Draconians were born and bred to battle, however, and the bozak was quick to recover from the shock. He used his magic first, casting a spell on the warrior who appeared to be the greatest threat. A beam of blinding light shot from the bozak’s clawed hand and struck Sturm, who cried out, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the ground, groaning.
Seeing the knight down, the bozak turned to Caramon. The creature extended his huge wings, making the bozak seem even bigger, and charged, snarling and swinging his sword in powerful, slashing arcs. Caramon parried the first blow with his sword; the force of the attack jarring his arm to the elbow.
Before Caramon could recover, the bozak flipped around and struck Caramon with his massive tail, knocking his feet out from under him and sending Caramon to his knees. As he tried frantically to scramble to his feet, he looked up to see the bozak rounding on him, sword raised. Caramon raised his own sword and the two came together with a crash.
Raistlin crouched unseen in his hiding place near the entrance. Scattering his rose petals, he cast a spell of enchanted sleep on the three baaz who were nearest. He was not particularly confident of the results, for he’d tried this and other spells on draconians before and they had been able to resist the magic’s influence.
Two of the baaz stumbled, and one gaped and lowered his sword, but only for a moment. He managed to shake off sleep and charged into the fray. The other two remained on their feet, and worse, they realized a wizard had tried to spellbind them. They turned around, swords in hand, and saw Raistlin.
Raistlin was about to hurl fiery death at them when he found, to his horror, that the magical words to the spell eluded him. Frantically, he searched his memory, but the words were not there. He bitterly cursed his own folly. He had been more intent on watching Tika and his brother last night than he had been on studying his spells.
By now, one of the draconians was on him, swinging his sword in a vicious attack. Raistlin, desperate, lifted his staff to block the blow, praying that the staff did not shatter.
As the sword hit the staff, there came a flash, a crackling sound, and a howl. The baaz dropped his sword and danced about, snarling and wringing his hand in pain. Seeing the fate that had befallen his comrade, the other baaz approached Raistlin and the staff with caution, but he kept on coming. Raistlin put his back against the rocks and held his staff before him.
None of the draconians had bothered with the kender, thinking he was not a threat and they could leave him for last. One of the baaz ran over to Sturm, either to finish him off, or to loot the body, or both.
“Hey, lizard-lips!” yelled Tasslehoff, and, dashing up, he struck the baaz in the back of the head with his hoopak.
The blow did little to the thick-skulled draconian except annoy him. Sword in hand, he turned around to gut the kender, but he couldn’t seem to catch him. Tasslehoff leaped first here, then there, taunting the baaz, and daring him to try to hit him.
The baaz swung his sword time and again, but wherever he was, the kender was always somewhere else, calling him names and thwacking him with the hoopak. Between the jumping and the ducking, and name-calling that included “scaly butt” and “dragon turd,” the baaz lost all reason and gave chase.
Tasslehoff led the draconian away from Sturm, but unfortunately, in his excitement, the kender did not watch where he was going and found himself perilously near the swamp. Making one last jump to avoid being sliced in half by the enraged baaz, Tas slipped on a rock, and after much arm-flailing and flapping, he toppled with a cry and a splash into the swamp water.
The baaz was about to wade in after him, when a sharp command from the bozak recalled the draconian to his senses. After a moment’s hesitation, the baaz left the kender, who had disappeared in the murk, and ran to help his comrade finish the magic-user.
Caramon and the bozak exchanged a series of furious blows that caused sparks to fly from their blades. The two were evenly matched, and Caramon might have prevailed in the end, for the bozak had been up carousing all night and was in sorry shape. Fear for his brother and his desperate need to finish this battle made Caramon reckless. He thought he saw an opening and charged in, only to realize too late that it had been a feint. His sword went flying and landed in the water behind him with a heart-rending splash. Caramon cast an anguished glance at his twin and then leaped to one side and went rolling on the ground as the bozak came at him.
Caramon kicked out with his boot and caught the bozak in the knee. The bozak gave a pain-filled grunt and kicked Caramon in turn, right in the gut, driving the air out of Caramon’s lungs and leaving him momentarily helpless. The bozak raised his sword and was about to deal the death blow when a hideous, agonized scream coming from behind him caused the bozak to check his swing and look around.
Caramon lifted his head to see. Both he and the bozak stared in horror.
Pale, cold eyes cloaked in the shredded tatters of night hovered near Raistlin. One draconian lay on the ground, already crumbling to ashes. The other baaz was screaming horribly as a hand as pale and cold as the disembodied eyes twisted the creature’s arm. The baaz shriveled beneath the wraith’s fell touch and then toppled over in its stony death throes.
Caramon struggled to try to regain his feet, certain that his brother would be the next victim of the wraiths. To his astonishment, the wraiths paid no attention to Raistlin, who was flattened against the rocks, his staff held out before him. The lifeless eyes and the trailing darkness dropped like an awful cloud over the bozak. Shrieking in agony, the bozak writhed in the deadly grasp. He twisted and fought to escape but was held fast.
As the bozak’s body began to stiffen, Caramon remembered what happened to bozaks when they died, and he crawled, slipped and slid in his scramble to put as much ground between him and the corpse as possible. The bones of the bozak exploded. The foul heat and shock of the blast struck Caramon, knocking him flat and momentarily stunning him.
He shook his head to clear it and rose hastily to his feet, only to find the battle had ended. Two of the surviving draconians were fleeing back into the fortress, running for their lives. The wraiths flowed in after them and Caramon heard their death shrieks. He gave a sigh of relief, then froze.
Two of the pale eyes hovered near Raistlin.
Caramon ran toward his twin, though he had no idea how to save him.
Then he saw the eyes lower, almost as if the undead was bowing to his brother. The eyes disappeared, leaving behind a bone-numbing chill and the dust of their victims.
“Are you hurt?” Caramon gasped. “No. You?” Raistlin asked tersely. He gave his brother a quick glance that apparently answered his question, for he shifted his gaze to Sturm. “What about him?”
“I don’t know. He was hit by some sort of magic spell. Raist, those wraiths—”
“Forget the wraiths. Is he hurt badly?” Raistlin asked, shoving past his brother.
“I don’t know,” Caramon said, limping after him. “I was kind of busy.”
He reached out and took hold of his brother’s arm, dragging Raistlin to a stop.
“That thing bowed to you. Did you summon it?”
Raistlin regarded his brother with a cold stare, a slight sardonic smile on his lips. “You have an inflated notion of my powers, my brother, to think that I could command the undead. Such a spell is far beyond my capabilities, I assure you.”
“But Raist, I saw it—”
“Bah! You were imagining things.” Raistlin glowered. “How many times must I tell you that I do not like to be touched!”
Caramon released his grip on his twin.
Raistlin hurried off to check on Sturm. Caramon could not remember his brother having ever been this worried about the knight before. Caramon had a feeling that Raistlin was more worried about Prince Grallen than Sturm. Caramon trailed after him, just as Tasslehoff, sputtering and spitting out muck, pulled himself up out of the water.
“Ugh!” said the kender, dragging sopping wet hair out of his eyes. “What a stupid p
lace to put a swamp!
How’s Sturm? What did I miss?”
Raistlin had his hand on the knight’s pulse. His breastplate was scorched, but it had protected him from the worst of the blast. At Raistlin’s touch, Sturm moved his hands and his eyes opened. He tried to stand up.
“Raist,” said Caramon, helping Sturm to his feet, “if you didn’t summon them, then why didn’t the wraiths attack us? Why just attack the draconians?”
“I don’t know, Caramon,” Raistlin said in exasperation. “I am not an expert on the undead.”
Seeing his brother still expected an answer, Raistlin sighed. “There are many explanations. You know as well as I do that undead are often left behind as guardians. Perhaps the draconians took some sort of sacred artifact, or perhaps, as the knight is so fond of saying, evil turned upon itself.”
Caramon seemed unconvinced. “Yeah, maybe.” He eyed his brother, then said abruptly, “We should clear out of here, before the rest of those baaz come back.”
Raistlin looked at the cave’s opening, which resembled the grinning jaw of a skull, and he fancied for a moment that the ruins were laughing. “I do not think the others will be coming back, but you are right. We should leave.” He glanced around at the bundles of loot lying on the ground, and shook his head. “A pity we do not have time to go through this. Who knows what valuable objects they found down there?”
“I wouldn’t touch it if you paid me,” said Caramon, giving the bundles a dark glance. “All right, Your Highness. Lead the way.”
Sturm was groggy but appeared to be uninjured, except for some superficial burns on his hands and arms. He plunged into the swamp, wading ankle-deep through the water. The mists rolled and twined about him.
“I just came out of there,” Tas protested. “It’s not as much fun as you might imagine.” He shrugged his shoulders and picked up his hoopak. “Oh well. I guess I can’t get any wetter.” He jumped in and went floundering after Sturm.
Raistlin grimaced. Kilting up his robes around his knees, he thrust his staff into the murk to test the bottom and then stepped gingerly into the dark water.
Caramon came after him, his hand ready to steady his brother. “It’s just that I thought I heard that wraith say something to you, Raist. I thought I heard it call you ‘Master’.”
“What a vivid imagination you have, my brother,” Raistlin returned caustically. “Perhaps, when this is over, you should write a book.”
16
Tika’s warning. Riverwind’s dilemma.
The Refugees decide.
aurana was in the cavern she shared with Tika, lying on the bed. She had been up a day and a night, out searching for her missing friend and the kender, and she was exhausted. Still, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking back over everything Tika had said, everything she’d done the last time they’d been together. The clues were there, right in front of her. Laurana should have known immediately that Tika meant to go off after Caramon and that Tas would go with her. She should have done something to stop them.
“If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, thinking about … other things …”
Other things such as Tanis. Laurana had just shut her eyes and was starting to drift off, when Goldmoon’s voice brought her wide awake. “Laurana! They’ve found her!”
Two Plainsmen carried Tika on a make-shift litter into the cave where the sick and injured were tended. People gathered to see, and murmurs of pity and concern rose from the women, while the men shook their heads. They rested the litter gently on the floor. Riverwind built up the fire, as his wife brought cool water. Laurana hovered over Tika.
“Where did they find her?”
“Lying on the bank of the stream,” said Goldmoon.
“Was Tas with her?”
“She was alone. No sign of the kender.”
Tika moaned in pain and stirred restlessly. Her eyes were wide open and hectically brilliant, but she saw only her feverish world. When Goldmoon bent over her, Tika screamed and began to strike her savagely with her fists. It took Riverwind and the two Plainsmen to hold her down, and even then she tried to struggle to free herself.
“What’s the matter with her?” Laurana asked, alarmed.
“Look at those scratches. She’s been attacked by some sort of wild animal,” Goldmoon answered, bathing Tika’s forehead in cool water. “A bear or a mountain lion, maybe.”
“No,” said Riverwind. “Draconian.”
His wife raised her head, looking at him in consternation. “How can you tell?”
Riverwind pointed to several smears of gray ash on Tika’s leather armor. “The claw marks are only on her arms and legs, whereas a wild beast would have left its marks all over her body. The draconian was trying to subdue her, to rape her …”
Laurana shuddered. Riverwind looked very grim and his wife deeply troubled.
“What’s the matter?” Laurana asked. “She’ll be all right, won’t she? You can heal her …”
“Yes, Laurana, yes,” said Goldmoon, reassuringly. “Leave her with me, all of you.” She smoothed Tika’s red curls, damp with sweat, and placed her hand on the medallion of Mishakal she wore around her neck. “You should call a meeting of the Council, husband.”
“I need to talk to Tika first.”
Goldmoon hesitated, then said, “Very well. I will summon you when she is awake, but only talk to her for a little while. She is in need of food and rest.”
“Let me stay,” Laurana pleaded. “This is my fault.”
Goldmoon shook her head. “You need to go find Elistan.”
Laurana didn’t understand, but she could see that both were worried over something. Laurana accompanied the chieftain out of the shelter.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Tika was attacked by a draconian,” Riverwind said. “The attack must have occurred here. Or near here.”
Laurana suddenly understood the terrible implications. “The gods have mercy on us! That means our enemies have found a way into the valley! Goldmoon was right—I must tell Elistan—”
“Do so quietly,” Riverwind cautioned “Bring him back with you. Say nothing to anyone else, not yet. We don’t want to start a panic.”
“No, of course not,” Laurana said, and hastened off.
People were gathered at a respectful distance outside the cave, waiting for news. Tika, with her ready laughter and her cheerful disposition, was a favorite of nearly everyone in the camp, not counting the High Theocrat.
Maritta stopped Laurana as she left the cave, asking in concern how Tika was doing. Laurana saw that it would be easier to make a general announcement.
“She is very sick right now, but Goldmoon is with her and she will recover,” Laurana told the crowd. “She needs rest and quiet.”
“What happened to her?” asked Maritta.
“We won’t know until she wakes up,” Laurana hedged, and, managing to extricate herself, she went off in search of Elistan.
She met him on his way to Goldmoon.
“I heard about Tika,” he said. “How is she?”
“She will be well, thank the gods,” said Laurana. “Riverwind asks to speak to you.”
Elistan looked at her searchingly. He saw the worry and fear in her face, and he was about to ask her what was wrong, then thought better of it. “I will come at once.”
They returned to find a few people still lingering outside the cave. Laurana assured them once more that Tika was going to be fine and added that the best thing they could do to help her was to include her in their prayers.
Riverwind stood at the cave entrance. As Laurana and Elistan came up to speak to him, Goldmoon drew aside the blanket and bade them come in.
“Her fever has broken and her wounds are healing, but she is still shaken from her ordeal. She wants to speak to you, though. She insists on it.”
Tika lay wrapped in blankets near the fire. She was still so pale that her freckles, which were the bane of her existence, stood out in stark contra
st to her white skin. Yet she tried to sit up when the others entered.
“Riverwind! I have to talk to you!” she said urgently, reaching out a trembling hand. “Please, listen to me—”
“So I shall,” said Riverwind, kneeling beside her, “but you must drink some of this broth first and then lie down, or my wife will throw us both out into the cold.”
Tika drank the broth, and some color came back to her face. Laurana knelt down beside her. “I was so worried about you.”
“I’m sorry,” Tika said remorsefully. “Goldmoon tells me that everyone was out looking for Tas and me. I never meant … I didn’t think …” She gave a deep sigh and set the bowl down. Her face took on a look of resolve. “As it turned out, it was a good thing that we went.”
“Wait a moment,” said Riverwind. “Before you tell your tale, where is the kender? Is Tasslehoff safe?”
“As safe as can be, I suppose,” said Tika bleakly. “He’s with Raistlin, Caramon, and Sturm. If you can call him Sturm anymore …”
Seeing their look of concern, Tika sighed. “I’ll start from the beginning.”
She told her story, how she’d decided to go after Caramon to try to talk some sense into him.
“It was stupid; I know that now,” she added ruefully.
How she and Tas entered the tunnel that went underneath the mountain, how they came out at the other end of the tunnel to find themselves in Skullcap with a dead dragon, hordes of draconians, and Grallen, prince of Thorbardin, formerly Sturm Brightblade.
“The helm he put on was cursed, or enchanted, or something. I didn’t understand, and Raistlin wouldn’t talk about it,” Tika said.
Elistan looked grave, Riverwind doubtful, and Goldmoon anxious. She placed a cool cloth on Tika’s forehead and said she should rest.
Tika took away the cloth. “I know you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either except I saw it for myself. I even talked to this … this Prince Grallen. Caramon said the helm was waiting for someone to come along and put it on so that it could force the person go to Thorbardin, to tell the king that the battle was lost.”
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