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. "Better the ravages
of plague or the thrust of a thousand swords than to suffer
this hunger!" He stepped back, intent on departing but
strangely reluctant to leave.
Dornay lifted a flask of cool water to his mouth.
Rennard rushed from the encampment. He had traded
the endless running for this? Which was worse, he
wondered, the fear or the desire?
Searing pain made him stumble - the ever-present
torture of the plague. Rennard gritted his teeth and struggled
to remain standing. Fever consumed his already dead flesh.
Chills shook a body that did not exist.
Then a melody drifted to him, a melody that seemed to
ease the plague's torment. Rennard slowly recovered, and
as he did, his attention focused on the song.
"Dragon-Huma
temper me now
Dragon-Huma
Grant me grace and love
When the heart of the Knighthood
wavers in doubt
Grant me this, Warrior Lord"
"Huma . . ." he whispered. It was the same song that
had carried him through the chaos and into the plane of the
living. The singer was Erik Dornay.
Walking toward the camp, the ghost listened to the
words.
Heroes existed only in tales, not reality. They were the
products of the ignorant, who had no other hope. The
knighthood itself was proof, as far as Rennard was
concerned. No heroes there. More darkness than light.
Yet even Rennard could not deny Huma's courage, his
honor, his compassion ... for one who had betrayed him.
Step by step, Rennard moved closer to the fire
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