The elder knight shook his head. He was looking much more drained than he had the night before. "Yes. Pay him no mind, Huma. He is unsettled by the fact that you've seemingly come back from the dead."

"He still hates what I am."

"Then he is a fool," Rennard suddenly interjected. "You have proved to be ten times the knight he is."

"I thank you, though I do not believe that."

"Then you are also a fool."

Lord Oswal interrupted. "The last thing we need is to fight among ourselves," The High Warrior put a hand to his forehead, nearly knocking over a lit candle in the process. Huma reached for him, but Oswal waved him away. "I'm fine. Didn't seem to get enough sleep last night, though. A bad night for insomnia, I should think."

"Will you be able to go through with the Council meeting?" asked Rennard.

"What choice have I? Perhaps it's only my personal opinion, but if my nephew-who I must point out thinks he is doing what is best-has any control over the next Grand Master, we will be plunged into disaster."

The intensity of the High Warrior's opinion of his nephew surprised Huma. He had known they did not get along, but this . . . "Why so?"

"Bennett, like many of us, is too caught up in the legends of the knighthood. He is the kind of leader who will have every able knight in Vingaard Keep attacking in one massive, heroic charge that will end in the death of all."

"Would he?" Huma's tone was doubtful. Even against the darkness, Bennett appeared calculating and in full command of his senses.

"He would. You never see Bennett in a command meeting; he is the one for lighting strikes or waves of destruction, never solid, long-term strategies. Since Trake's death, I think he is even more determined to do something momentous-to honor his father's memory."

"Huma may have trouble believing that, but I have known Bennett longer. I would concur," added Rennard.

Lord Oswal looked up at Huma. "Another thing. He would never believe your story of enchanted swords, imprisoned dragons, and god-created challenges that hold the key to victory. I do. Call it faith in Paladine, but I do."

The elder knight leaned forward suddenly, holding a hand against his head.

"Rest. I need some rest," muttered Oswal.

"Help me with him, Huma."

Together, the two knights led the High Warrior to his bed. As they helped him lie down, Lord Oswal took hold of Rennard. "You must see to it that I am awake in time for the Council. Is that understood?"

The pale face turned toward Huma and then back to the High Warrior. With the same lack of emotion he always displayed, Rennard said, "Of course. You know I will."

"Good." Lord Oswal was asleep almost immediately after that. The two knights stepped away quietly. When they were backed up by the door, Rennard turned to Huma.

"He wants you at the Council meeting."

"What about him?" Huma feared for Oswal's health.

"He'll be there. I've promised to take care of him." Rennard actually smiled slightly. "I have everything in hand. You'll see."

Huma made sure that he was one of the first to arrive.

Not all Knightly Councils were open to the population of the Keep. Most consisted only of the ruling knights and any persons involved with some portion of the agenda. There was also a set pattern to events, steps that were followed under normal circumstances. It was the feeling of the ruling body, though, that selecting a replacement for the Grand Master was something all should be involved with and, while not everyone could fit into the chamber, the knighthood as a whole would be well represented.

The masters of the Orders of the Crown and the Sword were already seated. Arak Hawkeye tugged at his tiny goatee and stared rather arrogantly at his counterpart of the Sword. Huma did not recognize the man next to Lord Hawkeye. It was not the same knight who had commanded the Order of the Sword these past four years. The former commander had died in the war to the east, and his replacement had been chosen on the battlefield out of necessity. The knight's angular face reminded Huma of an idealized statue more than a man. His mustache was long and trimmed narrow, his eyes nearly invisible under a thick, shaggy brow. When Bennett entered, it was clear who was the true ruling power in the Order of the Sword, for the other stiffened.

Eventually, the chamber was filled and the waiting began. Only two people of consequence were missing, Rennard and Lord Oswal, The Knightly Council waited patiently, members constantly conferring with one another during that time. At last, Bennett stalked imperiously over to Lord Hawkeye and spoke sharply in an undertone. Hawkeye responded in kind, and the argument raged for several minutes. Regrettably, they were not speaking loud enough to be understood, and Huma could only guess at what might have passed between them.

Just then, Rennard rushed in, out of breath. There was intense strain on his face, and the image of the normally placid knight in such a high emotional state was enough to cause more than one person to rise in expectation of bad news.

Rennard whispered quickly to Lord Hawkeye. Bennett and the other Councilors listened in as best they could. Bennett's face turned white, and he gripped the nearest chair tightly. Arak Hawkeye stood up to face the suddenly anxious crowd.

"This meeting is postponed until further notice. I regret to inform those assembled that Lord Oswal of Baxtrey, High Warrior and master of the Order of the Rose, has been stricken ill-by the same disease that claimed the Grand Master."

"A quarantine has been imposed on the Keep. Lord Oswal is not expected to live through the night."

Rennard was still shaking.

"I came to wake him as he requested and found him unconscious and shivering in his bed, despite being covered by two or three blankets. I administered what aid I knew and then fetched a cleric."

Huma had never seen him in such a state. It was almost as if the pale knight was reliving his own brush with the plague.

"What did the cleric do?"

"Little. The disease baffles him. Another gift from the Queen, I suppose, damn her existence."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Huma suddenly felt weak. Lord Oswal was his mentor, his friend, the closest thing to his father. He must not die!

"We can only wait and pray." Was there a hint of bitter mockery in Rennard's voice? Huma could not really blame him. He himself felt so powerless. The Dragonqueen, Crynus, and the renegade mage Galan Dracos must be laughing at their fate, he supposed.

"Huma." Rennard laid a hand on his shoulder. The pale face was still strained. How much Rennard had cared for Oswal! "Get some sleep."

They were in the outer chamber of the Keep's Temple of Paladine, where the High Warrior had been carried in the hopes that the gods might influence Lord Oswal's recovery. At present, the clerics treating the elder knight were in a quandary. One moment they would believe they had beaten the disease, the next moment it would come back, stronger than before. Time was running out. Lord Oswal's body could not stand many more severe swings in health.

Rennard smiled faintly. "I promise you, I will alert you should there be any change."

Despite his good intentions, Huma suddenly felt sleepy, almost as if the mere mention of it had made him recognize that fact. He nodded to Rennard and stood up.

"You will wake me."

"I promised Lord Oswal that," Rennard replied bitterly.

As Huma departed, he could still hear Bennett's voice coming from the side chamber where the clerics conferred. Bennett seemed to care for his uncle almost as much as he cared for his father. At news of the High Warrior's sickness, it had been Bennett's voice that had prevented the panic and organized the temporary quarantine and the shifting of the ailing noble to the temple. Now, the Knight of the Sword divided his time between praying for his uncle and arguing with clerics, whom he thought were reacting too slowly to the crisis.

What of the war? It was as if forgotten by those who cloistered themselves within the walls of the Keep. The thought nagged Huma all the way to his cot.

He woke abruptly, his mind startlingly clear. Lord Oswal was his first thought, and Huma immediately assumed the worst. Others slept on, far more used to the daily loss of precious life, it seemed to him.

Huma slipped out into the night and peered around. In the dim torchlight, he could make out sentries keeping vigilant watch on the walls while others patrolled the courtyard. Guards still stood before the doorway leading to the High Warrior's abode. That was a good sign.

Unable to sleep, Huma decided to return to the temple. That Rennard had not come for him did not surprise-him; the pale knight evidently meant to keep vigil through the entire crisis, if at all possible.

The rain had still not let up, and the courtyard was turning into a bowl of muck.

The temple of Paladine seemed oddly dark as he neared it. No one stood guard, which did not surprise him. But as he made his way up the steps and was about to knock upon the temple doors, he noticed that one was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he discovered the main corridor also dark. That, he knew, was not as it should be. Here there should have been a sentry or at least a cleric.

Suddenly Huma found himself before one of the Knights of the Rose whose duty it was to act as honor guard and- for this crisis-guardian for the ill High Warrior. The knight stood at the doorway, looking quite stern, and Huma almost hailed him until he realized that the man would not be standing in darkness unless there was a very good reason. Stepping cautiously, Huma made his way across the marble floor and did not stop until he was face-to-face with the guard.

The Knight of the Rose stared back, but did not see.

Huma held a hand before the other's face. He could feel and hear the man's breathing, but it was the breathing of one deep in sleep. Huma dared slap the knight lightly on the cheek. The guard did not stir.

Leaning closer, Huma inspected the open eyes. They were glazed. He had seen men like this before, men who had been drugged for one reason or another. Huma suspected the Knight of the Rose would remember nothing about his lapse of duty. He also suspected something similar had happened to the rest of the temple's inhabitants-including Rennard.

With a prayer to Paladine, Huma drew his sword. He followed the darkened halls until he came to the place where Rennard had sat, only to discover that the gaunt knight was gone. The doorway to the room where Lord Oswal lay resting also was partially open, and Huma discovered two more guards in the same comatose condition.

Huma feared the worst. Rennard and Lord Oswal had both been overwhelmed, he decided quickly.

With measured steps, Huma slowly opened the door to Lord Oswal's chamber. The darkness disoriented him for only a second, then his trained senses located the even darker blur-Lord Oswal standing by the makeshift bed.

Standing? Huma blinked and allowed his eyes to adjust. No, it was not the High Warrior. Oswal was, indeed, lying on the bed. What then? A shadow?

Huma stepped forward and the darkness seemed to shift. He blinked. The figure-or what he had thought was a figure-was no longer there. With some trepidation, Huma moved forward until he was standing next to the still form of Lord Oswal. He was relieved to hear the regular breathing of the High Warrior.

Huma's foot bumped against something. He peered down and found himself staring at the inert body of one of the clerics. The cleric slept as the guards had slept, his eyes glazed and wide. Huma shook him hard in an attempt to wake him, but the man did not even stir.

He felt, rather than heard, the darkness stir behind him. He hesitated and that hesitation might have nearly cost him his own life, for something metallic struck his breastplate and would have cut deep into his throat if he had moved any slower.

Cursing himself, Huma parried another vicious jab by a tiny, twisted blade. He had his first glance at his attacker, a figure in flowing darkness from which two red, glaring eyes peered. The figure threw the blade at his head, forcing Huma to duck. Even as Huma dodged the weapon, the specter brought forth a small pouch and raised it.

The knight scuttled back quickly. There was no denying what he faced now. The actions, the appearance-he was surprised he had not recognized the intruder immediately- were those of a cultist of Morgion, Lord of Disease and Decay. One of the vermin had made his way into Vingaard Keep-and had so far succeeded in killing one, and possibly two, of the most important figures in the knighthood.

The ragged figure hesitated before throwing the contents of the pouch.

Huma leaped forward, his broadsword up and before him. The flat of the blade slammed into the pouch, which burst, but not before the sword's momentum pushed much of it back at the hooded intruder. Huma stumbled back, avoiding the deadly shower that rained on the other. The assassin coughed and hacked as dust flew into his face. He stumbled back, but Huma dared not step forward. The cultist fell toward a pew and then, slowly, pulled himself back up again.

"If you think-" the voice was rough and strained, but familiar "-to kill me with my own tools, know that Morgion protects his own. Besides, I only wished to put you to sleep. Now you leave me no choice."

It was all Huma could do to keep from dropping his sword as the hooded figure's throat cleared itself of dust and his identity was revealed. Huma took a desperate step back, even as the cultist pulled out a broadsword hidden in his robe.

"The knife point would have nicked you, and again you would have slept. I fear, though, that this is all I have left now." The blade came up, its point directed at Huma's neck.

Huma could not bring himself to fight. It could not be happening like this. It could not be true. This was some terrible nightmare from which he would awaken!

The assassin laughed quietly. The sword lowered slightly. The laugh seemed to echo through Huma's mind, mocking everything he had ever believed in.

"I had tried to protect you from this. I am sorry, Huma."

And though Huma could not speak the words at first, they pounded in his head, cried in his heart.

Why, Rennard?

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.