treacherous captain. After completing his job, it seems the captain was also killed in a manner that appeared to me to be distinctly magical.'
Raistlin's eyes glittered with intelligence as he spoke.
'After that, it was mostly guesswork. I went back to the crumbling spellbook and read and studied the partial spell. I discussed my conclusions with-' here he paused-'let me call him a learned advisor.
'Through these efforts, it gradually dawned on me that the jalopwort was just a small part of a magical undertaking grander than anything I had suspected, that this ambitious spell had to involve minotaurs at the highest level, and that the spellcasting that was being planned would, if successful, bring Sargonnas, god of the minotaurs, into the material plane. The most logical place for such a rite would be here, near the ruins of Karthay, the last known place on Krynn where the Lord of Vengeance showed his wrath of fire.'
'So you did get my magic message bottle!' chirped Tasslehoff. The kender had bounded up behind Raistlin. 'I'm glad it wasn't wast-'
The Nightmaster grabbed Tasslehoff, whose habit of idle chatter was beginning to irritate him, and rather roughly shoved the kender under one arm, blanketing his mouth with a huge hand.
Raistlin looked at both of them coolly.
'Yes,' purred the Nightmaster while Tas did his best to get loose from the high shaman's smothering grip. 'Tasslehoff sent you a magic message bottle. You and he are old friends, right? So how do you like the new, improved Tasslehoff-to whom one of my disciples has fed a potion and turned into an evil kender? He has been most useful to us so far'-here the Nightmaster gave Tas a hard squeeze-'and I trust he will continue to be useful to us in the future.'
Raistlin glanced at the struggling kender, then returned his gaze to the Nightmaster. 'So that is how you did it,' said Raistlin. 'A potion.'
'Do you doubt it?' rumbled the Nightmaster. For a moment, the Nightmaster lifted his arm away from Tas's mouth.
'It's true,' said Tasslehoff, wrinkling his face into what he hoped was a fierce-looking sneer. 'I'm incredibly evil now. Quite a change, huh?'
The Nightmaster clapped his arm back around the kender's mouth, and Tas resumed his struggling.
'I would have thought,' Raistlin said blandly, 'that a potion would not have any long-term effect.'
The Nightmaster smiled. 'You're quite right,' he rumbled. 'Dogz!' Dogz approached him, and he handed the kender over to Dogz. 'Give Tasslehoff his double dose-now!'
Dogz looked at the Nightmaster, then quickly looked away. For an instant, his eyes met Raistlin's. Then Dogz nodded to the Nightmaster.
The Nightmaster returned his attention to Raistlin. 'I am grateful to you for reminding me.'
With Tas protesting, Dogz led the kender off to a far corner of the spellcasting area, where a small table was set up. Raistlin saw Dogz set the kender down by the shoulders, swirl something in a beaker, and tip the contents into the kender's mouth. After that, Raistlin observed, Dogz watched Tas for several minutes until the kender's head drooped down and he was slumped peacefully in the chair.
All around them, preparations for the casting of the spell had reached their zenith. Fesz and the other two shaman minotaurs were tossing handfuls of components culled from jars and beakers into the dug-out crater. After hundreds of years of dormancy, the volcano had begun to hiss and sputter. A faint orange light spilled forth from the mouth of the fire fountain.
Dogz trotted back in the direction of Raistlin and the Nightmaster.
'I would have considered the kender for a sacrificial victim,' rumbled the Nightmaster, 'if kender were not such an insignificant race. Sargonnas would much prefer a human, and a young mage such as yourself will, as you might guess, improve the spell greatly.' Here he paused and studied Raistlin closely.
'I am so ignorant of the customs of humans. Tell me why you are not wearing the robes of white, red, or black.'
'I have not taken the Test,' said Raistlin, 'and I have not yet chosen the color of the robes that I will one day wear.'
'If you were a black robe,' mused the Nightmaster, 'we would be on the same side. You would worship Sargonnas as I do.'
'I know very little about Sargonnas. That is one of the reasons why I came.'
'You came to rescue your brother,' the Nightmaster said with a sneer.
'Partly,' answered Raistlin, 'and partly because I am interested in all the orders of magic-black, white, and neutral.'
'Really?'
The High Three had finished their preliminary work. Dogz was standing back, arms folded, in the shadows. Fesz came over and interrupted.
'Pardon, Excellency,' said Fesz, 'but we are ready.'
The high shaman gave him a nod. Fesz turned away.
The Nightmaster leaned over Raistlin, his fetid breath hot on the mage's face. The high shaman examined the young mage from Solace with fresh interest. Raistlin didn't flinch under his gaze.
'So,' rumbled the Nightmaster, 'that is why you volunteered to take your sister's place… because you wanted to observe the spell and to encounter Sargonnas himself-as you surely will, since you will be the victim who makes possible his entry into this world!'
Raistlin waited a long time before replying. 'Partly,' is all he said.
The Nightmaster reared back and struck Raistlin across the face, bowling him off the rock that served as his chair. Blood streaked down Raistlin's face. For good measure, the Nightmaster kicked the young mage hard in the side as he lay on the ground. Still Raistlin did not cry out.
Dogz watched, his arms folded, his face impassive.
'Guards!' called the Nightmaster. Two armed minotaurs broke rank with the others on the perimeter of the area and came running over. 'Bring this pathetic human over to the crater and hold him until I am ready for him!'
The soldiers picked Raistlin up and dragged him over to the crater's edge, so near to the mouth that the heat from below blasted him.
The High Three lined up across the crater at an angle from Raistlin.
The Nightmaster donned a crimson cloak and marched up the dozen steps to the top of the scaffold. There a stand held a massive tome.
Raistlin shook his head to clear it from the blow by the Nightmaster. He was only slightly dazed. Although he was held tightly by the soldiers, the young mage could twist around and glimpse Tasslehoff behind the High Three, still slumped on his chair.
Atop the scaffold, the Nightmaster lifted his horned head, took a deep breath, and gazed skyward.
Cold gripped the summit, though no wind stirred. The clouds that blotted out the sky on previous nights had disappeared. The stars shone like beacons.
Not only could Raistlin feel the intense heat of the volcano, but now he also could clearly hear the bubbling of the fiery orange liquid as it gradually welled to the surface.
The Nightmaster began to read from the tome in an ancient minotaur dialect, his guttural voice rising steadily in volume.
The High Three started to murmur in the background.
Raistlin could make out almost none of the words, only an occasional invocation to Sargonnas.
As he chanted the spell, the Nightmaster moved his powerful arms in a strange, graceful manner, weaving intricate hand language in the air. His cloak swished behind him. The small bells draping his sharp, curved horns jingled a musical accompaniment to his every movement. His deep bull voice, growling out mysterious phrases, contrasted eerily with his balletlike motions.
Thunk! Flying out of nowhere, an object struck the throat of one of the minotaur guards, hitting him with such force that he immediately let loose his grip on Raistlin, clutched at his throat, and fell to the ground, dead.
Before anybody could react, another object flew in from the periphery of Raistlin's vision, this one even bigger. It was Tasslehoff Burrfoot.
Tas leaped from the shadows onto the back of the other minotaur holding Raistlin. He was doing his best to
