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“Did I?” Tas asked, keeping an eye on Gilthanas. “Well, yes, the demon thanked me and took away the magic ring he’d given me. If it wasn’t dark, you could see the outline the ring burned on my finger.”

“Sun uping. Morning soon. I see then,” the gully dwarf said eagerly.

It was still dark, but a faint light in the east hinted that soon the sun would be rising on the fourth day of their journey.

Suddenly Tas heard a bird call in the woods. Several answered it. What odd-sounding birds, Tas thought. Never heard their like before. But then he’d never been this far south before. He knew where they were from one of his many maps. They had passed over the only bridge across the White-rage River and were heading south toward Pax Tharkas, which was marked on the kender’s map as the site of the famed Thadarkan iron mines. The land began to rise, and thick forests of aspens appeared to the west. The draconians and hobgoblins kept eyeing the forests, and their pace picked up. Concealed within these woods was Qualinesti, the ancient elvenhome.

Another bird called, much nearer now. Then the hair rose on Tasslehoff’s neck as the same bird call sounded from right behind him. The kender turned to see Gilthanas on his feet, his fingers to his lips, an eerie whistle splitting the air.

“Tanis!” Tas yelled, but the half-elf was already awake. So was everyone in the cart.

Fizban sat up, yawned, and glanced around. “Oh, good,” he said mildly, “the elves are here.”

“What elves, where?” Tanis sat up.

There was a sudden whirring sound like a covey of quail taking flight. A cry rang out from the supply wagon in front of them, then there was a splintering sound as the wagon, now driverless, lurched into a rut and tipped over. The driver of their cage wagon pulled sharply on the reins, stopping the elk before they ran into the wrecked supply wagon. The cage tipped precariously, sending the prisoners sprawling. The driver got the elk going again and guided them around the wreckage.

Suddenly the driver of the cage screamed and clutched at his neck where the companions saw the feathered shaft of an arrow silhouetted against the dimly lit morning sky. The driver’s body tumbled from the seat. The other guard stood up, sword raised, then he, too, toppled forward with an arrow in his chest. The elk, feeling the reins go slack, slowed until the cage rolled to a halt. Cries and screams echoed up and down the caravan as arrows whizzed through the air.

The companions fell for cover face first on the floor of the cage.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Tanis asked Gilthanas.

But the elf, ignoring him, peered through the dawn gloom into the forest. “Porthios!” he called.

“Tanis, what’s happening?” Sturm sat up, speaking his first words in four days.

“Porthios is Gilthanas’s brother. I take it this is a rescue,” Tanis said. An arrow zipped past and lodged in the wooden side of the cart, narrowly missing the knight.

“It won’t be much of a rescue if we end up dead!” Sturm dropped to the floor. “I thought elves were expert marksmen!”

“Keep low.” Gilthanas ordered. “The arrows are only to cover our escape. This is a strike-and-run raid. My people are not capable of attacking a large body directly. We must be ready to run for the woods.”

“And how do we get out of these cages?” Sturm demanded.

“We cannot do everything for you!” Gilthanas replied coldly. “There are magic-users—”

“I cannot work without my spell components!” Raistlin hissed from beneath a bench. “Keep down, Old One,” he said to Fizban who, head raised, was looking around with interest.

“Perhaps I can help,” the old magician said, his eyes brightening. “Now, let me think—”

“What in the name of the Abyss is going on?” roared a voice out of the darkness. Fewmaster Toede appeared, galloping on his pony. “Why have we stopped?”

“We under attack!” Sestun cried, crawling out from under the cage where he’d taken cover.

“Attack? Blyxtshok! Get this cart moving!” Toede shouted. An arrow thunked into the Fewmaster