“In the name of Istar, be quiet!” Sturm hissed.
“I’m trying,” Caramon muttered, finally climbing over the edge. Sturm gave his hand to Goldmoon. Last came Tas, delighted that nobody had done anything exciting in his absence.
“We’ve got to have light,” Sturm said.
“Light?” replied a voice as cold and dark as winter midnight. “Yes, let us have light.”
The darkness fled instantly. The companions saw they were in a huge domed chamber that soared hundreds of feet into the air. Cold gray light filtered into the room through a crack in the ceiling, shining on a large altar in the center of the circular room. On the floor surrounding the altar were masses of jewels, coins, and other treasures of the dead city. The jewels did not gleam. The gold did not glitter. The dim light illuminated nothing-nothing except a black dragon perched on top of the pedestal like some huge beast of prey.
“Feeling betrayed?” the dragon asked in conversational tones.
“The mage betrayed us! Where is he? Serving you?” Sturm cried fiercely, drawing his sword and taking a step forward.
“Stand back, foul Knight of Solamnia. Stand back or your magic-user will use his magic no more!” The dragon snaked her great neck down and stared at them with gleaming red eyes. Then, slowly and delicately, she lifted one clawed foot. Lying beneath it, on the pedestal, was Raistlin.
“Raist!” Caramon roared and lunged for the altar.
“Stop, fool!” the dragon hissed. She rested one pointed claw lightly on the mage’s abdomen. With a great effort, Raistlin moved his head to look at his brother with his strange golden eyes. He made a weak gesture and Caramon halted. Tanis saw something move on the floor beneath the altar. It was Bupu, huddled among the riches, too afraid even to whimper. The Staff of Magius lay next to her.
“Move one step closer and I will impale this shriveled human upon the altar with my claw.”
Caramon’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. “Let him go!” he shouted. “Your fight is with me.”
“My fight is with none of you,” the dragon said, lazily moving its wings. Raistlin flinched as the dragon’s clawed foot shifted slightly, teasingly, digging her claw into his flesh. The mage’s metallic skin glistened with sweat. He drew a deep, ragged breath. “Don’t even twitch, mage,” the dragon sneered.
We speak the same language, remember? One word of a spell and your friends’ carcasses will be used to feed the gully dwarves!”
Raistlin’s eyes closed as in exhaustion. But Tanis could see the mage’s hands clench and unclench, and he knew Raistlin was preparing one final spell. It would be his last-by the time he cast it the dragon would kill him. But it might give Riverwind a chance to reach the Disks and get out alive with Goldmoon
Tanis edged toward the Plainsmen.
“As I was saying,” the dragon continued smoothly. “I do not choose to fight any of you. How you have escaped my wrath so far, I do not understand. Still, you are here. And you return to me that which was stolen. Yes, lady of Que-shu, I see you hold the blue crystal staff. Bring it to me.”
Tanis hissed one word to Goldmoon, “Stall!” But, looking at her cool marble face, he wondered if she heard him or if she even heard the dragon. She seemed to be listening to other words, other voices.
“Obey me.” The dragon lowered her head menacingly. “Obey me or the mage dies. And after him-the knight. And then the half-elf. And so on-one after the other, until you lady of Que-shu, are the last survivor. Then you will bring me the staff and you will beg me to be merciful.”
Goldmoon bowed her head in submission. Gently pushing Riverwind away with her hand, she turned to Tanis and clasped the half-elf in a loving embrace. “Farewell, my friend,” she said loudly, laying her cheek against his. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know what I must do. I am going to take the staff to the dragon and-”
“No!” Tanis said fiercely. “It won’t matter. The dragon intends to kill us anyway.”