The minotaur took a step forward and froze. “But how? You have no ladder, no rope…”

Sardal smiled. “None that you can see. It is only a matter, however, of changing one’s perceptions.”

Kaz shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

A sigh. The elf reached out his left hand. “Take my hand. I’ll lead you. I can see that you have dealt with elves before, and also that you have never been to Qualinesti. I know how the arrogant ones in Silvanesti would treat you as an ogrespawn. My people are not much better, but they are better.”

Kaz hesitated. To be led blindly by the elf was bad enough; to remain here, untrusting of one who had saved his life, was worse. Sardal Crystal thorn was indeed far different than the uncaring, haughty elves of Silvanesti, whom Kaz had had the misfortune of encountering once during his wanderings, much to his regret.

He took Sardal’s hand and closed his eyes tight.

“Just keep walking. When I stop, you stop.”

The sensation Kaz felt was akin to walking down a flight of spiraling stairs. With great effort, he defeated the urge to open his eyes and see what he was really walking on. Kaz was no coward, but sorcery always left him feeling defenseless. What if he should open his eyes only to find that there was nothing but empty space beneath him?

“You said you used a battle-axe, did you not?” Sardal’s voice broke into his thoughts. It seemed as if they had walked miles already.

Kaz found he was sweating-and standing still as well. “Why have we stopped?”

“We are at the bottom, of course.”

The minotaur opened his eyes. They were indeed standing at the base of the tree. Kaz turned to face the leviathan, and his eyes followed its growth upward. The true height of the tree became clear to him. His stomach began to churn. “How- No! I have no wish to learn. Your tricks can remain your secrets.” He recalled the question Sardal had asked him. “Yes, I use an axe.”

“I had thought as much when I first saw you.” The elf was suddenly holding a massive, gleaming double-edged axe. The side of the axe head had an amazing mirrorlike finish, and in spite of its tremendous size, Sardal was having no trouble with its weight.

Kaz studied the weapon with admiration. The axe was perfect, from head to handle. The blades could well cut through stone. The minotaur noted some runes on the handle. “What is that?”

“Dwarven. A gift from an old friend, sadly dead in the war. This was his finest work, and he entrusted it to me rather than to his squabbling apprentices. The runes are its name; every good weapon should be named. This one, translated to Common, is Honor’s Face.”

“Honors Face? What sort of name is that for a battle-axe?”

“Never try to understand a dwarven mind.” Sardal turned the axe over to his guest. “I think, though, that you have both the strength and the proper spirit to yield a weapon with such a name.”

“Is it magic?” Kaz wanted to keep the blade, but a magical weapon…

“I think the magic lies more in the skill of the artisan who created it than the warrior who wields it, although I cannot promise that it has no magical abilities. I’ve noticed none. But you will not be disappointed with it, I am certain.”

Kaz tested the axe, swinging it this way and that, performing maneuvers with it that would have left many another fighter without at least one leg and several fingers. At the end of the short exercise, he hooked it into his harness with one graceful motion. His eyes were bright with pleasure, though he tried to conceal his enthusiasm. “Excellent balance.”

Sardal nodded, impressed in spite of himself with the minotaur’s skill. “May you need it as little as possible. I am sorry that I have no horse to lend you, but I can lead you along a path that will make up some of the time you have lost.”

“Lead me? You’re going with me?”

“Only to the edge of the forest.” Sardal pointed in a northerly direction. “Beyond that, you will be in the desolation of northern Solamnia. Since you have been kind enough to take that scroll to Argaen, I see no reason to enter that unclean land myself.”

“Is it that bad?”

The elf gave him a curious look. “How long has it been since you were last there?”

“After the death ceremony for my companion, Huma, I rode south and have not since ridden back. I have visited the lands east, west, and south of Solamnia, save that part of Istar my people call home, but never have I come within a hundred miles of that region again.”

“You respected Huma greatly.”

“Do you know the Solamnic phrase ‘Est Sularus oth Mithas?’

“ ‘My honor is my life.’ Yes, I have heard it before. It generally precedes the Oath and Measure of the knighthood.”

A somber look crossed the minotaur’s bullish visage. “Huma of the Lance embodied that phrase; he was that phrase. I’ve tried to live up to his memory since his death. I don’t know how well I’ve succeeded, if at all.”

“You’ve been unwilling to return to Vingaard solely because of that.” There was no mockery in Sardal’s voice.

Kaz gathered up his things. “I have. If you’d ever met Huma, you’d understand. We met when he rescued me from a band of goblins who had trapped me by surprise. To say that he was shocked at what he’d rescued would not be far from the truth, but that didn’t deter him. Minotaur, human, or even goblin, Huma always sought the best in a being.” Kaz paused. “I think he cried inside for nearly every foe slain. I rode beside him long enough to see that. From our first encounter with the silver dragon to the final confrontation with Takhisis, he was a human who embodied the good of the world. He dared the unthinkable, too, whether that meant defending a minotaur against his fellow knights or seeking out the Dragonlances, which were our only hope.”

Crystalthorn remained silent as Kaz paused again briefly to organize his thoughts, but his eyes glittered as he listened.

“We were separated time and again, but each time I met a Huma who, despite the adversities fate had placed before him, refused to give in. He was the first to make use of the Dragonlances, and he led the attack when there were but a couple dozen of us, mounted on dragons of our own, to face the dragon hordes of the dark goddess. I say us, elf, because he allowed me to be one of the select, an honor like none I shall ever know again. Most of the riders and their dragon companions died before it was over, and a braver group I’ve never met, but the greatest was Huma. He faced Takhisis with only the silver dragon, whose human form he loved dearly, at his side and defeated Takhisis, though it cost him his life.” Kaz shivered. “I arrived as he completed the pact with the Dragonqueen, her freedom for Krynn’s. By then, Huma was almost dead. He asked me to pull the Dragonlance from the goddess’s thrashing body-she wore the form of the five-headed dragon then-and despite my overwhelming fear-fear I still recall to this day-I performed that horrible task because Huma had asked it of me. I don’t think I could have done it for anyone else.”

Sardal waited, but after Kaz had not spoken for several seconds, he prompted, “And?”

The minotaur looked at Sardal with reddened eyes. “And he died, elf! Died before I could get back to him, find help for him! I’d sworn my life to protect his, and I failed him!”

Kaz busied himself with rearranging his equipment. Crystalthorn hesitated and finally, quietly, commented, “I think you find it harder to face your companion’s spirit than you do your own people.”

The minotaur, his things in hand, was already walking in the direction the elf had indicated. His response was low, almost muffled, but Sardal’s sharp ears still made out the single word as the elf moved to catch up.

“Yes.”