“I’ve got him!” Caramon shouted, pulling the dripping, spluttering dwarf out by the collar of his leather tunic. “Quit struggling,” he told Flint, whose arms were flailing out in all directions. But the dwarf was in a complete state of panic. A goblin arrow thunked into Caramon’s chain mail and stuck there like a scrawny feather.
“That does it!” The warrior grunted in exasperation and, with a great heave of his muscular arms, he pitched the dwarf into the boat as it moved out away from him. Flint caught hold of a seat and held on, his lower half sticking out over the edge. Sturm grabbed him by the belt and dragged him aboard as the boat rocked alarmingly. Tanis nearly lost his balance and was forced to drop his bow and catch hold of the side to keep from being thrown into the water. A goblin arrow stuck into the gunwale, just barely missing Tanis’s hand.
“Row back to Caramon, Tas!” Tanis yelled.
“I can’t!” shouted the struggling kender. One swipe of an out-of-control oar nearly knocked Sturm overboard.
The knight yanked the kender from his seat. He grabbed the oars and smoothly brought the boat around to where Caramon could get hold of the side.
Tanis helped the warrior climb in, then yelled to Sturm, “Pull!” The knight pulled on the oars with all his strength, leaning over backward as he thrust the oars deep into the water. The boat shot away from shore, accompanied by the howls of angry goblins. More arrows whizzed around the boat as Caramon, dripping wet, plopped down next to Tanis.
“Goblin target practice tonight,” Caramon muttered, pulling the arrow from his mail shirt. “We show up beautifully against the water.”
Tanis was fumbling for his dropped bow when he noticed Raistlin sitting up. “Take cover!” Tanis warned, and Caramon started to reach for his brother, but the mage, scowling at both of them, slipped his hand into a pouch on his belt. His delicate fingers drew out a handful of something as an arrow struck the seat next to him. Raistlin did not react. Tanis started to pull the mage down, then realized he was lost in the concentration necessary to a magic-user casting a spell. Disturbing him now might have drastic consequences, causing the mage to forget the spell or worse-to miscast the spell.
Tanis gritted his teeth and watched. Raistlin lifted his thin, frail hand and allowed the spell component he had taken from his pouch to fall slowly from between his fingers onto the deck of the boat. Sand, Tanis realized.
“Ast tasarak sinwalan krynawi,” Raistlin murmured, and then moved his right hand slowly in an arc parallel to the shore.
Tanis looked back toward land. One by one, the goblins dropped their bows and toppled over, as though Raistlin were touching each in turn. The arrows ceased. Goblins farther away howled in rage and ran forward. But by that time, Sturm’s powerful strokes had carried the boat out of range.
“Good work, little brother!” Caramon said heartily. Raistlin blinked and seemed to return to the world, then the mage sank forward. Caramon caught him and held him for a moment. Then Raistlin sat up and sucked in a deep breath, which caused him to cough.
“I’ll be all right,” he whispered, withdrawing from Caramon.
“What did you do to them?” asked Tanis as he searched for enemy arrows to drop them overboard; goblins occasionally poisoned the arrowtips.
“I put them to sleep,” Raistlin hissed through teeth that clicked together with the cold. “And now I must rest.” He sank back against the side of the boat.
Tanis looked at the mage. Raistlin had, indeed, gained in power and skill. I wish I could trust him, the half-elf thought.
The boat moved across the star-filled lake. The only sounds to be heard were the soft, rhythmic plashing of the oars in the water and Raistlin’s dry, wracking cough. Tasslehoff uncorked the wineskin, which Flint had somehow retained on his wild dash, and tried to get the chilled, shivering dwarf to swallow a mouthful. But Flint, crouched at the bottom of the boat, could only shudder and stare out across the water.