"I, uh, have to sharpen my sword and get my other weapons ready for tomorrow," Caramon mumbled to no one in particular. "I guess I'll go keep Yuril company."
Sturm and Tanis exchanged looks. "Just remember that one of you is supposed to be standing watch," Tanis called out after him.
In truth, Caramon had been preoccupied with the whereabouts of his twin ever since Raistlin had disappeared earlier in the day. He didn't think he could fall asleep even if he tried. Yuril, however, proved to be a soothing presence.
* * * * *
Flint also slept, but not well. His dreams were filled with the rustlings and movements of great wings swooping down on him. Kirsig, who sat up to keep watch over the dwarf, had to pull the blanket he had thrown off back up around the old dwarf's neck several times.
When he finally woke the next morning, Flint saw that the sounds disturbing his sleep had been real, only they were produced by curious land animals rather than denizens of the air.
On the southwestern edge of the campsite stood the bulette. Behind it, in the early dawn light, the desert ground appeared to surge and buckle. Flint looked closer. "Great Reorx!" he exclaimed. Dozens of giant, low-slung insects, their backs covered by hard, black, jointed shells, their heads ending in a pair of small but effective-looking mandibles, covered the desert floor.
"Horax."
"What?" Flint asked the kyrie who had come up next to him.
"They live underground and grow to be almost as long as we are tall. They attack in packs," the kyrie explained. "Luckily I've never had the misfortune to run into them. I've heard they crush the life out of you with their curved pincers."
Seeing Flint's jaw drop, the kyrie added, "Don't worry. They're taking orders from the bulette, and the bulette's on our side—for the time being."
"Their pincers are powerful, all right," piped up Kirsig, who had joined them. The half-ogre seemed to have a useful store of information about any given subject. "My daddy said they could really be a nuisance if they got into underground tunnels you were using. They don't much like sunlight, usually. I trust they can put up with it for a few hours during the attack."
All of the companions, the kyrie, and the sailors had risen now and were staring at the strange horde of animals—the bulette, the packs of horax, and in the rear, odd rock formations that shifted and moved. Flint rubbed his eyes wonderingly.
"Kirsig," he whispered, tugging on the half-ogre's sleeve. Flint pointed beyond the horax.
The reddish-brown rocks had shifted again, revealing themselves to be not inanimate stones but the knobby hide of a gigantic reptile. Hint gauged the monstrous serpentine creature to be nearly two hundred feet from the end of its long, whiplike tail to the tip of its pointed, fanged snout. The behemoth appeared to rest flat on the ground, its flipperlike feet splayed out on either side of its scaly body.
What Flint had taken for caverns in the rock were actually the creature's eye sockets, which were recessed so deeply you couldn't glimpse its eyes. The monster idly lashed its tail across the ground, flattening several rock outcroppings.
"The greater hatori, and a very ancient one by the size of it," whispered Kirsig. "It can't have had much to eat on this island over the past decades, and a hungry hatori is a hungry fighter, as my daddy always used to say."
The bulette glared first at the kyrie and their friends, then out over the army it had assembled. While none of these killer animals had any love for each other, they had even less for the minotaurs, who were known in the desert world as wanton, arrogant bullies.
The bulette had communicated the arrangement proposed by Bird-Spirit and Cloudreaver. The animals would fight together for one day, and the kyrie would cede desolate Karthay to them for one thousand years. Because of the presence of Kit, and presumably Raistlin, in the ruined city, the creatures were under strict orders not to harm any humans or other races, only minotaurs. These they could kill according to their whim.
A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked Flint down. The wind continued gusting, blowing blankets and packs around the campsite. With a sinking feeling, Flint looked up. Just overhead hovered four rocs, two adults and two smaller ones, probably their adolescent offspring. Sharp black eyes regarded the assembled company. With their muscular bodies, sleek, bulletlike heads, and immense wingspans, each roc was as big as a vallenwood. Their glossy brown and yellow plumage and strong, curved beaks shone in the rays of the rising sun.
* * * * *
Toth-Ur paced restlessly in front of his tent. The afternoon sun beat down on him, matting his glossy black fur with perspiration. The Nightmaster and his retinue had departed safely for the volcano's summit. Apparently everything was in order, but uneasiness dogged Toth-Ur's steps. Zedhar hadn't returned from his scouting mission the previous day. The commander debated sending out a search party for him, but with his troops' numbers already diminished by the contingent that accompanied the Nightmaster, Toth-Ur was reluctant to do so. The high shaman had warned him to be vigilant today . . . especially today.
His tent was pitched near the western perimeter of the ruined city of Karthay, near a crumbled parapet. Hands on his haunches, Toth-Ur surveyed the barren, desolate landscape. A few soldiers stood off to one side, ready to do his bidding.
Suddenly a giant shape burst from the ground, not ten feet in front of the commander's tent, springing straight up into the air, then coming down heavily on a minotaur soldier's back. A quick thrust of its jaw snapped the bull-man's neck.
Before the other soldiers had time to do much more than unsheath
