Wyrmfather hissed. Its head was turned so that it could not possibly have missed the knight, yet the deadly beast continued to scan the cavern. It was only when Huma looked at the eyes that he knew why; a whitish film covered each. Wyrmfather was blind.

The creature was not deaf, though, and most certainly had a keen sense of smell. It had passed up the knight once; Huma doubted it would do so again. Even now, the lengthy snout seemed to be investigating some of the areas it had already passed. Unless Wyrmfather poked its head back into one of the corridors, the dragon would find Huma momentarily.

As if thinking the same thoughts, Wyrmfather spoke. The creature's words made the immense chamber tremble. "A tricky one. I am pleased. It has been so long since I had even the slightest challenge. The others were so easy."

The head swung near Huma. Gaping nostrils flared as the mighty dragon sniffed for the scent of the knight.

"I smell the taint of Paladine on you. Of Habbakuk. Of the most cursed of all the gods of light, my jailer, the damned Kiri-Jolith!"

Huma did not move, did not breath during this outburst. The leviathan had spoken of an encounter with at least one of the gods responsible for the creation of the knighthood. An encounter that had left the dragon quite the worse off, it seemed.

"Are you here for my treasure? It is the greatest horde that any dragon could ever gather. Even trapped as I am, I have ways of gathering it. Ah!" The massive jaws bent into a macabre, reptilian grin. "Perhaps it is the mirror you seek! Yes, the mirror would be worth all else I have!"

All the while it spoke, Wyrmfather sniffed around the cavernous chamber, seeking out Huma.

A sound of metal striking metal rang through the chamber. Huma reacted instinctively, covering his ears as the noise pounded at his mind. It was the forge again. The hammer at the forge.

If the hammering disturbed Huma, it enraged Wyrmfather to madness. The dragon added to the noise with shrieks of its own. Curses, crying, threats. All matter of words rushed from its mouth. Froth dripped from its maw.

"My queen! Why do you let them torment me? Have I not endured countless millenia gone to dust? Must I suffer yet more of the ceaseless hammering and hammering of that cursed smith! Have you forsaken me, great Takhisis?"

Across the chamber, a corridor glowed brighter than the others. Wyrmfather had spoken of its horde and how even here it had been able to seek out treasure. Might there not be something of use in such a horde? A weapon, perhaps, more deadly than Huma's own seemingly insignificant sword? It was, to be sure, a desperate measure. Even as the beast renewed its shouts, Huma was running.

The clatter of his boots on the rocky floor alerted Wyrmfather, but the hammering prevented the dragon from pinpointing the tiny human figure, hi anger, the dragon roared and unleashed random bursts of searing flame.

Huma dove into the corridor. The dragon had mentioned a mirror of some great importance. Huma remembered the mirror of the nymph, the one she had used to gaze at the dreams of others. Might they be related? Hers, though, had only been a way of capturing others' dreams. This one had other properties, perhaps.

Still Wyrmfather ranted and raved at the sound of the hammer.

Huma made his way down the corridor, fearing that he had erred. All he might find were gold and jewels, useless at the moment. There might be nothing.

Huma fell, and his eyes caught a horrible, momentary glimpse of what he had tripped over. A battered skull grinned at him, while a disjointed arm pointed at him in mockery. The crumpled remains of armor wrapped much of the body's frame. Huma succeeded in rolling with the fall, though the collision unsettled him.

Huma stood and stared sadly at the partial skeleton. It was very old, and the armor was nearly all rust. There were some visible markings, though, and Huma, in horrid fascination, wiped dust from the breastplate and beheld the insignia of a Knight of the Rose.

A prayer instinctively jumped to his lips. Here was a knight who had made it this far, only to perish.

To perish.

As Huma might.

Even as the thought came unbidden, he realized the new danger. The hammering had stopped as abruptly as it had started. Huma took a few steps forward, almost without realizing it, and nearly stumbled onto an immense pile of valuables.

There were coins aplenty, gold and silver, more than Huma had ever seen. They glittered, almost entrancing him. Mixed in with them was a variety of rare items, many bejeweled, all of them fascinating. Necklaces of large, perfect pearls. Small figurines of some crystalline design, perhaps formed from emeralds or jade. Armor that might have been forged only yesterday, some so elaborate that it must have been created for mighty emperors, who could afford the craftsmanship and extravagant decorations. There were even weapons, although most were useless, having been designed more for style and expense than for use.

He quickly surveyed the room, his heart racing. All this before him, when he would have gladly traded it for a single weapon capable of defeating the huge cavern dweller.

"Where have you run, manling?"

Huma stiffened. Wyrmfather was very close by. Any second, the corridor might become filled with flame.

"The smith has abandoned you, Knight of Solamnia! Yes, I know you now. I can smell the taint of the Three in you, stronger than ever before. You are a Knight of Solamnia, a true believer, unlike those before. They thought they believed, but they only pretended. You, though, are different. I wonder what you will taste like?"

Rusted battle axes. Jeweled swords fit only for ceremony. This could not be the vast horde the dragon had spoken about-unless, in its madness, Wyrmfather had dreamed up its treasures.

The mirror, too?

"I have you now!"

Huma could hear the slithering and scraping as the massive head wormed its way into the corridor. He whirled and realized that the relatively meager horde of gold and jewels was only overflow from another chamber. He reached into the uppermost part of the mound of valuables and began digging. Sure enough, within a few seconds, the digging revealed an opening. It was only a small opening, so far, and it grew slowly as he continued to labor, each second expecting to feel the blistering heat of Wyrmfather's breath on his back. The effort was tiring. The continuous wedge of valuables made an effective blockade. Huma cursed silently as more coins and odd artifacts flowed to replace those he had removed. The knight took a deep breath. Digging was not good enough. As he cleared a tangle of jewels from the gap, he began crawling forward like a mole.

He had already burrowed deep into the pile when he felt the hot, fetid breath of the dragon. Wyrmfather could not use its flame here, lest it destroy its own treasure; thus the dragon was twisting its head and neck all the way to the entrance of the chamber of treasures.

The leviathan's head came around the corner-just in time to hear the knight vanish into the other chamber. Wyrmfather paused. After a moment, the huge reptilian lips curled into a malevolent smile and the great dragon began the process of removing itself from the chamber.

All was dark at first, strange after so many corridors filled with their own light. Huma wondered why this one was different.

Unable to see, he crawled awkwardly through the immense collection of treasures. Here must certainly be the main horde, but how was he to find anything in the dark? Was there anything to find? Somehow, he felt there must be. If this was a test, there must be some way of defeating the dragon.

His hand brushed against what felt like a sword hilt-and the room was suddenly lit by a dull, greenish glow. Huma jerked his hand away in surprise. He had hoped; he had prayed. Now, at last, he had found the very thing. Only .. . only he feared to touch it, for some reason. As if something instinctively warned him not to.

Grasp me. Wield me. Use me. I will be your will come to life.

The words rang clear in his mind, clear, sweet, seductive words.

They came from within the sword itself.

Chapter 17.

Huma's hand hesitated mere inches from the sword.

The glow persisted, but there was no repetition of the words.

The blade was impressive. The hilt was brilliantly bejeweled, including one massive green stone that seemed to be the source of the glow. A bell protected the user's hand. The blade itself was as sharp as if newly made. Huma's desire to touch it became almost undeniable. With the sword, he was sure that not even Wyrmfather could best him Wyrmfather! The spell was broken as Huma remembered the dragon. With the sword-no! The knight recoiled from it. He could not say how he knew, but the sword was malevolent. It did not seek his companionship; it sought a slave to do its bidding.

As he turned away from the blade, the light reflected off a polished surface in one corner. Huma scampered over the jewels and coins to get a better look at the object.

It was as he hoped. An elaborate mirror, twice his size. The mirror of which Wyrmfather had spoken. Huma recalled the sightless eyes of the cavern dweller and wondered how a blind dragon used a mirror. It was evident that Wyrmfather had gathered his treasures over the centuries.

Mirrors. This was the third. One was owned by the nymph. Another hung in the citadel of Magius. All magical. Had they all been made by the same person? He doubted he would ever know.

"Manling, I would speak with you."

Huma started as the voice of Wyrmfather filled the room. The chamber suddenly was filled with brilliant light, and Huma cursed himself for not realizing his mistake. There were no other entrances to this chamber because the entrance was the ceiling! Even now, the ancient dragon was tugging away the huge slab of rock that served as the lid on his house-size treasure chest. Huma scanned the endless mounds of booty, seeking something and finding that his eyes always returned to the sinister emerald blade.

"Manling." Wyrmfather sniffed and a great smile lit its terrible face, 'The smell of riches is intoxicating, is it not?"

Huma was positive he could cover the distance to the sword in ten seconds. Would he have that much time?

"It is futile to hide, manling. I can smell you out. I can lay waste to this chamber. Yet I do not have to kill you. There might be another way."

Huma edged toward the sword. Wyrmfather's massive head turned at the sound.

"A bargain, Knight of Solamnia? A task for me in exchange for one of my treasures? Surely, I have gathered a few things your brethren have lost over the years."

Huma remembered the ancient remains wearing the battered crest of a Knight of the Rose. Had Wyrmfather made the same offer to him? Had he been choosing his prize when the dragon overtook him?

Loose coins slid under Huma's foot, and the dragon's head suddenly blocked his path. Huma readied his sword, eyeing with regret the other one so near to him. So close!

Wyrmfather sniffed. "A Solamnic Knight, indeed! The game of hide-and-seek is at an end, manling! Do you accept my offer-" The massive jaws worked into a smile again, "-or shall we see what other arrangement can be made?'

"What do you want?"

The leviathan's ears perked up. "Ahhhl He does speak! It has been, by my estimate, nearly three hundred years since an intruder has dared to speak to me directly for reasons other than pleading! Even your voice pleases me after all this!"

"I'm glad," Huma said. He could not think of anything else to say.

The ensuing chuckle forced him to cover his ears. "A brave one, mauling! I like you. What do you say to my offer?"

"I am willing to hear it."

"A truly brave one! Hear me, then, manling!" The great beast raised its head high. "I am Wyrmfather, first and greatest of my dread lady's children, first to rise at her call! I championed her cause against the hideous gods of light and their creeping toadies, and ever emerged triumphant! So great and fearful was my power that at last Kiri-Jolith himself was forced to fight me-and did so with dread, I tell you!

"We fought for over a year. Mountains were born, brought flat, and reborn. The land quaked with our struggle, the seas whipped high. At last, I erred and Kiri-Jolith defeated me. Victory was not enough, though! From the shattered earth he drew this mountain about me, enclosing me from the joyous sky! I would, he said, remain a part of this mountain. Even the slightest breeze would not reach me. Only, he mocked, only one of his own brethren would be able to release me! Only one such as he could set me free!"

The blind eyes stared meaningfully at Huma, who was beginning to understand what the dragon was leading to.

"For a long time, I believed he meant one of his fellow gods, and I raged and roared. Then I came to understand the trickery in his words. A god was not what he meant. A warrior, straight and true in the path, could do what I could not, and are not the Knights of Solamnia the sons of Paladine? Does that not make them brethren in spirit to Kiri-Jolith?"

Huma stared at the gleaming sword buried deep in the mound of jewels and coins. In him there was a yearning so strong that he nearly ran to it. But suddenly the terrible visage of Wyrmfather was again before him. The hot, sulfurous breath stung the knight's eyes.

"Free me, Knight of Solamnia, and anything here is yours! Even the mirror, which served me so well before the darkness came!"

The mirror. Huma looked at it. If he could learn its secrets . . . His own bluster amazed him. "How does it work? I might consider, then."

"You must think of a place you wish to go and then ask- No! Release me first!"

The very mountain trembled as Wyrmfather went into another berserk rage.

The hammering began anew-louder, if at all possible.

Wyrmfather raised its massive head and shrieked, "I will not be cheated again!"

Huma ran for the sword. The maddened dragon lashed out in anger. The massive jaws opened wide, and the long, draping, forked tongue whipped out. Wyrmfather meant to make a morsel out of the tiny human.

Huma's hand closed around the hilt of the sword. It burned in his grip, even through his gauntlets. Despite the pain, he pulled the sword free and held it high, moving through sheer reflex and skill.

Wyrmfather's jaws closed down on Huma, swallowing countless treasures in the process. For a moment, Huma vanished into the maw of the titan.

With a rock-shattering cry of pain, the ancient leviathan spasmed. Gold, silver, statuary, jewels, and a badly battered Huma fell from his jaws. The knight hit one of the piles below, sending shockwaves through his right arm.

Above, Wyrmfather shook its head back and forth, trying to dislodge the sword it had forced into its own head. It was a futile effort; the body was already reacting by reflex. The brain of the dragon was dead, the green blade having cut through all barriers protecting it. The dragon's actions only served to drive the blade deeper.

Huma rose to his feet just as the massive head began its final descent. Even in death, Wyrmfather could spell the end of Huma. The knight scrambled.

The massive skull struck the ground precipitously close to Huma. The knight-along with nearly a king's ransom in valuables-was flung forward, his last thoughts of Solamnia. His body struck the mirror- -and landed in the muck and mire of a rain-soaked wasteland.

His first frantic thoughts were for the sword. It had remained jammed in the dying dragon's jaws. Huma had to retrieve it.

How? He surveyed his surroundings-and reeled in shock. This was Solamnia! Very near Vingaard Keep. Huma sat up and put his face in his hands. He had discovered the secret of the mirror. Now he was transported far from the mountains-and his companions!

His right arm was numb and nearly useless, but he felt no broken bones. The temporary paralysis would go away after a few hours. Both he and his armor were mud-covered. He felt quickly at his waist, then gave a small sigh of relief; he still had his own sword, puny as it seemed compared to the wonderful surge of power he had felt when holding the green blade. If only . . .

A thought came to him.

It was difficult to tell direction, but by the few still-recognizable landmarks, he was certain he was south of Vingaard Keep. Had it been a brightly lit day, he knew he could have glimpsed the mighty citadel.

Ineffectually wiping the mud from his face, Huma started north.

The habitations he passed would have provided little protection for a wild animal, much less a human. The wood frames were crumbling with rot. The thatched roofs could only barely be called that; there were too many holes and too little material to patch them with. The mud used to pack the stonework together had become so damp that in many places the walls had fallen completely away.

The haunted looks he saw in the faces of the emaciated survivors who peopled this poor excuse for a village sent chills through his body. What, he wondered, was the Keep doing about this situation? These people barely existed. Their homes were little more than lean-tos, and some people did not even have that. Instead, they sat in the mire and ravaged earth, and stared at the devastation around them.

He knew that the knighthood could not care for them all, but it still agonized him. Huma prayed that somehow he would gain new transportation so that he could return to the mountain and, if it was allowed, face the challenges once again. He also worried about his two companions. Were they looking for him?

Staring at the ruined land, Huma thought that the knighthood might have helped the people rebuild their villages, patrol their forests, and possibly gather or grow their own food. Instead, nothing.

Huma stopped walking for a moment, thinking about his nearly blasphemous ideas. What would Rennard have said if he had heard him? Huma smiled slightly. Probably very little, he decided.

Several villagers stepped out to gaze at Huma with a variety of expressions-fear, respect, anger, and disgust. Five men blocked his path. Huma blinked and waited. The five did not step aside.

Their apparent leader was a tall, wide man with a foul black beard, a receding hairline, a squashed nose, and more than two hundred pounds of what had once been pure muscle. He wore the typical mud-stained pants and much-repaired tunic of a farmer. The clothing was quite insufficient for the harsh weather. The man's beefy hand gripped a smith's hammer.

"Throw down your sword, little man, and we'll not hurt you. It's your stuff we want, not you."

A thin, pasty-faced lad giggled nervously, next to the big man. The boy was nearly bald, and he had all the signs of a plague survivor, including the touch of madness. The remaining three were rather nondescript remnants of men, faces and bodies that had wasted away long ago. None of the five were true bandits. Huma prayed silently that he would not be forced to raise a hand against them.

"Are you deaf?"

"I cannot surrender you my valuables or food, if that is what you desire. I have very little."

"You have no choice." The big man swung his hammer experimentally in Huma's direction with great precision. "I thinks you're missin' the point. We take what we get."