“Hold, Sturm!” Though his soul was filled with loathing, Tanis knew the mage was right. He could feel Raistlin’s power radiate through the black robes. “We need his help.”
“No!” Sturm said, shaking his head and backing away as Raistlin neared the group. “I said before-I will not rely on his protection. Not now. Farewell, Tanis.”
Before any of them could stop him Sturm walked past Raistlin toward -Cyan Bloodbane. The great dragon’s head wove back and forth in eager anticipation of this first challenge to his power since he had conquered Silvanesti.
Tanis clutched Raistlin. “Do something!”
“The knight is in my way. Whatever spell I cast will destroy him too.” Raistlin answered,
“Sturm!” Tanis shouted, his voice echoing mournfully.
The knight hesitated. He was, listening but not to Tanis’s voice. What he heard was the -clear, clarion call of a trumpet, its music cold as the air from the snow-covered mountains of his homeland. Pure and crisp, the trumpet call rose bravely above the darkness and dead and -despair to pierce his heart.
Sturm answered the trumpet’s call with a glad battle cry. He raised his sword-the sword of his father- its antique blade twined with the kingfisher and the rose. Silver moonlight streaming through a broken window caught the sword in a pure-white radiance that shredded the noxious green air.
Again the trumpet sounded, and again Sturm answered, but this time his voice faltered, for the trumpet call he heard had changed tone. No longer sweet and pure, it was braying and harsh and shrill.
“No” thought Sturm in horror as he neared the dragon. Those were the horns of the enemy! He had been lured into a trap! Around him now he could see draconian soldiers, creeping from behind the dragon, laughing cruelly at his gullibility.
Sturm stopped, gripping his sword in a hand that was sweating inside its glove. The dragon loomed above him, a creature undefeatable, surrounded by masses of his troops, slavering and licking his jowls with his curled tongue.
Fear knotted Sturm’s stomach; his skin grew cold and clammy. The horn call sounded a third time, terrible and evil. It was all over. It had all been for nothing. Death, ignominious defeat awaited him. Despair descending, he looked around fearfully. Where was Tanis? He needed Tanis, but he could not find him. Desperately he repeated the code of the knights, My Honour Is My Life, but the words sounded hollow and meaningless in his ears. He was not a knight. What did the Code mean to him? He had been living a lie! Sturm’s swordarm wavered, then dropped; his sword fell from his hand and he sank to his knees, shivering and weeping like a child, hiding his head from the terror before him.
With one swipe of his shining talons, Cyan Bloodbane ended Sturm’s life, impaling the knight’s body upon a blood-stained claw. Disdainfully, Cyan shook the wretched human to the floor while the draconians swept shrieking toward the knight’s still-living body, intent upon hacking it to pieces.
But they found their way blocked. A bright figure, shining silver in the moonlight, ran to the knight’s body. Reaching down swiftly, Laurana lifted Sturm’s sword. Then, straightening, she faced the draconians.
“Touch him and you will die,” she said through her tears.
“Laurana!” Tanis screamed and tried to run forward to help her. But draconians sprang at him. He slashed at them desperately, trying to reach the elfmaid. Just when he had wan through, he heard Kitiara call his name. Whirling, he saw her being beaten back by four draconians. The half-elf stopped in agony, hesitating, and at that moment Laurana fell across Sturm’s body, her own body pierced by draconian swords.
“No! Laurana!” Tanis shouted. Starting to go to her, he heard Kitiara cry out again. He stopped, turning. Clutching at his head, he stood irresolute and helpless, forced to watch as Kitiara fell beneath the enemy.
The half-elf sobbed in frenzy, feeling himself begin to sink into madness, longing for death to end this pain. He clutched the magic sword of Kith-Kanan and rushed toward the dragon, his one thought to kill and be killed.
But Raistlin blocked his path, stranding in front of the dragon like a black obelisk.
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