“All that work gone to naught! Do you know, minotaur, that I invested much power in that prison I was forced to free you from? It’s not something I can do again too soon, you know. What was it that Argaen stole from Vingaard?”

Kaz described the emerald sphere and its chaotic power, drawing on memories of what Huma had told him as well as more recent information. When he had finished, he asked, “The knights, Sardal, and my friends-what has become of them?”

“They moved on. Bennett gave you up for dead or a prisoner of Argaen. Either way, it was his assumption that the best course of action would be to continue on despite your loss. Such a loyal companion.”

“Bennett is a Knight of Solamnia. I would’ve done no less.”

“I fear, however, that they are going to run into some difficulties. You see, what remains of the Dragonqueen’s armies has slowly been gathering near here. In secret, so they think. But such as they cannot hide from the eyes of elves. Your friends are riding into great danger, minotaur.”

“Then I’m wasting my time here!” growled Kaz. He started to turn his mount around. “Which way?”

“Time is never wasted if you plan well,” uttered the elf philosophically.

Kaz pulled up short, craning his head so that he could look back at Sardal. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have a quicker way of getting us to our destination… and he should be arriving just about now.”

The minotaur’s mount suddenly shied as it scented something off in the woods. Kaz readied his dwarven axe. Whatever the horse had scented was moving slowly, taking its own pace.

Out of the woods behind Sardal Crystalthorn came a huge beast. It was at least as large as the horse Kaz rode. Huge paws touched the ground lightly and silently. A red tongue hung from a maw large enough to swallow Kaz’s arm. The fur was sleek and silver.

It was the biggest wolf that Kaz had ever seen. From his past experiences with those mockeries of this magnificent creature, the dreadwolves, the minotaur had gained a certain distrust of anything that resembled them.

“I discern the reason for your distrust, warrior, and I mourn the fact that so many cubs have become the playthings of twisted beings like Galan Dracos and Argaen Ravenshadow. You may place your trust in me, however, for your cause is Habbakuk’s as well as Paladine’s, and my lord Habbakuk’s cause is ever mine.”

“What is it, Sardal?”

Sardal did not deign to answer, for the subject of Kaz’s question was more than capable of speaking for himself.

“I am Greymir, who runs with Habbakuk, lord of the animals, and serves him in the mortal world. My liege has commanded, at this elf’s request, that I give you both safe transport to that place of darkness where the scavenger called Ravenshadow even now moves ever closer to his greatest folly and a resurrection of Krynn’s greatest threat.”

As pale as a minotaur could be, Kaz continued to gape at the magnificent beast. With the banishing of Takhisis, he had thought his existence might turn forever to more mundane business. He had tried to do his best to shun the likes of sorcerers and magical quests, but obviously not with much success. It was as if time were reversing itself. Once more Kaz was one of those caught in a game involving the gods. Greymir’s presence was all that Kaz needed to convince himself that this had gone beyond some elf’s petty ambitions-but how far beyond?

“What-” he began.

“As you said,” Sardal interrupted, “time is wasting. Dismount and take only what things you truly need.”

“We’re-we’re going to ride that?”

“You who’ve ridden dragons should certainly not fear me,” Greymir commented smoothly.

The minotaur’s horse, after its initial fear, was now eager to rub noses with the huge wolf. Kaz trusted animals’ instincts only so far. He held up Honor’s Face so that Greymir’s reflection, if any, would be clear.

“A noble weapon, that,” Habbakuk’s emissary remarked. “And you are more or less correct about the reflections-or lack of them.” Greymir’s visage was plain to see in the battle-axe. So, then. The dwarven weapon had not failed Kaz so far. He would trust in it.

“I trust you are satisfied,” Sardal said, a little petulantly.

“I am.” Kaz dismounted. The battle-axe was returned to his shoulder harness as he reluctantly stepped over to the great wolf. Greymir lay down so as to allow the minotaur to climb onto his back. So huge was the animal that there still remained room on his back for the elf, who immediately joined Kaz. The weight of two full-grown figures seemed to make no difference to Greymir, for he rose to his feet with ease. The wolf stared at Kaz’s horse, and the steed trotted off, as if given orders. Greymir pawed the ground.

“Hold tight!”

Greymir raced with a speed only a dragon could match. Trees whirred full speed in the opposite direction. Birds flew in place. Kaz knew that Greymir’s paws did not even touch the earth. This was the stuff of legend, the stuff of wonder. This was the stuff that one breathless minotaur would have preferred never to have experienced.

Daylight was losing its battle with the night. Kaz knew his companions must have reached the mountains nearby now. Fifty against how many?

“They will have aid,” came a voice that he recognized as the wolf’s. The magnificent creature could listen to his thoughts… “You are the most worrisome minotaur I have ever observed.” This last was followed by a chuckle from Greymir.

Kaz concentrated on maintaining his grip.

The mountains swallowed them up. Entering those mountains was like entering a new and fearsome world. It was too reminiscent of the evil that had hung over Vingaard Keep so long. It was the renewed presence of the emerald sphere of Gal an Dracos.

“Not long now,” came Greymir’s voice.

A mocking howl suddenly echoed through the mountains. Kaz snarled, recognizing the sound. No living animal howled like that.

“Dreadwolves,” Greymir commented sadly. “My twisted young,” the wolf continued, his anger swelling. “And there is nothing I can do for them. They are only shells with vague, tortured memories.”

The howls echoed from everywhere. Argaen knew they were coming and was trying to slow their progress with his illusions. This time, however, no one would be fooled.

“The elf is ignorant of us-and they are not illusions,” Greymir growled, pulling to an abrupt stop, gazing at the horrid scene unfolding before them.

“Habbakuk and Branchala!” Sardal whispered.

Suddenly dreadwolves were everywhere, surrounding them. Kaz ceased counting after fifty or so. The sight was sickening, as if the burial ground of all wolves were suddenly upturned by evil Chemosh, lord of the undead. Countless red orbs stared sightlessly at them. Rotted tongues hung out of maws filled with yellowed teeth. Bones showed through.

“Hold tight. Prepare to defend yourselves!”

A dreadwolf atop a high ledge laughed. It was a very human, very maniacal laugh. Kaz had no time to think about it, however, for Greymir was already moving again.

The dreadwolves attacked as one.

Hampered in his movement, Kaz could only make a partial defense as dozens of bloodthirsty horrors swarmed about the swiftly striding wolf. Even his partial blows, however, were enough to dismember several dreadwolves, although the monstrosities immediately rose up again, as their body parts drew back together. It was difficult to kill something that was already dead and could pull its body parts back to one complete form. Still, time was bought.

Greymir never paused in his flight, but somehow managed always to have a dreadwolf in his jaws or trampled under his feet. Monster after monster was tossed aside. But Kaz and Sardal had cuts all over their legs and sides. Greymir had scores of minor wounds. Given time, the dreadwolves might have brought them down.