Kaz the Minotaur

The other minotaurs nodded. There was no glory in killing unarmed opponents. Outnumbered as he was, Molok knew better than to question the minotaur code of honor.

“Besides,” the sentry went on, “this bag of shaking bones and fat spouted something that sounded of great interest.”

“What was that?” Scum asked impatiently. He would have killed the goblin there and then. Goblins were not deserving of a combat of honor. They were vermin, like rats.

‘Tell them. Repeat what you said to me, goblin!”

“My… name is… Krynge, honorable, wonderful masters-”

Scurn kicked the goblin in the side. “Quit drooling on our feet and get to the point! We might let you live.”

The goblin seemed to take Scum’s word to heart and began to babble. “My band-it were much bigger then- we found… knights. All dead but one. We have fun and then… and then a minotaur attacks, killing all but three!” Krynge smiled up at the group, revealing jagged, yellow fangs. “Three goblins against one minotaur not good odds, especially since one goblin knocked out. We retreat.”

The minotaur on watch added, “I found the three of them skulking about like dogs. Two of the fools attacked me in panic, and I killed them. They died from one swing.” The sentry, smiling proudly, hefted his axe. The others nodded their appreciation for his skill. “This coward started babbling about ‘another minotaur,’ so I brought him back here for everyone to listen to.”

“Another minotaur? So near?” Molok stepped up to the goblin and took the creature’s ugly head in his massive hands. “What direction came he from?”

“South! Came from south!”

“Kaz!” The ogre turned on Hecar and Helati. “It’s got to be Kaz!”

Scurn stalked up to Helati. To her, his ravaged face was even more disgusting so close. “You said Kaz was dead! So did your brother! Only you two saw them fight, and I wonder about that. Explain!”

Hecar stepped between his sister and the other. “Do you question my honor? Do you call me a liar?”

The other minotaurs were working themselves up for a combat of honor. Many looked sympathetically at Hecar, knowing what he faced. More than a few of them had questioned their own honor in this quest. Hecar was standing up for much more than his sister and himself.

Molok realized this, too, as he scanned the group, noting the reactions of each. Like Scurn, he no longer believed Hecar’s story, but unlike the disfigured one, he knew that every minotaur would be needed if Kaz was truly alive. The ogre was no fool; he had no intention of taking on Kaz by himself.

“Hecar, he be thinking no such thing.” Molok put a hand on Scum’s shoulder. The minotaur glared at him but did not interrupt. “Kaz’s body was never found. Why? Because he survived and hid-like a coward!”

There was renewed muttering from the other minotaurs. They had reacted as the ogre wanted them to. Speak of honor and cowardice, and they would believe anything he said.

The two minotaurs were still facing one another. Scurn still wanted Hecar, and the other still wanted to protect his sister. Helati was caught between bringing dishonor to her brother by speaking the truth or dishonoring herself even more by remaining silent. She chose the latter.

“What about Greel?” Scurn asked. He was beginning to realize that he would gain nothing by fighting and killing Hecar at this time. The other minotaurs still favored Hecar, and Scurn, like the ogre, knew he could not hunt Kaz alone. Yet he could not bring himself to quit the argument altogether. He would lose some face if he backed down now.

“Greel was not a swimmer,” one of the other minotaurs called out. “His clan is in mountains, where there are only streams. He never learned.”

If not for the muttering this new fact brought forth, the surrounding minotaurs might have heard four simultaneous sighs of relief. Molok quickly took control. “You see? Greel drowned. He be no swimmer. True courage, that Greel. True honor.”

Hecar and Helati exchanged quick glances. Greel had ended up in the river only because they had thrown his body into it after Hecar had killed him. As for honor, Greel had had none. It had been his intention from the first to strike Kaz square in the back with the spear. Only a shout from Helati had saved Kaz. Startled, Greel had succeeded only in mortally wounding Kaz’s horse. As far as Hecar and Helati were concerned, both minotaurs had died there. No trace of Kaz had been found-that much was true. Though their faces did not show it, the news of his survival both relieved and frustrated them.

“Kaz lives. If he heads north, then he heads for the keep at Vingaard,” Scurn decided.

“The knighthood would make him a prisoner,” Hecar protested. “He would not go there.”

“He will.” Scurn looked at the others, his eyes lingering on Molok. “We will go to Vingaard. If Kaz is there, we will demand our right to him.” Some of the other minotaurs looked a bit uneasy at the thought of walking up to the keep of the knighthood and demanding a prisoner. Scurn snarled at them. “Are there cowards among us? Does anyone wish to return home without fulfilling his oath?”

There was no answer. To turn back now would be a great loss of honor and an outright act of cowardice. Better death than that.

“It is settled, then.”

“What about this one?” the minotaur sentry asked. He pulled Krynge to his feet by the back of the goblin’s neck.

Scurn bared his teeth.

“Give him a sword. He will have the honor of fighting bravely for his life. A rare thing for a goblin.”

Chapter Twelve

He was standing in the center of the arena, un-armed. The crowd of minotaurs roared their respect and approval. Kaz acknowledged them by raising his fists high in the air and turning in a slow circle.

His prowess was such that no one thought him a fool to take on an armed opponent with only his bare hands. Rather, they saw it as the champion s way of evening the odds. If the challenger did defeat him, however, there would be no lack of honor in the victory. That he had challenged the champion, rather than working his way up in status first, indicated the challenger was either very brave or very foolish. That question would soon be settled.

The overlords-the “outsiders,” as they were called- watched with mild amusement from their special seats on the northern walls. They were ogre and human commanders, one of the latter an aide to the warlord Crynus, leader of the armies of Takhisis. The arena was only a pastime for them; they were here to inspect the new companies of “volunteers”-slave-soldiers, in reality. The ogres and humans were not officers so much as guards. Oaths bound the minotaurs to those who led them into battle, regardless of consequence. A minotaur who had given his oath would die for his ogre captain, or should, if he was a proper representative of his race.

Kaz and the crowd grew anxious as the moments passed. The champion was eager to claim yet another victory, one that would increase his standing. How long before the outsiders’ influence made him one of the ruling minotaurs? Not much longer, surely!

The gate opposite Kaz slowly creaked open. The minotaur readied himself. He wondered if he would know his challenger. Perhaps it was one of the younger ones, fresh from the training session that Kaz himself taught. No, none of them would be so foolish. Each had already been tested and found wanting. They needed some experience before they could hope to defeat their instructor.

Slowly a figure stepped into the arena. A hush fell over the crowd. The overlords leaned forward with interest.

A Knight of Solamnia stood before the crowd. A human against a minotaur. True, the knight had a long-sword, but he wore no armor and therefore had little protection against Kaz’s blows. The long mustache, characteristic of his kind, and the experienced manner in which the human carried himself spoke of a training as fierce in its own way as that of the minotaurs. Most definitely a Solamnic Knight.