“We will not let our friend die alone!” the half-elf cried defiantly at the dragon. The draconians cheered wildly.
“Get out of here, Tanis!” Caramon scowled, his face flushed and streaked with tears. “This is my fight.”
“Shut up and listen!” Tanis ordered. “Get your sword and mine, Sturm. Riverwind, grab your weapons and the packs and any draconian weapons you can pick up to replace those we lost. Caramon, pick up the two staffs.”
Caramon stared at him. “What-”
“Tasslehoff’s the dragon,” Tanis said. “There isn’t time to explain. Just do as I say! Get the staff and take it into the woods. Goldmoon’s waiting.” He laid his hand on the warrior’s shoulder. Tanis shoved him. “Go! Raistlin’s almost finished! You’re his only chance.”
This statement reached Caramon’s mind. He ran to the pile of weapons and grabbed the blue crystal staff and Raistlin’s Staff of Magius, while the draconians yelled. Sturm and Riverwind armed themselves, Sturm bringing Tanis his sword.
“And now, prepare to die, humans!” the dragon screamed. Its wings gave a great lurch and suddenly the creature was flying, hovering in midair. The draconians croaked and cried out in alarm, some breaking for the woods, others hurling themselves flat on the ground.
“Now!” yelled Tanis. “Run, Caramon!”
The big warrior broke for the woods, running swiftly toward where he could see Goldmoon and Flint waiting for him. A draconian appeared in front of him, but Caramon hurled it out of his way with a thrust of his great arm. He could hear a wild commotion behind him, Sturm chanting a Solamnic war cry, draconians yelling. Other draconians leaped at Caramon. He used the blue crystal staff as he had seen Goldmoon use it, swinging it in a wide arc with his huge right hand. It flashed blue flame and the draconians fell back.
Caramon reached the woods and found Raistlin lying at Goldmoon’s feet, barely breathing. Goldmoon grabbed the staff from Caramon and laid it on the mage’s inert body. Flint watched, shaking his head. “It won’t work,” muttered the dwarf. “It’s used up.”
“It has to work,” Goldmoon said firmly. “Please,” she murmured, “whoever is master of this staff, heal this man. Please.”
Unknowing, she repeated it over and over. Caramon watched for a moment, blinking his eyes. Then the woods around him were lit by a gigantic burst of flame.
“Name of the Abyss!” Flint breathed. “Look at that!”
Caramon turned just in time to see the great black wicker dragon crash headlong into the blazing bonfire. Flaming logs flew into the air, showering sparks over the camp. The draconians’ bamboo huts, some already ablaze, began burning fiercely. The wicker dragon gave a final, horrifying shriek and then it, too, caught fire.
“Tasslehoff!” Flint swore. “That blasted kender-he’s inside there!” Before Caramon could stop him, the dwarf ran out into the blazing draconian camp.
“Caramon . . .” Raistlin murmured. The big warrior knelt beside his brother. Raistlin was still pale, but his eyes were open and clear. He sat up, weakly, leaning against his brother and stared out at the raging fire. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Caramon said. “Tasslehoff turned into a dragon and after that things get real confused. You just rest.” The warrior stared into the smoke, his sword drawn and ready in case any draconians came for them.
But the draconians now had little interest in the prisoners. The smaller breed, panic stricken, were fleeing into the forest as their great god-dragon went up in flames. A few of the robed draconians, bigger and apparently more intelligent than the other species, were trying desperately to bring order to the fearful chaos raging around them.
Sturm fought and slashed his way through the draconians without encountering any organized resistance. He had just reached the edge of the clearing, near the bamboo cage, when Flint passed him, running back toward the camp!
“Hey! Where-” Sturm yelled at the dwarf.
“Tas-in the dragon!” The dwarf didn’t stop.
Sturm turned and saw the black wicker dragon burning with flames that shot high into the air. Thick smoke boiled up, blanketing the camp, the dank heavy swamp air preventing it from rising and drifting away. Sparks showered down as part of the blazing dragon exploded into the camp. Sturm ducked and batted out sparks that landed on his cape, then ran after the dwarf, catching up with the short-legged Flint easily.