“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tanis roared. He grabbed hold of Raistlin’s robes and dragged the slender young man to his feet. “Stop looting and get that gully dwarf of yours to show us the way out, or so help me, you’ll die by my hands!”
Raistlin’s thin lips parted in a ghastly smile as Tanis flung him back against the altar. Bupu shrieked. “Come! We go! I know way!”
“Raist,” Caramon begged, “you can’t find it! You’ll die if we don’t get out of here!”
“Very well,” the mage snarled. He lifted the Staff of Magius from the altar and stood up, reaching out his arm for his brother’s aid. “Bupu, show us the way,” he commanded.
“Raistlin, light your staff so we can follow you.” Tanis ordered. “I’m going to find the others.”
“Over there,” Caramon said grimly. “You’re going to need help with the Plainsman.”
Tanis flung his arm over his face as more stone fell, then jumped across the rubble. He found Riverwind collapsed where Goldmoon had been standing, Flint and Tasslehoff trying to get the Plainsman to his feet. There was nothing there now except a large area of blackened stone. Goldmoon had been totally consumed in the flames.
“Is he alive?” Tanis shouted.
“Yes!” Tas answered, his voice carrying shrilly above the noise. “But he won’t move!”
“I’ll talk to him,” Tanis said. “Follow the others. We’ll be there in a moment. Go on!”
Tasslehoff hesitated, but Flint, after a glance at Tanis’s face, put his hand on the kender’s arm. Snuffling, Tas turned and began running through the rubble with the dwarf.
Tanis knelt beside Riverwind, then the half-elf glanced up as Sturm appeared out of the gloom. “Go on,” Tanis said. “You’re in command now.”
Sturm hesitated. A column toppled over near them, showering them in rock dust. Tanis flung his body across Riverwind’s. “Go on!” he yelled at Sturm. “I’m holding you responsible!” Sturm drew a breath, laid a hand on Tanis’s shoulder, then ran toward the light from Raistlin’s staff.
The knight found the others huddled in a narrow hallway. The arched ceiling above them seemed to be holding together, but Sturm could hear thudding sounds above. The ground shook beneath their feet and little rivulets of water were beginning to seep through new cracks in the walls.
“Where’s Tanis?” Caramon asked.
“He’ll be along,” Sturm said harshly. “We’ll wait … a few moments at least.” He did not mention that he would wait until waiting had dissolved into death.
There was a shattering crack. Water began to gush through the wall, flooding the floor. Sturm was about to order the others out when a figure emerged from the collapsing doorway. It was Riverwind, carrying Tanis’s inert body in his arms.
“What happened?” Sturm leaped forward, his throat constricting. “He’s not—”
“He stayed with me,” Riverwind said softly. “I told him to leave me. I wanted to die—there with her. Then—a slab of stone. He never saw it—”
“I’ll carry him,” Caramon said.
“No!” Riverwind glared at the big warrior. His arms gripped Tanis’s body tighter. “I will carry him. We must go.”
“Yes! This way! We go now!” urged the gully dwarf. She led them out of the city that was dying a second time. They emerged from the dragon’s lair into the plaza, which was rapidly being submerged as Newsea poured into the crumbling cavern. The companions waded across, holding onto each other to keep from being swept away in the vicious current. Howling gully dwarves swarmed everywhere in a state of wild confusion, some getting caught in the current, others climbing up into the top stories of shaking buildings, still others dashing down the streets.
Sturm could think of only one way out. “Go east!” he shouted, gesturing down the broad street that led to the waterfall. He looked anxiously at Riverwind. The dazed Plainsman seemed oblivious to the commotion around him. Tanis was unconscious—maybe dead. Fear chilled Sturm’s blood, but he forcibly suppressed all emotions. The knight ran ahead, catching up with the twins.
“Our only chance is the lift!” he yelled.
Caramon nodded slowly. “It will mean a fight.”
“Yes, damn it!” said Sturm in exasperation, envisioning all of the draconians trying to leave this stricken city. “It will mean a fight! You got any better ideas?”
Caramon shook his head.
At a corner, Sturm waited to herd his limping, exhausted band in the right direction. Peering through the dust and mist, he could see the lift ahead of them. It was, as he had foreseen, surrounded by a dark, writhing mass of draconians. Fortunately, they were all intent on escape. They had to strike quickly, Sturm knew, to catch the creatures off guard. Timing was critical. He caught hold of the kender as Tas scurried past.
“Tas!” he yelled. “We’re going up the lift!”
Tasslehoff nodded to show he understood, then made a face to imitate a draconian and slashed his hand across his throat.
“When we get near,” Sturm shouted—“sneak around to where you can see the pot descending. When it starts to come down, signal me. We’ll attack when it reaches the ground.”
Tasslehoff’s topknot bobbed.
“Tell Flint!” Sturm finished, his voice nearly gone from shouting. Tas nodded again and raced off to find the dwarf. Sturm straightened his aching back with a sigh and continued on down the street. He could see about twenty or twenty-five draconians gathered in the courtyard, watching for the pot that would carry them to safety to begin its descent. Sturm imagined the confusion up on the top—draconians whipping and bullying the panic-stricken gully dwarves, forcing them into the lift. He hoped the confusion would last.
Sturm saw the brothers in the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. He joined them, glancing up nervously as a stone slab crashed down behind him. As Riverwind staggered out of the mist and dust, Sturm started to help him, but the Plainsman looked at the knight as if he had never seen him before in his life.
“Bring Tanis over here,” Sturm said. “You can lay him down and rest a moment. We’re going up in the lift and we’ll have a fight on our hands. Wait here. When we signal—”
“Do what you must,” Riverwind interrupted coldly. He laid Tanis’s body gently on the ground and slumped down beside him, burying his face in his hands.
Sturm hesitated. He started to kneel down by Tanis as Flint came to stand by his side.
“Go on. I’ll check on him,” the dwarf offered.
Sturm nodded thankfully. He saw Tasslehoff skitter across the courtyard and into a doorway. Looking toward the lift, he saw the draconians yelling and cursing into the mist as if they could hurry the pot’s descent.
Flint poked Sturm in the ribs. “How are we going to fight all of them?” he shouted.
“We’re not. You’re going to stay here with Riverwind and Tanis,” Sturm said. “Caramon and I can handle this,” he added, wishing he believed it himself.
“And I,” whispered the mage. “I still have my spells.” The knight did not answer. He distrusted magic and he distrusted Raistlin. Still, he had no choice—Caramon would not go into battle without his brother by his side. Tugging at his moustaches, Sturm restlessly loosened his sword. Caramon flexed his arms, clenching and unclenching his huge hands. Raistlin, his eyes closed, was lost in concentration. Bupu, hidden in a niche in the wall behind him, watched everything with wide, frightened eyes.
The pot swung into view, gully dwarves hanging from its sides. As Sturm hoped, the draconians on the ground began to fight among themselves, none wanting to be left behind. Their panic increased as great cracks ran through the pavement toward them. Water rose through the cracks. The city of Xak Tsaroth would soon be lying at the bottom of Newsea.
As the pot touched ground, the gully dwarves scurried over the sides and fled. The draconians clambered in, hitting and shoving each other.
“Now!” the knight yelled.
“Get out of my way!” the mage hissed. Pulling a
handful of sand from one of his pouches, he sprinkled it on the ground and whispered, “Ast tasark sinuralan krynaw,” moving his right hand in an arc in the direction of the draconians. First one, then a few more blinked their eyes and slumped to the ground in sleep, but others remained standing, glancing around in alarm. The mage ducked back into the doorway and, seeing nothing, the draconians turned back to the lift, stepping on the bodies of their sleeping comrades in their frantic rush. Raistlin leaned against the wall, closing his eyes wearily.
“How many?” he asked.
“Only about six.” Caramon drew his sword from its sheath.
“Just get in the damn pot!” Sturm yelled. “We’ll come back for Tanis when the fight’s ended.”
Under cover of the mist, the two warriors—swords drawn—covered the distance to the draconians within a few heartbeats, Raistlin stumbling behind. Sturm shouted his battle cry. At the sound, the draconians spun around in alarm.
And Riverwind raised his head.
The sound of battle penetrated Riverwind’s fog of despair. The Plainsman saw Goldmoon before him, dying in the blue flame. The dead expression left his face, replaced by a ferocity so bestial and terrifying that Bupu, still hiding in the doorway, screamed in alarm. Riverwind leaped to his feet. He didn’t even draw his sword but charged forward, empty-handed. He tore into the ranks of the scrambling draconians like a starving panther and began to kill. He killed with his bare hands, twisting, choking, gouging. Draconians stabbed at him with their swords; soon his leather tunic was soaked with blood. Yet he never stopped moving among them, never stopped killing. His face was that of a madman. The draconians in Riverwind’s path saw death in his eyes, and they also saw that their weapons had no effect. One broke and ran and, soon, another.
Sturm, finishing an opponent, looked up grimly, prepared to find six more coming at him. Instead he saw the enemy fleeing for their lives into the mist. Riverwind, covered with blood, collapsed onto the ground.
“The lift!” The mage pointed. It was hovering about two feet off the ground and starting to move upward. There were gully dwarves in the top pot coming down.
“Stop it!” Sturm yelled. Tasslehoff raced from his hiding place and leaped for the edge. He clung, his feet dangling, trying desperately to keep the empty pot from rising. “Caramon! Hang onto it!” Sturm ordered the warrior. “I’ll get Tanis!”
“I can hold it, but not for long.” The big man grunted, grasping onto the edge and digging his feet into the ground. He dragged the lift to a halt. Tasslehoff climbed inside, hoping his small body might add ballast.
Sturm ran back swiftly to Tanis. Flint was beside him, his axe in his hands.
“He’s alive!” the dwarf called as the knight approached.
Sturm paused a moment to thank some god, somewhere, then he and Flint lifted the unconscious half-elf and carried him to the pot. They placed him inside, then returned for Riverwind. It took four of them to get Riverwind’s bloody body into the lift. Tas tried without much success to stanch the wounds with one of his handkerchiefs.
“Hurry!” Caramon gasped. Despite all his efforts, the pot was rising slowly.
“Get in!” Sturm ordered Raistlin.
The mage glanced at him coldly and ran back into the mist. Within moments, he reappeared, carrying Bupu in his arms. The knight grabbed the trembling gully dwarf and flung her into the lift. Bupu, whimpering, crouched on the bottom, still clutching her bag to her chest. Raistlin climbed over the side. The pot continued to rise; Caramon’s arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets.
“Go on,” Sturm ordered Caramon, the knight being the last to leave the field of battle as usual. Caramon knew better than to argue. He heaved himself up, nearly tipping the pot over. Flint and Raistlin dragged him in. Without Caramon holding it, the pot lunged upward rapidly. Sturm caught hold of it with both hands and clung to the side as it rose into the air. After two or three tries, he managed to swing a leg over the edge and climbed in with Caramon’s help.
The knight knelt down beside Tanis and was relieved beyond expression to see the half-elf stir and moan. Sturm grasped the half-elf and held him close. “You have no idea how glad I am you’re back!” the knight said, his voice husky.
“Riverwind—” Tanis murmured groggily.
“He’s here. He saved your life. He saved all our lives.” Sturm talked rapidly, almost incoherently. “We’re in the lift, going up. The city’s destroyed. Where are you hurt?”
“Broken ribs, feels like.” Wincing in pain, Tanis looked over at Riverwind, still conscious, despite his wounds. “Poor man,” Tanis said softly. “Goldmoon. I saw her die, Sturm. There was nothing I could do.”
Sturm helped the half-elf rise to his feet. “We have the Disks,” the knight said firmly. “It was what she wanted, what she fought for. They’re in my pack. Are you sure you can stand?”
“Yes,” Tanis said. He drew a ragged, painful breath. “We have the Disks, whatever good that will do us.”
They were interrupted by the shrill screams as the second pot, gully dwarves flying like banners, went past them. The gully dwarves shook their fists and cursed the companions. Bupu laughed, then she stood up, looking at Raistlin in concern. The mage leaned wearily against the side of the pot, his lips moving silently, calling to mind another spell.
Sturm peered up through the mist. “I wonder how many will be at the top?” he asked.
Tanis, too, glanced up. “Most have fled, I hope,” he said. He caught his breath sharply and clutched at his ribs.
There was a sudden lurch. The pot fell about a foot, stopped with a jolt, then slowly started to rise again. The companions looked at each other in alarm.
“The mechanism—”
“It’s either starting to collapse or the draconians have recognized us and are trying to destroy it,” Tanis said.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Sturm said in bitter frustration. He stared down at the pack containing the Disks, which lay at his feet. “Except pray to these gods—”
The pot lurched and dropped again. For a moment it hung, suspended, swaying in the mist-shrouded air. Then it started up, moving slowly, shuddering. The companions could see the edge of the rock ledge and the opening above them. The pot rose inch by creaking inch, each of those inside mentally supporting every link of the chain that was carrying them up to—
“Draconians!” cried Tas shrilly, pointing up.
Two draconians stared down at them. As the pot crept closer and closer, Tanis saw the draconians crouch, ready to jump.
“They’re going to leap down here! The pot won’t hold!” Flint rumbled. “We’ll crash!”
“That may be their intent,” Tanis said. “They have wings.”
“Stand back,” Raistlin said, staggering to his feet.
“Raist, don’t!” His brother caught hold of him. “You’re too weak.”
“I have strength for one more spell,” the mage whispered. “But it may not work. If they see I am magi, they may be able to resist my magic.”
“Hide behind Caramon’s shield,” Tanis said swiftly. The big man thrust his body and his shield in front of his brother.
The mist swirled around them, concealing them from draconian eyes but also preventing them from seeing the draconians. The pot rose, inch by inch, the chain creaking and lurching upward. Raistlin stood poised behind Caramon’s shield, his strange eyes staring, waiting for the mists to part.
Cool air touched Tanis’s cheek. A breeze swirled the mists apart, just for an instant. The draconians were so close they could have almost touched them! The draconians saw them at the same time. One spread its wings and floated down toward the pot, sword in hand, shrieking in triumph.
Raistlin spoke. Caramon moved his shield and the mage spread his thin fingers. A ball of white shot from his hands, hitting the draconian squarely in the chest. The ball exploded, covering the creature in sticky webbing. Its cry of triumph changed to a horrifying shriek as the webbing tangled its wings. It plum
meted into the mist, its body striking the edge of the iron pot as it fell. The pot began to rock and sway.
“There’s still one more!” Raistlin gasped, sinking to his knees. “Hold me up, Caramon, help me stand. The mage began to cough violently, blood trickling from his mouth.
“Raist!” his brother pleaded, dropping his shield and catching his fainting twin. “Stop! There’s nothing you can do. You’ll kill yourself!”
A look of command was enough. The warrior supported his brother as the mage began to speak again the eerie-sounding language of magic.
The remaining draconian hesitated, still hearing the yells of its fallen companion. It knew the human was a magic-user. It also knew that it could probably resist the magic. But this human facing it was like no human magic-user it had ever encountered. The human’s body seemed weak practically to the point of death, but a strong aura of power surrounded him.
The mage raised his hand, pointing at the creature. The draconian cast one last, vicious glance at the companions, then turned and fled. Raistlin, unconscious, sank into his brother’s arms as the pot completed its journey to the surface.
22
Bupu’s gift. An ominous sight.
Just as they pulled Riverwind out of the lift, a sharp tremor shook the floor of the Hall of the Ancestors. The companions, dragging Riverwind with them, scrambled back as the floor cracked. The floor gave way and tumbled down, carrying the great wheel and the iron pots down into the mist below.
“This whole place is caving in!” Caramon shouted in alarm, holding his brother in his arms.
“Run! Back to the Temple of Mishakal.” Tanis gasped with pain.
“Trusting in the gods again, huh?” Flint said. Tanis could not answer.
Sturm took hold of Riverwind’s arms and started to lift him, but the Plainsman shook his head and shoved him away. “My wounds are not serious. I can manage. Leave me.” He remained slumped on the shattered floor. Tanis glanced questioningly at Sturm. The knight shrugged. The Solamnic Knights considered suicide noble and honorable. The elves considered it blasphemy.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 28