Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [145]
“The floor’s on fire!” Caramon yelled.
Tanis opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. He expected to see the old magician nothing but a mound of black ash like the bodies of the draconians lying behind the wagon. But Fizban stood staring at the iron door, stroking his singed beard in dismay. The door was still shut.
“That really should have worked,” he said.
“What about the lock?” Tanis yelled, trying to see through the smoke. The iron bars of the cell door already glowed red hot.
“It didn’t budge!” Sturm shouted. He tried to approach the cage door to kick it open, but the heat radiating from the bars made it impossible. “The lock may be hot enough to break!” He choked in the smoke.
“Sestun!” Tasslehoff’s shrill voice rose above the crackling flames. “Try again! Hurry!”
The gully dwarf staggered to his feet, swung the axe, missed, swung again, and hit the lock. The superheated metal shattered, the lock gave way, and the cage door swung open.
“Tanis, help us!” Goldmoon cried as she and Riverwind struggled to pull the injured Theros from his smoking pallet.
“Sturm, the others!” Tanis yelled, then coughed in the smoke. He staggered to the front of the wagon, as the rest jumped out, Sturm grabbing hold of Fizban, who was still staring sadly at the door.
“Come on, Old One!” he yelled, his gentle actions belying his harsh words as he took Fizban’s arm. Caramon, Raistlin, and Tika caught Fizban as he jumped from the flaming wreckage. Tanis and Riverwind lifted Theros by the shoulders and dragged him out, Goldmoon stumbled after them. She and Sturm jumped from the cart just as the ceiling collapsed.
“Caramon! Get our weapons from the supply wagon!” Tanis shouted. “Go with him, Sturm. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin—”
“I will, get my pack,” the mage said, choking in the smoke. “And my staff. No one else may touch them.”
“All right,” Tanis said, thinking quickly. “Gilthanas—”
“I am not yours to order around, Tanthalas,” the elf snapped and ran off into the woods without looking back.
Before Tanis could answer, Sturm and Caramon ran back. Caramon’s knuckles were split and bleeding. There had been two draconians looting the supply wagon.
“Get moving!” Sturm shouted. “More coming! Where’s your elf friend?” he asked Tanis suspiciously.
“He’s gone ahead into the woods,” Tanis said. “Just remember, he and his people saved us.”
“Did they?” Sturm said, his eyes narrow. “It seems that between the elves and the old man, we came closer to getting killed than with just about anything short of the dragon!”
At that moment, six draconians rushed out from the smoke, skidding to a halt at the sight of the warriors.
“Run for the woods!” Tanis yelled, bending down to help Riverwind lift Theros. They carried the smith to cover while Caramon and Sturm stood, side by side, covering their retreat. Both noticed immediately that the creatures they faced were unlike the draconians they had fought before. Their armor and coloring were different, and they carried bows and longswords, the latter dripping with some sort of awful icor. Both men remembered stories about draconians that turned to acid and those whose bones exploded.
Caramon charged forward, bellowing like an enraged animal, his sword slashing in an arc. Two draconians fell before they knew what was attacking. Sturm saluted the other four with his sword and swept off the head of one in the return stroke. He jumped at the others, but they stopped just out of his range, grinning, apparently waiting for something.
Sturm and Caramon watched uneasily, wondering what was going on. Then they knew. The bodies of the slain draconians near them began to melt into the road. The flesh boiled and ran like lard in a skillet. A yellowish vapor formed over them, mixing with the thinning smoke from the smoldering cage. Both men gagged as the yellow