The pot swung into view, gully dwarves hanging from its sides. As Sturm hoped, the draconians on the ground began to fight among themselves, none wanting to be left behind. Their panic increased as great cracks ran through the pavement toward them. Water rose through the cracks. The city of Xak Tsaroth would soon be lying at the bottom of Newsea.
As the pot touched ground, the gully dwarves scurried over the sides and fled. The draconians clambered in, hitting and shoving each other.
"Now!" the knight yelled.
"Get out of my way!" the mage hissed. Pulling a handful of sand from one of his pouches, he sprinkled it on the ground and whispered, "Ast tasark sinuralan krynaw," moving his right hand in an arc in the direction of the draconians. First one, then a few more blinked their eyes and slumped to the ground in sleep, but others remained standing, glancing around in alarm. The mage ducked back into the doorway and, seeing nothing, the draconians turned back to the lift, stepping on the bodies of their sleeping comrades in their frantic rush. Raistlin leaned against the wall, closing his eyes wearily.
"How many?" he asked.
"Only about six." Caramon drew his sword from its sheath
"Just get in the damn pot!" Sturm yelled. "We'll come back for Tanis when the fight's ended."
Under cover of the mist, the two warriors- swords drawn- covered the distance to the draconians within a few heartbeats, Raistlin stumbling behind. Sturm shouted his battle-cry. At the sound, the draconians spun around in alarm.
And Riverwind raised his head.
The sound of battle penetrated Riverwind's fog of despair. 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 River-wind'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, went past them. The gully dwarves shook their fists and cursed the companions. Bupu laughed, then she stood up, looking at Raistlin in concern. The mage leaned wearily against the side of the pot, his lips moving silently, calling to mind another spell.
Sturm peered up through the mist. "I wonder how many will be at the top?" he asked.
Tanis, too, glanced up. "Most have fled, I hope," he said. He caught his breath sharply and clutched at his ribs.
There was a sudden lurch. The pot fell about a foot, stopped with a jolt, then slowly started to rise again. The companions looked at each other in alarm.
"The mechanism-"
"It's either starting to collapse or the draconians have recognized us and are trying to destroy it," Tanis said.
"There's nothing we can do," Sturm said in bitter frustration. He stared down at the pack containing the Disks, which lay at his feet. "Except pray to these gods-"
The pot lurched and dropped again. For a moment it hung, suspended, swaying in the mist-shrouded air. Then it started up, moving slowly, shuddering. The companions could see the edge of the rock ledge and the opening above them. The pot rose inch by creaking inch, each of those inside mentally supporting every link of the chain that was carrying them up to-
"Draconians!" cried Tas shrilly, pointing up.
Two draconians stared down at them. As the pot crept closer and closer, Tanis saw the draconians crouch, ready to jump.
"They're going to leap down here! The pot won't hold!" Flint rumbled. "We'll crash!"
"That may be their intent," Tanis said. "They have wings."
"Stand back," Raistlin said, staggering to his feet.
"Raist, don't!" His brother caught hold of him. "You're too weak."
"I have strength for one more spell," the mage whispered.
"But it may not work. If they see I am magi, they may be able to resist my magic."
"Hide behind Caramon's shield," Tanis said swiftly. The big man thrust his body and his shield in front of his brother.