed.

After a moment Tanis said, "We'll have to get you home somehow, Keli."

"Just back to Seven Wells would be fine," Keli murmured. "I'm sure my horse is still there and there is the message to be delivered to my father's friend."

"Oh, no," Flint rumbled. "If we let you out of our sight now, who knows what you'll get yourself into next? Home, lad, and the message can be delivered along the way." He reached into his pack, pulled out a block of wood, and applied his dagger's blade silently for a time. Keli would have offered his thanks, but Tanis caught his eye and stilled him with a smile and a shake of his head.

When Flint looked up again, he spoke not to Keli but to Tanis.

"If we've any sense at all, we'll make for home ourselves after we've delivered this lad and his message."

That was not what the half-elf had expected to hear. "Back to Solace this early in the summer?"

Flint was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke at last his voice was rough. Almost cold, Keli thought.

"I thought he was dead," Flint said, and Keli knew it was Tas of whom he spoke. "I really did. I didn't fear it. Fear still allows you to slip hope in behind it. I thought he was dead from the minute I saw my mark 6n that rock, and I didn't expect to find anything else.

"It is a bad thing to be without hope." He cleared his throat softly and went on. "And Caramon. When he didn't come up from the lake, when Sturm had to dive to find him, I thought, between the first time and the last, that he was dead, too."

Keli felt that fear, and heard it in the dwarf's voice. His eyes were not so hard now, his expression not nearly as forbidding as it had been. An odd look graced his rough features, but Keli could not put a name to it. He'd seen the look before on his father's face.

Tanis poked up the fire and by its flare Keli saw that he, too, had thought his friends dead. When he spoke, though, it was not to reassure himself but Flint. "They're all right now."

The old dwarf drew a long breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. He looked at his young friends sleeping around the fire: Caramon, his scabbarded sword lying near to hand; Sturm, who slept deep and looked as though he could wake fast at need; Raistlin, likely walking in dreams only he could understand; and Tas, curled like an exhausted pup against Caramon's back. When the dwarf spoke again, Keli sensed that some decision was being made. He sat forward and listened.

"Aye, Tanis, they are. But the lands are changing, lad. I feel it in my bones that things are shifting, growing darker. At first it was good to have them along on these trips for their company. Lately, it's been good having them along because I could not ply my trade, such as it is these days, along the old routes without them. Look at what happened to the lad here! Goblins and bandits! And rumors of worse and stranger things haunt the roads now."

Tanis reached out absently to ruffle Keli's hair. "You'll not keep them safe in Solace by wishing it so, old friend."

"No, I know them better than that. And we're partners, you and I, have been for a long time. This isn't a decision I can rightly make for both of us." Flint shook his head. A smile warred with a scowl. The scowl won, but only barely. "And we don't get much done these days chasing that pesty kender from one end of the land to the other, do we? No, home sounds better and better to me."

As hard as the dwarf was to read, that was how easy it was to divine Tanis's thought: plainly he doubted that Solace would keep Tas or any of his friends long for all that it seemed to be home. But aloud he only said, "All right, then, Flint. Home it is, for Keli and for us."

Solace won't keep them long, Keli thought. Hawks may grace your wrist for a time, his father had once told him, but they do not domesticate well at all.

Now, Flint leaned forward and gently roughed the sleepy boy's chin. "Home, aye, lad?"

Keli smiled in the night's shadow. "Oh, aye, home."

By the Measure

Richard A. Knaak

His head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. He had neither eaten nor slept for two days — not since burning Standel after a day of mourning. Standel, his one companion. The only other knight to accompany him on his flight from an Order that had decayed. Brave, strong Standel. He had never understood his own death.

Garrick scanned the terrain as well as his bleary eyes were able. More of the same. Villagers were coming from the south, away from the advancing army sent by the Dragon Highlord. They were seeking protection from the garrison at Ironrock. The knight smiled bitterly through cracked lips. How long did they think a garrison of one hundred men was going to hold out against an army one hundred times its size? Not to mention the added pressure of trying to feed several hundred refugees.

He steered Auron away from the group. The war-horse turned reluctantly, perhaps sensing the grain the people carried. The horse had been forced to subsist on what little it could forage in this bleak area. Garrick sympathized with its plight, his own last meal having consisted of a handful of berries and some cheese and hardbread bought from the innkeeper who had been indirectly responsible for Standel's death. The lands he had traveled through since offered nothing in the way of sustenance. The inhabitants themselves had long ago spirited away anything edible.

He could not believe what the Order had become. The older knights smiled patronizingly at his plaints;

some of the younger ones scoffed. Some understood him, though. Understood that even the Knights of Solamnia had turned away from Paladine more than they admitted. The Knights were no longer an Order that aided the repressed so much as a petty sect living on its past glories and shunning those they believed had turned on them. Never mind that the Order had such black marks as Lord Soth to live down.

In his worn state, he did not notice the second group of villagers until they were almost on him. Like so many before, they spat at him as they passed and cursed him for being what he was. A stocky man with slightly gray hair and a perpetual scowl blocked his path with an open cart drawn by two oxen. Several other villagers stood behind the man.

"What do you want here, oh great and noble knight?" The venom fairly dripped from his mouth.

Garrick sighed. "I have sworn by the Measure that I will defend my fellow men from the evil that is the Queen. I intend to keep that pledge."

They laughed. Laughed loudly. The laughter was magnified a thousand times in Garrick's mind, though he knew it would come. It always had. The loud, bitter laughter.

The stocky leader stepped closer, his eyes shifting back and forth between the knight and the warhorse. It was obvious that he did not trust either of them. Closer now, he studied Garrick's battered armor, the chipped and bent weapons, his pale and sweating face.

"Aye, you look like a terror that will frighten away the dark ones. Frighten them into conquering the world, I'd say!"

There was more laughter, though much more muted than before. The looks the villagers gave Garrick were ugly, full of hate. Hate for his not having been there when it counted. The leader shifted closer, his intentions clear. Pull the knight down into the mud where he belonged. The knight drew his well-worn blade with a speed that belied his weary appearance. He kept the group at bay with the weapon, allowing no one within arm's length.

"For your own sakes, move on."

Muttering, they did so, much more quickly and complacently than Garrick would have thought possible for them. He realized why with a sadness that sank him deeper into the darkness he had ridden in since Standel's death. He was nothing to them. If anything, they were disgusted with him. Disgusted with all the knights.

It hurt Garrick that they had good reasons for their hatred.

The few huts he passed now were stripped of anything worth carrying. Mere shells. Skeletons. It was as if the war had already been through here. In a sense, he realized, perhaps it had. Standel would have been stronger, more able to cope with the shouts, the curses, the looks. Garrick could not understand why he should live while a better knight should die so ignominiously. Not for the first time since his companion's death, he wavered slightly in his belief in the Measure.

The ground reached for him. Garrick steadied himself and wiped his brow. To collapse this close, to leave his task unfinished, would be unforgivable. Paladine would surely condemn him. He waited for exhaustion to overtake him, but something held back the final fall. A warmth in his chest, around his neck. A feeling of guidance and love.

His shaking hand tugged hard on the chain circling his throat. The medallion given to him so long ago gleamed despite the lack of any sunshine. On each side of the medallion were engraved words from the Measure. More important, the medallion carried the face of Paladine as known by the Knights of Solamnia.

The pain in his mind eased. Paladine had not condemned him after all. There was still some purpose to Garrick's life, some reason the god still watched over him. He thanked his lord and allowed the piece to thump against his chest again. Though his body was worn beyond the limits of most men, he smiled gratefully. He would be allowed the chance to fulfill his Oath.

Somewhere to the south lay his objective. Somewhere to the south, perhaps four days, perhaps only two, lay part of the advancing army of the Dragon Highlord — a sizable portion commanded by one of the Highlord's most dangerous generals. Pushing ever closer, its only real obstacle was the tiny garrison four days north from Garrick's present location.

They would be forced to travel through the woods to obtain the pass, he realized. In the woods, they would be vulnerable. In the woods, he stood a chance.

He came across the bodies just after crossing a stream. They had been carelessly stacked to one side. Plague victims. The stench nearly overwhelmed him. The knight shivered. Better to die in battle than waste away in the end. He covered his nose and mouth with tattered, dirty cloth and urged the warhorse to move at a quicker pace. That their loved ones had left these poor shells to rot did not bother him. Now was a time to take care of the living, to help those still with the breath of life within them. The dead were in no hurry.

The light began to fade as the sun, hidden by clouds, plunged closer toward its own death. Garrick eyed the huts in this region. Unlike those he had passed shortly before, these were more or less whole. Knowing them to be contaminated, though, he could not bring himself to rest in one. He dared not rest, anyway. Each moment was as precious to him as if it were his last.

The woods came into view less than an hour later, marking the beginning of the pass even before the great ridges that stood to each side. Garrick blinked, rather surprised that he had made it this far. That in itself was a miracle. He gave thanks to Paladine and suddenly felt warm all over.

The first trees were little more than stumps. This part of the forest had been raped by the desperate villagers. Panic had finally taken over at some point. To one side was a small stack of firewood. A little farther, a tree stood with its trunk chopped half through. Idly, Garrick wondered if the woodsmen had fled because of plague or because of the approaching horde.

Auron was hesitant to enter the woods and would do so only after much persuasion. Garrick frowned. The warhorse was not prone to hesitancy. The knight put one hand on the hilt of his sword, but did not draw it. With more urging, he managed to get the horse to move at a reasonable pace.

The woods were deathly silent. No birds, no ground creatures. Not even the faintest hint of a breeze. Auron snorted. Garrick tightened his hold on the sword. He searched for but did not find any trace of draconian activity in the woods. The feeling of death was in the air, though. It was as if animal life had abandoned this area to the Queen. Even the trees seemed to have given up; many were obviously dying — another sign of things to come should the armies of darkness emerge triumphant.

He rode on. The night air cooled his burning head. He forgot some of his pain. To either side, the ridges grew higher and higher. Garrick pulled his mount to a halt momentarily and picked out a likely spot on one ridge. Auron snorted and would not move. The animal had given more than most and had finally reached its limit. Even its training could not overcome such exhaustion.

Garrick patted the animal gently and dismounted. Leaving the horse to rest, he made his way to the ridge top. It was steep but by no means impassable. Discarding some of his heavier equipment, the knight made progress.

He thanked Paladine that it was not a long climb. The campfires became visible just after he had cleared the tops of the trees. Further in, the pass sank deeply, giving him a much better view of the region than he had hoped. Seeing the vast number of fires, Garrick knew he had located the Queen's forces. They had dared to settle in an area where they could easily have been trapped if there had existed an army to trap them. The northern garrison, of course, was too small. All other resistance had been crushed. The commander of the army had a right to be confident.

Tomorrow they would head through the pass and into the unprotected lands. It would not take them long to reach the garrison then. The battle would be even shorter.

Once more, he wished that Standel had survived rather than he. Standel would have looked at the massed forces and scoffed. He would have organized, would have planned. Garrick had only a few wild ideas and a hope that Paladine would grant him the chance.

His head pounding, Garrick returned to his mount. The horse was grazing peacefully. He saw no reason to disturb the animal. Auron had already performed miracles for his master. The knight could not honestly ask for anything more. It was up to Garrick alone.

With shaking fingers, he pulled out the medallion. It was still warm to his touch and seemed to shine even in the darkness. He caressed it for a moment and then sank to his knees in prayer.

They came just before dawn.

He had just put out the last of the fires. Now he rested against the side of a tree, sword drawn, shield ready. He had released Auron and sent him away, not wishing so loyal a beast to perish for little reason.

The fires had been easy to build. The forest was dying; branches littered the ground. Most were dry and made good kindling. The fires were strong, though not long in burning themselves out. That they existed was more than sufficient for Garrick's purposes.

By their slowed movements, he knew that scouts had found the remains of more than one of the fires. He had been careful to scatter a few fragments around each fire, junk he had gathered on his way here. Just enough to lend truth to the thoughts of the enemy — that the Queen's foes awaited her army in this forest.

Garrick heard the hiss of an indrawn breath. A leathery, misshapen foot moved into sight.

The knight's sword was a blur. It was into and out of the draconian's neck before the creature had a chance to die. The body solidified to stone and tumbled forward. Garrick glanced around the tree and then darted swiftly away.

He did not stop until he was some distance from the area where he had killed the reptilian warrior. Again, he pushed himself tightly against the tree and waited. This time, the wait was not long. His eyes were already getting blurry; soon he would be unable to see.

These scouts were men. His first blow took out the closest of the two. The scout had time to gasp and no more. Even as he fell, Garrick was already working on his companion. This man had time to ready his weapon, but his skill was far inferior to the training a Knight of Solamnia received. Garrick disarmed him first and then stunned him with a blow to the shoulder. When the man attempted to crawl away, Garrick knocked him out. Sheathing his sword, he dragged his senseless opponent behind a tree. He forced himself to concentrate on necessary actions. There were some things that had to be done.

He stayed as long as he felt was safe and then moved off to what would be his third, and probably final, position. He dared not take any longer. His head was already pounding.

Falling against a tree, he sought desperately to catch his breath. They were ready for him now. The bodies of their fallen comrades had alerted them to the immediate threat. No longer did they attempt to sneak through the brush. Garrick estimated at least five adversaries, two of whom were almost within striking distance. He steadied his hands as best he could and blinked several times in a futile attempt to clear his vision. He could hear the hiss of the draconians as clearly as if they were breathing in his ears.

The first to pass him made the mistake of looking the wrong way as it passed. Garrick nearly sheared its head off. Unfortunately, his speed had slowed considerably. The draconian petrified and fell, pulling the great sword from the knight's weakened grasp even as it dropped.

Weaponless, Garrick's luck nevertheless remained with him. The second draconian had been momentari ly stunned by the sudden attack. Before it could react properly, Garrick was already on it. They struggled fiercely, the draconian's awkward build proving a disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat on the ground. Only the knight's exhaustion evened the contest.

There were shouts from all around, both human and draconian. A patrol had arrived. Garrick was torn away from his adversary, who remained on the ground, gasping for breath. He was able to strike one human in the stomach, sending the recipient of the blow back a good four or five steps. Then, his arms were pinned behind his back and he was forced down. A draconian slapped him hard on the face. There was the sound of steel being drawn, but someone muttered something Garrick was unable to understand. The muttering was followed by the sound of the weapon being sheathed once more. As he had surmised, they had been ordered to take him prisoner.

Two of the draconians, their wings fluttering in anger, held him tight while one of the humans bound his hands together behind him. Someone produced chains. Garrick's feet were hooked together so that he stumbled when he tried to take normal steps. His helm was torn from his head and a leather collar with a leash attached to it wrapped around his neck, nearly choking him. He stumbled then and fell to his knees. Determination more than anything else made him stand once more. He could barely feel the blows of his captors anymore.

A human who must have been in charge led the entire group back to camp. They were obviously convinced that a large band of knights was lurking somewhere in the woods. Having faced one knight who, despite his appearance, was readily capable of taking on a good half dozen opponents, they were in no hurry to meet up with a larger force. The various members of the patrol took turns pulling him. Had they not been convinced that he must have information of some sort, they would have gladly killed him in order to speed up their retreat even more.

At some point during the trek, Garrick could hold out no longer. His head felt like it was bursting. The woods became unbearably hot. He was no longer able to coordinate his movements, nor could he even tell what was happening around him.

Mercifully, the entire world chose to go black.

Cold reality struck him in the face and dripped down his neck. Garrick shivered and tried to focus his eyes. The light of midday burned into his very mind, forcing him to close his eyes once more. He tried to stand, but found himself bound tight to some sort of chair. Someone stirred.

"Shall I throw another bucket in his face, General?"

The voice was as cold as it was commanding. "I think not. If our knight is anything of a man, he will open his eyes and face us. Still, if he is a coward, perhaps another bucket of water would be…"

Garrick gritted his teeth and forced himself to look into the light, despite the agony it caused him each moment. After seeing nothing but glare for the first few seconds, he was eventually able to make out two figures. One had the slightly stooped look of a draconian. The other was human — so to speak. All Garrick could tell at first was that the human stood a good seven feet in height. Both the knight and his captors were in a large tent. Tables and chairs stood to one side. Numerous piles of armor and equipment lay scattered elsewhere. There seemed to be no one purpose for the tent. For now, it served as his prison.

The giant chuckled softly. "Very good. I see the Knights of Solamnia deserve something of their repu tation after all. I was beginning to think it was all myth."

"Untie me." The words escaped the knight's lips as little more than a croak, but the giant caught them nonetheless.

"Oh, I couldn't risk that. You might overwhelm us and crawl to safety — given six or seven hours head start."

The draconian hissed its amusement. Garrick studied the two as they became clearer. The reptilian aide was much like its brethren, save that it was motley-colored compared to those the knight had seen earlier. There was, however, a vicious look in its eyes, one that said that this draconian would readily pull Gar-rick's fingers from his hands and his arms from his shoulders if given the chance. By all practical consideration, this was the general's torturer.

The general himself was most definitely a giant among his fellow men, and not just in height. He easily outweighed Garrick by almost one-third again his own weight, and none of it could be called fat. Strength alone, though, was not sufficient to coordinate a major army with great success. The knight did not doubt for one minute that the massive frame was matched by an equally impressive mind.

"I am General Krynos of Culthairai, a land I'm sure you've never heard of and which does not deserve any notice whatsoever. When I learned of the Queen's return and the armies being raised, I seized the chance to join and prove my skills. Up until now, though, I've lacked a sufficient challenge."

In truth, even the Knights of Solamnia had been awed by some of the accounts they had heard about Krynos. The armies he had crushed would have turned back a number of Dragon Highlords, much less their various generals. It was even said that the next opening in the ranks of the Highlords would see the addition of Krynos.

Only a garrison stood in his way. A tiny army. A tiny army and Garrick.

Krynos stroked his rich, black beard. He was a handsome, proud man. Proud and stubborn.

"What is your name, Knight of Solamnia?"

"Garrick."

"That's it? Just Garrick? Not Garrick the Great? The Champion? The Draconian Slayer?"

The wings of the torturer spread in anticipation. The draconian bore a huge reptilian smile that told of deadly delights to come when Garrick was its to play with. The knight pointedly ignored the creature.

"Just Garrick."

"Well then, 'Just Garrick,' how many of your comrades lie in wait in the forest? The scouts and patrols count at least three dozen fires. The Knights of Solamnia, whatever their faults, do not run away. Even against impossible odds."

"I am the only one. You can search all you like. You will find no others. I came on my own."

Krynos laughed, and the draconian hissed. The sharp claws of the latter slapped Garrick hard across the mouth. He could feel the blood flowing from his lip. The general put a hand out to halt another blow by the torturer.

"Not yet — and not the mouth. We want to be able to understand him when he talks. And you will talk, Knight. Ssaras is very good at this job, especially with humans. You would do well to give up on such a stupid tale and tell us where your comrades have hidden themselves. I can afford to wait them out for a few days. Nothing lies beyond them that can stop me. Only an already-battered land and a tiny, insignificant garrison. The nearest force of substantial strength is two weeks away and much too busy with problems of its own to bother worrying about me."

It did not surprise Garrick that the general was so well informed about the region. That was perhaps one thing that had helped the knight. Used to the thoroughness of his information network, Krynos could not accept the solitary presence of Garrick. The fires might be real; they might be fakes. If one knight could wait in hiding, could not others? Everyone knew that the Knights of Solamnia were skilled in all aspects of warfare. Who knew what sort of tricks they might pull? Krynos could not afford a mistake at this time. Even a minor one would cause him a loss of face.

Garrick remained silent. Krynos frowned and then, nodded to Ssaras. The draconian waddled eagerly to a table upon which a number of devices, recognizable and unrecognizable, had been placed. The creature selected one and showed it eagerly to its master. The general eyed it with almost clinical interest before shaking his head. Disappointed, the draconian put down the instrument and waited for further orders. Krynos turned his attention back to his prisoner.

"Where are your companions, Garrick? How do they plan to meet us? In one massive charge on the field? Sounds foolish, but I know your Order. I wanted to become of your kind before I came to my senses and turned to the Queen."

Earlier, such a statement might have stung Garrick. Now, though, he was well beyond such petty things. It was difficult enough just to remain conscious, much less be bothered by meaningless slurs from the tongue of his foe.

The general snapped his fingers. Ssaras scurried over to a pile of odds and ends and picked something up. Garrick gradually identified it as his own shield. The general took it from the draconian and looked at it with some amusement.

"Perhaps I am overestimating the noble Knights of Solamnia. Perhaps they are indeed skulking around in the woods, hiding out of sight, fighting like elves or gully dwarves — with no honor — coming from behind their opponents." He dropped the shield and spat on the front. One heavy boot came down on the wet spot. With little effort, Krynos had put a great dent in the shield.

Garrick's growing madness threatened to burst then, but the warmth around his chest checked it. It occurred to him then that they had removed his armor but not his medallion. He could see no way that they could have possibly missed it in their search.

Ssaras looked hopefully at the general. Krynos was calculating his possibilities.

"Get Thaygan."

The torturer hissed. "Thaygan is a fraud. All clerics are frauds, General."

"Would you like to tell that to the Queen herself, Ssaras? She might beg to differ."

The draconian quieted immediately. Without further ado, it scurried away to seek the cleric. Garrick muttered a prayer to Paladine. Should Thaygan be a strong enough cleric, the knight would have little chance of defending his mind from the psychic onslaught. Unlike many of his brethren, he had a strong respect for the power of clerics.

A strong, gauntleted hand pulled his head up by the hair. Krynos moved close to him, so close that Garrick was able to feel the other's hot breath on his face. "Tell me what I want to know now, and I'll spare you the tender touch of Thaygan. In his own way, he leaves a prisoner much worse off than Ssaras does."

"There is only me."

The general's eyes flared. "Do you swear to that?"

Garrick avoided the binding trap by repeating his statement once more. As he hoped, his refusal to swear only convinced Krynos even more that there were other knights lurking around somewhere near or in the forest ahead.

The general let Garrick's head drop. He paced the width of the tent several times before the sudden presence of the dark cleric brought him to a startled halt. The cleric stared at the general and then at the prisoner, who was struggling feebly with the bonds. Nothing of the cleric was visible save his hands.

"You have need of my services, General Krynos?"

"Regretfully so. I need information from this man, and you know how stubborn Knights of Solamnia can be."

"A Solamnic Knight? Here?"

"Are your ears still stuffed with the chants and incantations of your order? A Knight of Solamnia, found in the woods — and where there's one, there's more. I want the truth from him. Beware, though. He is not in the best of condition. I fear my men must have mussed him up a little bit too hard."

The cleric drew back his hood. Garrick had the brief notion that he was being visited by Death itself. The cleric was emaciated beyond normal tolerances. To the prisoner, it seemed as if Thaygan's face should crack in pieces each time the old man spoke.

As the cleric stepped toward the knight, Krynos actually blanched slightly. Garrick dimly wondered what could frighten a man of the general's reputation. That thought vanished with all others as the cleric reached down and put a hand to each side of the prisoner's head.

The knight fell down an abyss. He screamed all the way. Somewhere, he could hear a commanding voice that demanded things of him. The words meant nothing to him, though, and he kept falling.

A mighty hand came from the darkness. It glowed with a light all its own. With little effort, it caught the plummeting Garrick and held him tight. The pressure of the monstrous grip was not stifling; rather, it reassured the knight. Overwhelmed by a wave of peace and love, Garrick slid off into velvety blackness.

He awoke briefly to see two men arguing. One was incredibly ancient and looked more like an old corpse. The other was a giant who looked capable of breaking the thin man in two without trying. They seemed to be arguing about something. Occasionally, one would point at Garrick. The knight waited patiently for someone to ask him a question. When none was forthcoming, he drifted slowly back to sleep.

THE GOLDEN-ARMORED MAN LOOKED DOWN AT GARRICK WITH FONDNESS AND RESPECT. GARRICK FOUND HIMSELF UNABLE TO LOOK THE OTHER STRAIGHT IN THE EYES. HE DID NOT FEEL WORTHY OF THE AUDIENCE GRANTED TO HIM.

THE OTHER SMILED. "IT IS TIME, GARRICK, TIME YOU JOINED THE RANKS. TIME YOU JOINED HUMA AND THE OTHERS."

FOR THE FIRST TIME, THE YOUNG KNIGHT SAW THE RANKS BEHIND PALADINE. AMONG THEM STOOD ONE HE KNEW WELL. FROM HIS PLACE, STANDEL NODDED GRAVELY TO HIM — AND THEN BROKE OUT INTO A BIG SMILE.