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By Root 1047 0

The Plainsman saw Goldmoon before him, dying in the blue flame. The dead expression left his face, replaced by a ferocity so bestial and terrifying that Bupu, still hiding in the doorway, screamed in alarm. Riverwind leaped to his feet. He didn’t even draw his sword but charged forward, empty-handed. He tore into the ranks of the scrambling draconians like a starving panther and began to kill. He killed with his bare hands, twisting, choking, gouging. Draconians stabbed at him with their swords; soon his leather tunic was soaked with blood. Yet he never stopped moving among them, never stopped killing. His face was that of a madman. The draconians in Riverwind’s path saw death in his eyes, and they also saw that their weapons had no effect. One broke and ran and, soon, another.

Sturm, finishing an opponent, looked up grimly, prepared to find six more coming at him. Instead he saw the enemy fleeing for their lives into the mist. Riverwind, covered with blood, collapsed onto the ground.

“The lift!” The mage pointed. It was hovering about two feet off the ground and starting to move upward. There were gully dwarves in the top pot coming down.

“Stop it!” Sturm yelled. Tasslehoff raced from his hiding place and leaped for the edge. He clung, his feet dangling, trying desperately to keep the empty pot from rising. “Caramon! Hang onto it!” Sturm ordered the warrior. “I’ll get Tanis!”

“I can hold it, but not for long.” The big man grunted, grasping onto the edge and digging his feet into the ground. He dragged the lift to a halt. Tasslehoff climbed inside, hoping his small body might add ballast.

Sturm ran back swiftly to Tanis. Flint was beside him, his axe in his hands.

“He’s alive!” the dwarf called as the knight approached.

Sturm paused a moment to thank some god, somewhere, then he and Flint lifted the unconscious half-elf and carried him to the pot. They placed him inside, then returned for Riverwind. It took four of them to get Riverwind’s bloody body into the lift. Tas tried without much success to stanch the wounds with one of his handkerchiefs.

“Hurry!” Caramon gasped. Despite all his efforts, the pot was rising slowly.

“Get in!” Sturm ordered Raistlin.

The mage glanced at him coldly and ran back into the mist. Within moments, he reappeared, carrying Bupu in his arms. The knight grabbed the trembling gully dwarf and flung her into the lift. Bupu, whimpering, crouched on the bottom, still clutching her bag to her chest. Raistlin climbed over the side. The pot continued to rise; Caramon’s arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets.

“Go on,” Sturm ordered Caramon, the knight being the last to leave the field of battle as usual. Caramon knew better than to argue. He heaved himself up, nearly tipping the pot over. Flint and Raistlin dragged him in. Without Caramon holding it, the pot lunged upward rapidly. Sturm caught hold of it with both hands and clung to the side as it rose into the air. After two or three tries, he managed to swing a leg over the edge and climbed in with Caramon’s help.

The knight knelt down beside Tanis and was relieved beyond expression to see the half-elf stir and moan. Sturm grasped the half-elf and held him close. “You have no idea how glad I am you’re back!” the knight said, his voice husky.

“Riverwind—” Tanis murmured groggily.

“He’s here. He saved your life. He saved all our lives.” Sturm talked rapidly, almost incoherently. “We’re in the lift, going up. The city’s destroyed. Where are you hurt?”

“Broken ribs, feels like.” Wincing in pain, Tanis looked over at Riverwind, still conscious, despite his wounds. “Poor man,” Tanis said softly. “Goldmoon. I saw her die, Sturm. There was nothing I could do.”

Sturm helped the half-elf rise to his feet. “We have the Disks,” the knight said firmly. “It was what she wanted, what she fought for. They’re in my pack. Are you sure you can stand?”

“Yes,” Tanis said. He drew a ragged, painful breath. “We have the Disks, whatever good that will do us.”

They were interrupted by the shrill screams as the second pot, gully dwarves flying like banners,