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. . . song?" Erik eyed the phantom, more
perplexed than he was anxious. He frowned. "I am no foul
necromancer, like the followers of Chemosh!"
"Nonetheless, it was your song." Rennard circled
Dornay, his eyes never leaving the mortal. "The one you
sang about ... Huma."
"Huma? Huma of the Lance?"
"Just Huma to me, a knight who believed and, because
he believed, fought as few others could. I knew him well,
you see, even aided in his training. That was before . . ."
Erik's eyes were wary and thoughtful. One did not rise
to the Order of the Rose without being able to adapt to the
unknown, even if that included the undead.
Rennard guessed what he was thinking. "If you have a
way, Mortal, to rid yourself of me, by all means try. I
would welcome rest after so long. I am tired of running, of
fighting in futility." Here, at last, Rennard could not hide
his own despair. "Tired of the pain."
"Your name, Ethereal One. You still have not said."
The flickering flames of the tiny campfire caught the
ghost's attention. He reached down and passed his hand
through the fire. "You see? Nothing, not even now." He
straightened. "My name? You probably would not know it.
I daresay that it was stricken from the rolls when the truth
of my betrayal was known. I had, after all, murdered one
grand master and attempted to kill his successor. Although
many servants of the Dark Queen fell by my sword, I
betrayed the plans of the knighthood whenever possible and
caused the deaths of many men by my actions, all in the
name of Morgion, dread Lord of Disease and Decay
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