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. . . great lord . . . you cannot want this! I do
not want this and neither does Huma, your most loyal
servant! Will you give another victim to the foul, faceless
Master of the Bronze Tower?"
This plea, however, went ignored as far as he could tell.
The cultist had spoken of a rumor of the gods leaving
Krynn. Was that so? Was there no one, then, who could
save the young Solamnian?
No one . . . except a ghost. . . ?
"It seems I am always too weak! To save my life, I
gave myself to Morgion. Later, I killed myself, as Huma
watched. Now, I must let Erik die."
Unbidden, the "Song of Huma" came to his mind. Try
as he might, Rennard could not drive the melody away.
"Huma," the ghost whispered, "why must you, of all
people, continue to have faith in me?"
He struggled to his feet and started to follow, each
movement sheer torture. Every dead muscle, every long-
decayed organ, every broken joint in his body burned with
pain and fever. What he hoped to accomplish, the ghost did
not know. Rennard knew only that he could not yet give in.
He could hear the acolytes whisper.
"... death of another knight . . ."
"... Morgion reigns . . ."
"... another soul to add to his collection . . ."
Rennard doubled his pain-filled efforts to keep pace
with them. Fortunately, the servants of Morgion were
hampered by Erik's armored body.
Too soon, the Nightmaster signaled his acolytes to stop.
"This will do." The leader pointed to a small, cleared
patch of ground by a stream
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