“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 do