The Companions

survived and turned up in the prison in Atossa. Unfortunately the Nightmaster had found out about that too late. By some method so mysterious that the prison officials still hadn't figured it out, one of the humans had managed to escape. This was Raistlin's twin brother, Caramon. That was bad enough.

Now came the news that the other human had escaped, too-by a startling method. Condemned to die in the Pit of Doom, the other human, a would-be Solamnic Knight named Sturm Brightblade, had been rescued at the last moment by an airborne assault of kyrie. Despite the best efforts of the minotaur soldiers, the kyrie had escaped to the north, to their hidden stronghold in the mountains.

According to the message sent by Fesz, the evil kender Tasslehoff Burrfoot swore he had seen Caramon Majere directing the audacious daylight rescue operation.

The two humans, Caramon and Sturm, must have forged some kind of alliance with the bird-people, dedicated enemies of the minotaurs.

That, the Nightmaster reflected, was truly disturbing.

Reports of these developments had made the Supreme Circle uneasy. The orughi were proving skittish about committing large numbers of troops to the command of the minotaurs. The ogre tribes had said outright that they would not participate in the drive to enslave the world until they had seen evidence of the existence of Sargonnas.

Other promised allegiances were also shaky.

The Nightmaster stooped to the ground and sifted gray volcanic ash through his fingers. He was surrounded by a petrified city, with steps that led nowhere, columns that supported nothing. A long table and a chair stood near a flickering fire. A shelf held books as well as beakers of spell ingredients. The room was more an arrangement of furniture than a room, with no walls, doors, or ceiling. It stood in the middle of the ruins, open to the black, forbidding sky.

This part of the ancient city had once been the entrance to the great library. Now it was nothing but cold volcanic rock.

The night wind stirred the Nightmaster's feathers and bells. He looked over at the human female in her wooden cage. Even without having eaten for several days, Kitiara was fueled by energy and restlessly paced her cell.

The Nightmaster looked over at his two highest-ranking acolytes, the two members of the High Three who had remained behind when Fesz journeyed to Mithas. They huddled together, sleeping sitting up, draped by one blanket.

Minotaur soldiers patrolled the perimeter of the camp.

Sighing, the Nightmaster looked up at the sky, the two moons, and the stars.

Three more days, two more nights.

Only a few hours remained before dawn. A couple more hours of numbing cold, and then, after sunrise, the merciless heat would return. The Nightmaster was worried, but he retained his faith in Sargonnas. Wrapping himself in his cloak, the Nightmaster lay down on the cold ground and slept soundly.

Chapter 13

The Isle of Karthay

The Damaged Castor had limped back to the mouth of the bay and was about to enter the open sea. Watching the boat from shore, Tanis adjusted the sack slung across his back, a small store of provisions provided by Captain Nugetre. Nearby stood Flint, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to stretch out the soreness in his leg without anyone noticing. But Kirsig watched the dwarf solicitously.

Yuril, plus the four other sailors from the Castor who had decided crewing on a disabled ship was not to their taste, worked near the water's edge, dragging their two small boats up onto the beach. Tanis hoped they hadn't traded one bad job for worse.

Standing apart from the others, his back to the sea, Raistlin surveyed the terrain.

The narrow strip of rock-strewn beach gave way to low sand dunes. Beyond these, the land began rising and breaking up into a maze of ravines and plateaus. As far as the eye could see the terrain looked barren and uninviting.

Although it was only midmorning, the sun burned hot and bright in the sky. A dry wind stirred up the sand on the shore. Tanis felt the grit invade his throat.

A hand brushed the half-elf's arm. It belonged to Raistlin. The young mage had a disconcerting habit of moving around so quietly it was difficult to keep track of him.

Raistlin didn't seem dismayed by the tough, broken landscape. 'I judge that we have about a two-day journey inland before we reach the ruins of the dead city,' said the mage to Tanis in a low voice. 'Do you think Flint's leg will hold up?'

'His leg is much better,' replied Tanis. 'The old dwarf will probably outlast all of us.'

Both men looked over to where Kirsig hovered around Flint, apparently offering a poultice for his leg while the dwarf grumbled and attempted to shoo her away. But not too strenuously, Tanis noticed. He and Raistlin exchanged a grin.

When Tanis turned back, his momentary good humor faded. 'The question I have, Raistlin, is where are we headed? You haven't told us very much about the spell that you say will open a portal to let this evil god, or whatever it is, into this world.'

Raistlin caught not only the impatience but also the hint of skepticism in Tanis's voice. 'Surely in the land of your mother's people you learned something about the old gods,' the young mage answered, knowing that any reference to Tanis's divided heritage risked offending the half-elf. Raistlin saw that his words had hit their mark, for color rose in Tanis's cheeks.

'I can't vouch for whether the spell I uncovered will open a portal, or whether the old gods such as Sargonnas are more than mere fairy tales,' the mage continued brusquely. 'I do know that the spell seems to be ancient and powerful magic. And I know that if there is any chance of Sargonnas entering this world, it behooves us to try to prevent it.'

'What about Sturm, Caramon, and Tasslehoff? Are they somewhere on this island?' Tanis asked. 'Aren't they the reason we came all this way?'

'I can't wave a magic wand to see if they're here or not,' snapped Raistlin, 'but you heard what Kirsig said about the minotaurs forming alliances with other races. If, as I suspect, the minotaurs are caught up in their age- old visions of conquest and are trying to bring Sargonnas into the world to help them, it wouldn't matter where Caramon and the others are. We're all in dire jeopardy.'

Raistlin paused, taking a deep breath. Visibly calmed, he continued. 'The jalopwort was just one of the ingredients necessary for the spell. The magic also calls for the sacrifice of a victim amenable to Sargonnas. My guess is that may be the reason why Caramon, Sturm, and Tas were brought to this part of the world. One of them may be the intended offering.

'We don't have much time. The spell can only occur during certain conjunctions of the sun, the moons, and the stars. These conjunctions occur not twice in one hundred years, and the next is only three nights away.

'Now let me show you a map I copied from an antique atlas in Morath's library.'

Tanis waited, convinced. With Flint and Kirsig, who had overheard the tense discussion and joined them, the half-elf looked at a scrap of parchment that Raistlin had produced. It was covered with squiggly lines and geographic symbols. Yuril and the other sailors came hurrying up, and the small group gathered round the young mage.

'I think the spell will be cast somewhere in or near the ancient ruins of the city of Karthay,' said Raistlin. 'The city was destroyed by a volcano during the Cataclysm and buried under tons of ash and lava. It is a sacred site of the minotaur nation.' He pointed to an area on the map marked as a mountain range. 'Sargonnas is the god of deserts, fires, and volcanoes,' he added.

'Based on this map, I think we can get there in time, but the journey promises to be dangerous. Anyone who does not relish that prospect should feel free to stay here and wait for us.' At this, Raistlin looked up, not at Flint,