The companions stepped into a raging battle. Steel rang, wounded men shrieked for help. So real was the clash of armies in the darkness that Sturm drew his sword reflexively. The tumult deafened him; he ducked and dodged unseen blows that he knew were aimed at him. He swung his sword in desperation black air, knowing that he was doomed and there was no escape. He began to run, and he suddenly stumbled out of the forest into a barren, wasted glade. Raistlin stood before him, alone.
The mage’s eyes were closed. He sighed gently, then collapsed to the ground. Sturm ran to him, then Caramon appeared, nearly knocking Sturm over to reach his brother and gather him tenderly in his arms. One by one, the others ran as if driven into the glade. Raistlin was still murmuring strange, unfamiliar words. The spectres vanished.
“Raist!” Caramon sobbed brokenly.
The mage’s eyelids flickered and opened. “The spell . . . drained me. . . .” he whispered. “I must rest. . . .”
“And rest ye shall!” boomed a voice-a living voice!
Tanis breathed a sigh of relief even as he put his hand on his sword. Quickly he and the others jumped protectively in front of Raistlin, turning to face outward, staring into the darkness. Then the silver moon appeared, suddenly, as if a hand had produced it from beneath a black silk scarf. Now they could see the head and shoulders of a man standing amid the trees. His bare shoulders were as large and heavy as Caramon’s. A mane of long hair curled around his neck; his eyes were bright and glittered coldly. The companions heard a rustling in the brush and saw the flash of a spear tip being raised, pointing at Tanis.
“Put thy puny weapons down,” the man warned. “Ye be surrounded and have not a chance.”
“A trick,” Sturm growled, but even as he spoke there was a tremendous crashing and cracking of tree limbs. More men appeared, surrounding them, all armed with spears that glinted in the moonlight.
The first man strode forward then, and the companions stared in amazement, their hands on their weapons going slack.
The man wasn’t a man at all, but a centaur! Human from the waist up, he had the body of a horse from the waist down. He cantered forward with easy grace, powerful muscles rippling across his barrel chest. Other centaurs moved into the path at his commanding gesture. Tanis sheathed his sword. Flint sneezed.
“Thee must come with us,” the centaur ordered.
“My brother is ill,” Caramon growled. “He can’t go anywhere.”
“Place him upon my back,” the centaur said coolly. “In fact, if any of you be tired, thee may ride to where we go.”
“Where are you taking us?” Tanis asked.
“Thee is in no position to ask questions.” The centaur reached out and prodded Caramon’s back with his spear. “We travel far and fast. I suggest thee ride. But fear not.” He bowed before Goldmoon, extending his foreleg and touching his hand to his shaggy hair. “Harm will not come to thee this night.”
“Can I ride, Tanis, please?” begged Tasslehoff.
“Don’t trust them!” Flint sneezed violently.
“I don’t trust them,” Tanis muttered, “but we don’t seem to have a whole lot of choice in the matter-Raistlin can’t walk. Go on, Tas. The rest of you, too.”
Caramon, scowling at the centaurs suspiciously, lifted his brother in his arms and set him upon the back of one of the half-man, half-animal. Raistlin slumped forward weakly.
“Climb up,” the centaur said to Caramon. “I can bear the weight of thee both. Thy brother will need thy support, for we ride swiftly tonight.”
Flushing with embarrassment, the big warrior clambered onto the centaur’s broad back, his huge legs dangling almost to the ground. He put an arm around Raistlin as the centaur galloped down the path. Tasslehoff, giggling with excitement, jumped onto a centaur and promptly slid off the other side into the mud. Sturm, sighing, picked up the kender and set him on the centaur’s back. Then, before Flint could protest, the knight lifted the dwarf up behind Tas. Flint tried to speak but could only sneeze as the centaur moved away. Tanis rode with the first centaur, who seemed to be the leader.