The crowd rumbled with excitement.
Springing to his feet, Tossak howled in fury and humiliation as he stomped toward Sturm, who was half-stumbling backward.
A heavy blow swatted the Solamnic across the face, knocking him down. A kick sent him rolling. He caught himself at the edge of the bridge just in time. Sturm tried to regain his footing but Tossak was right beside him. The minotaur clamped a heavy hand on one of Sturm's ankles and lifted him up, dangling the young Solamnic over the edge of the liquid fire pit.
Squirming, windmilling his arms futilely, Sturm looked down and saw nothing but heaving, molten lava.
Intense heat washed over Sturm.
Tossak raised his head triumphantly, showing off his dangling prize to the crowd. His bestial countenance cracked open in a leering grin. He filled his lungs and let loose an ear-splitting bellow.
The crowd roared back.
The minotaur fighter lifted his gauntleted hand and triggered the dagger concealed along the back of his thumb. The sharp, curved blade flicked open. Tossak cocked his arm and moved to deliver the piercing blow that would end the life of his impotent opponent.
* * * * *
Tasslehoff had been watching the duel with enormous fascination. But something was missing from the event, he felt, something that would even the odds, as it were. The kender squirmed in his seat, impatiently awaiting some unexpected turn of events.
Tossak held Sturm aloft with one massive hand, dangling him over the edge of the bridge, ready to drop him into the Pit of Doom. As the huge minotaur opened the deadly piercing blade on the thumb of his mandoll gauntlet and gestured to the crowd that Sturm was going to meet his demise, Tas noticed a flock of shadows flying across the arena.
The rest of the crowd noticed at the same time.
So did Tossak.
* * * * *
A curved club, expertly aimed, struck Tossak in the arm that held Sturm, while another, this one spiked with thorns, smashed into his face.
Clawing at his fresh wounds, Tossak dropped Sturm.
Sturm fell, hurtling towards the fiery lava. But a figure swooped under him and caught him. The dazed Solamnic felt himself borne upward.
All was chaos and outraged shouts.
Standing agape, Fesz was profoundly shaken. It could only be seen as a bad omen, this second escape by a human, and this one so close to the time chosen by the Nightmaster for the coming of Sargonnas.
Tas hopped around, his eyes popping at the spectacle. "There he is!" he shouted to Dogz and Fesz, pointing to a muscular figure with long brown hair who was clutched in the talons of one of the kyrie. "That's the guy I was telling you about—that's Caramon!"
A minotaur guard dashed toward the raiding party and brandished a forpann, swinging the two-handed trident in a wide circle, hoping to hit one of the despised bird-people.
Two spiked clubs struck him simultaneously. The minotaur toppled over and, with a horrible scream sank into the lava pit as the bird-people rose into the sky and soared out of the arena.
Blood streaming from the wounds that would leave his visage forever carved with scars, Tossak stood on the bridge, shaking his gauntleted fist at the sky.
* * * * *
On Karthay, the Nightmaster was growing concerned about the increasing number of bad omens.
He had already discerned that it was a waste of time to torture the human female. Furthermore, he wasn't particularly interested in torturing her.
He had far more significant plans for her. She would serve as bait for the other humans reported to be in the area. Failing that, she would be useful in the spell that would bring Sargonnas into the world, useful as a sacrificial victim.
The young female had proved to be a handful ever since she had been spotted skulking around the perimeter of the Nightmaster's camp in the volcanic ruins of the once fabled city of Karthay.
Somehow, though she was barely half the size of an average minotaur, the human female had held her own against them, running one of the minotaurs through the neck with her sword and cutting off the hand of another before being captured. Dragged into camp shouting insults, the slender, dark-haired female had refused to tell the Nightmaster anything about herself or her mission.
It was only through his excellent network of spies and assassins that the Nightmaster discovered she was the half-sister of the young mage Raistlin of Solace—Kitiara Uth Matar. And if Kitiara was on Karthay, Raistlin Majere wouldn't be far behind.
Kitiara was being held within sight of the Nightmaster's camp in a makeshift cell, a large cage of slatted wood brought from Lacynos to hold animals. At first, she was a raging nuisance, continually hissing and spitting at the minotaurs who stood guard over her. The Nightmaster hadn't fed Kitiara for several days now, and she was beginning to quiet down somewhat.
It was not Kitiara Uth Matar who worried the Nightmaster.
It was the feeling, like a stone in his heart, that something was going terribly wrong. First there was the kender and his two human companions who had bought the crushed jalopwort from the renegade Argotz. Argotz had been dealt with, and the kender was captured and turned into an evil partner. Fesz vouched for the allegiance of Tasslehoff Burrfoot and was on his way to Karthay with him.
The two human companions were supposed to have drowned in the Blood Sea, yet somehow they had survived and turned up in the prison in Atossa. Unfortunately the Nightmaster had found out about that too late. By some method so mysterious that the prison officials still hadn't figured it out, one of the humans had managed to escape. This was Raistlin's twin brother, Caramon. That was bad enough.
Now came the news that the other human had escaped, too—by a startling method. Condemned to die in the Pit of Doom, the other human, a would-be Solamnic Knight named Sturm Brightblade, had been rescued at the last moment by an airborne assault of kyrie. Despite the best efforts of the minotaur soldiers, the kyrie had escaped to the north, to their hidden stronghold in the mountains.
According to the message sent by Fesz, the evil kender Tasslehoff Burrfoot swore he had seen Caramon Majere directing the audacious daylight rescue operation.
The two humans, Caramon and Sturm, must have forged some kind of alliance with the bird-people, dedicated enemies of the minotaurs.
That, the Nightmaster reflected, was truly disturbing.
Reports of these developments had made the Supreme Circle uneasy. The orughi were proving skittish about committing large numbers of troops to the command of the minotaurs. The ogre tribes had said outright that they would not participate in the drive to enslave the world until they had seen evidence of the existence of Sargonnas.
Other promised allegiances were also shaky.
The Nightmaster stooped to the ground and sifted gray volcanic ash through his fingers. He was surrounded by a petrified city, with steps that led nowhere, columns that supported nothing. A long table and a chair stood near a flickering fire. A shelf held books as well as beakers of spell ingredients. The room was more an arrangement of furniture than a room, with no walls, doors, or ceiling. It stood in the middle of the ruins, open to the black, forbidding sky.
This part of the ancient city had once been the entrance to the great library. Now it was nothing but cold volcanic rock.
The night wind stirred the Nightmaster's feathers and bells. He looked over at the human female in her wooden cage. Even without having eaten for several days, Kitiara was fueled by energy and restlessly paced her cell.
The Nightmaster looked over at his two highest-ranking acolytes, the two members of the High Three who had remained behind when Fesz journeyed to Mithas. They huddled together, sleeping sitting up, draped by one blanket.
Minotaur soldiers patrolled the perimeter of the camp.
Sighing, the Nightmaster looked up at the sky, the two moons, and the stars.
Three more days, two more nights.
Only a few hours remained before dawn. A couple more hours of numbing cold, and then, after sunrise, the merci
less heat would return. The Nightmaster was worried, but he retained his faith in Sargonnas. Wrapping himself in his cloak, the Nightmaster lay down on the cold ground and slept soundly.
Chapter 13
The Isle of Karthay
The Damaged Castor had limped back to the mouth of the bay and was about to enter the open sea. Watching the boat from shore, Tanis adjusted the sack slung across his back, a small store of provisions provided by Captain Nugetre. Nearby stood Flint, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to stretch out the soreness in his leg without anyone noticing. But Kirsig watched the dwarf solicitously.
Yuril, plus the four other sailors from the Castor who had decided crewing on a disabled ship was not to their taste, worked near the water's edge, dragging their two small boats up onto the beach. Tanis hoped they hadn't traded one bad job for worse.
Standing apart from the others, his back to the sea, Raistlin surveyed the terrain.
The narrow strip of rock-strewn beach gave way to low sand dunes. Beyond these, the land began rising and breaking up into a maze of ravines and plateaus. As far as the eye could see the terrain looked barren and uninviting.
Although it was only midmorning, the sun burned hot and bright in the sky. A dry wind stirred up the sand on the shore. Tanis felt the grit invade his throat.
A hand brushed the half-elf's arm. It belonged to Raistlin. The young mage had a disconcerting habit of moving around so quietly it was difficult to keep track of him.
Raistlin didn't seem dismayed by the tough, broken landscape. "I judge that we have about a two-day journey inland before we reach the ruins of the dead city," said the mage to Tanis in a low voice. "Do you think Flint's leg will hold up?"
"His leg is much better," replied Tanis. "The old dwarf will probably outlast all of us."
Both men looked over to where Kirsig hovered around Flint, apparently offering a poultice for his leg while the dwarf grumbled and attempted to shoo her away. But not too strenuously, Tanis noticed. He and Raistlin exchanged a grin.
When Tanis turned back, his momentary good humor faded. "The question I have, Raistlin, is where are we headed? You haven't told us very much about the spell that you say will open a portal to let this evil god, or whatever it is, into this world."
Raistlin caught not only the impatience but also the hint of skepticism in Tanis's voice. "Surely in the land of your mother's people you learned something about the old gods," the young mage answered, knowing that any reference to Tanis's divided heritage risked offending the half-elf. Raistlin saw that his words had hit their mark, for color rose in Tanis's cheeks.
"I can't vouch for whether the spell I uncovered will open a portal, or whether the old gods such as Sargonnas are more than mere fairy tales," the mage continued brusquely. "I do know that the spell seems to be ancient and powerful magic. And I know that if there is any chance of Sargonnas entering this world, it behooves us to try to prevent it."
"What about Sturm, Caramon, and Tasslehoff? Are they somewhere on this island?" Tanis asked. "Aren't they the reason we came all this way?"
"I can't wave a magic wand to see if they're here or not," snapped Raistlin, "but you heard what Kirsig said about the minotaurs forming alliances with other races. If, as I suspect, the minotaurs are caught up in their age-old visions of conquest and are trying to bring Sargonnas into the world to help them, it wouldn't matter where Caramon and the others are. We're all in dire jeopardy."
Raistlin paused, taking a deep breath. Visibly calmed, he continued. 'The jalopwort was just one of the ingredients necessary for the spell. The magic also calls for the sacrifice of a victim amenable to Sargonnas. My guess is that may be the reason why Caramon, Sturm, and Tas were brought to this part of the world. One of them may be the intended offering.
"We don't have much time. The spell can only occur during certain conjunctions of the sun, the moons, and the stars. These conjunctions occur not twice in one hundred years, and the next is only three nights away.
"Now let me show you a map I copied from an antique atlas in Morath's library."
Tanis waited, convinced. With Flint and Kirsig, who had overheard the tense discussion and joined them, the half-elf looked at a scrap of parchment that Raistlin had produced. It was covered with squiggly lines and geographic symbols. Yuril and the other sailors came hurrying up, and the small group gathered round the young mage.
"I think the spell will be cast somewhere in or near the ancient ruins of the city of Karthay," said Raistlin. "The city was destroyed by a volcano during the Cataclysm and buried under tons of ash and lava. It is a sacred site of the minotaur nation." He pointed to an area on the map marked as a mountain range. "Sargonnas is the god of deserts, fires, and volcanoes," he added.
"Based on this map, I think we can get there in time, but the journey promises to be dangerous. Anyone who does not relish that prospect should feel free to stay here and wait for us." At this, Raistlin looked up, not at Flint, but at Yuril and the female sailors.
Yuril and her small band had apparently already discussed the risks. "I have a debt to repay," spoke the sinewy sailor, "and my friends here are no strangers to adventure. I speak for us all when I say we cast our lot with you." Yuril delivered her statement proudly, one hand on the hilt of the short sword she wore at her waist. The muscles stood out on her bronzed forearms.
We are fortunate to have her and the others, thought Tanis.
"This dead city," Flint spoke up, "will probably be well guarded, and Sturm and Caramon and that damnable kender along with it. What do you plan to do once we get there?"
"I don't know," admitted Raistlin. "I won't know until we see how many soldiers are guarding the area. Between us," he added, looking at Tanis, "we should be able to come up with a plan."
Tanis felt his heart constrict as he thought once more of the missing Kitiara. He turned away from the group, pretending to scan the inhospitable terrain.
* * * * *
Following Raistlin's map, they picked up a trail along a river that had long ago flowed to the sea from the Worldscap Mountains. Now it had dried up, leaving only cracked, sun-baked earth.
The river route led them down one side and up the other of countless ravines and gashes in the earth. When they could, they kept to the dusty riverbed. Other times, they followed the dry river from paths above, proceeding single-file on narrow ridgetops. All day they stuck to their course, making such slow and uncertain progress traveling up and down and then doubling back that Tanis was left confused as to what, if any, headway they were making. Pausing as they reached one of several plateaus, the half-elf was glad to see that the Blood Sea had receded into the distance while a range of towering peaks had drawn somewhat nearer.
The land appeared empty—empty of greenery, animals, indeed of all life. The wind gusted at the higher elevations, strong and dry, howling into their faces and driving grit into their eyes and throats. The sun glared overhead, creating ovenlike heat that reached into all but the deepest recesses of the rocks. Whenever they plunged abruptly downward and briefly luxuriated in cool shadows, they felt a hint of something worse—the bitter chill of the territory at night.
By late afternoon, the small group was exhausted and dispirited. Raistlin and Tanis headed the column, in effect sharing leadership. Flint and Yuril brought up the rear. Trekking along the bottom of a ravine, the companions trudged along in silence, no longer so confident of the path they had chosen.
All of a sudden Raistlin and Tanis rounded a bend to find a sheer wall that loomed before them with no possibility of being scaled. To both their left and right stretched fifty vertical feet of smooth rock. Once again the group had no option but to turn back and retrace their steps.
By the time Flint and Yuril had climbed out of the ravine and Raistlin had made another sighting of the dry, winding riverbed below, the sun was sinking out of sight. Tanis felt the first chill as darkness began to settle over the land. He saw Flint sink down to the ground, his face lined with swea
t and dirt. Immediately several of the sailors followed suit.
Next to him, Raistlin peered at the parchment map, turning it around in his hands, trying to decipher which was the best route.
"The old river keeps splitting off and changing direction," the young mage said wearily.
"Your map must be a hundred years out of date," said Tanis, "Who knows how many rockslides and earthquakes have come along since then?"
Raistlin frowned at him.
"I don't think any of us can go much farther today," said the half-elf softly, indicating the group that had collapsed on the ground behind him.
"I told you," said the mage sharply, "that if we don't get to Karthay inside of two days, there may be grave consequences."
"Perhaps there will be enough light from the twin moons later tonight to permit us to cover some ground," said Tanis diplomatically. "But right now it would be best for us to stop to eat and rest. Besides, I thought I spotted some ant-lion pits during the day, and we wouldn't want to stumble into one in the dark."
Flint had come up behind them. "Ant-lion pits?" said the dwarf worriedly. "I agree with Tanis. Let's make camp for the night."
Raistlin hesitated.
"There'd be more shelter down in one of the ravines," added Flint, "but we'd also be more vulnerable to attack." Tanis nodded.
With a heavy sigh, Raistlin gave in. His pale, tense face suddenly showed a deep exhaustion. Tanis felt quite certain that the young mage couldn't have lasted much longer.
Everybody was happy with the decision.
As night fell, the temperature continued to drop. Now the wind cut into them bitterly. They made camp behind a line of boulders. Although the boulders afforded them only meager protection from the biting wind, they did offer another advantage, Flint noted. "In the dark, any attacker will find it hard to distinguish which is stone and which is flesh," the dwarf said, "and we will appear to be twice our actual number."
[Meetings 06] - The Companions Page 22
