“Verminaard, Highlord of the Red Dragonarmies. In the name of Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon, and of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, I have conquered Qualinesti, Abanasinia and the Plains of Dust. I now add Thorbardin to the list. Bring me the Hammer and bow down before me and proclaim me High King or perish where you stand.”
Sturm said softly, “We should rush him. He can’t fight all of us.” The Dragon Highlord shifted his hand and pointed at the knight. A ray of light shot out from the Highlord’s hand, streaked through the air and struck Sturm on his metal breastplate. Lightning sizzled around the knight. He collapsed to the floor and lay writhing in agony. All the time, Verminaard had not taken his gaze from Arman, who was staring at the stricken knight in horror, his hands clasping the hammer in a convulsive grip.
“Witness my power,” Verminaard said to the young dwarf. “Bring me the Hammer, or you will be next!”
Tanis saw Caramon’s hand close over the hilt of his sword.
“Don’t be a fool, Caramon!” Tanis said softly. “Go see to Sturm.” Caramon glanced at his twin. Raistlin sagged against his staff. He was weak from coughing, his hand pressed over his mouth. He shook his head, and Caramon reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. He knelt beside the stricken knight.
Flint had been knocked off his feet by the power of the blast. He staggered back to the platform, coming up behind Arman. Flint could feel something sticky on his face, probably blood. He ignored it. The other Thanes were more or less on their feet, as were their guards. Between them all, they outnumbered the Dragon Highlord, but after seeing the damage inflicted on the knight, no one dared attack Verminaard.
“Give him the Hammer,” Hornfel said to his son. “It is not worth your life.”
“The Hammer is mine!” Arman cried defiantly. “I am Kharas!” He shook free of the terror that had seemed to paralyze the others. Swinging the hammer, Arman Kharas sprang at the Dragon Highlord.
As the dwarf bore down on him, the Dragon Highlord fell back a step in order to bring himself into better position to repel the dwarf’s attack. His foot went too close to the edge. He slipped and nearly fell, managing to save himself only by dropping his mace and grabbing hold of the granite altar.
At about this time, Tasslehoff Burrfoot reached into his pocket in search of his spectacles. Kender, unlike humans, never doubt. Verminaard was dead. Tanis and the others had killed him, and yet here he was alive, and this made no sense, as far as Tas was concerned. Raistlin had said that something was wrong, and if anyone should know it would be him. Raistlin might not be the nicest person Tas had ever met, but the mage was the smartest.
“I think I’ll just take a quick look,” said Tas to himself.
He reached down into his pocket and pulled out something that might once have been a kumquat. This not being of much use, he tossed it away and after retrieving a prune pit and thimble, he located the ruby-colored spectacles and put them on his nose.
Arman Kharas struck. The blow from the hammer broke Verminaard’s grip on the altar. Another blow knocked him backward. The Dragon Highlord tried desperately to save himself, but he overbalanced, and bellowing in terror and in fury, the Dragon Highlord fell into the pit. No one moved or spoke. Arman Kharas stared into the pit in dazed disbelief. Then the realization of his triumph burst upon him. He lifted the hammer and, crying out praise to Reorx, swung the hammer joyfully through the air. The Thanes and the soldiers began to cheer wildly. Caramon was propping up Sturm, who was dazed and in pain but alive. Caramon whooped and hollered. Sturm smiled weakly.
Raistlin stared at the pit, his eyes hard and glittering. “Something is wrong with this…”
“Raistlin’s right, Tanis!” Tasslehoff clutched at his friend. “That’s not Verminaard!”
“Not now, Tas!” Tanis said, trying to shake loose the kender. “I have to see to Sturm…”
“It wasn’t Verminaard, I tell you!” Tas cried. “It was a draconian who looked like Verminaard!”
“Tas—”
“An illusion!” Raistlin breathed. “Now it makes sense. Verminaard was a cleric, a follower of Queen Takhisis. The spell that blinded us and the spell that felled Sturm were both spells that only a wizard could cast.”
The dwarven Thanes were cheering Arman Kharas, who stood on the platform cradling the hammer in his arms and basking in his glory.
“A draconian?” said Tanis, glancing back at the altar. “Why would a draconian pretend to be Verminaard?”
“I don’t know,” said Raistlin softly, “but this victory was too easy.”
“Look!” Caramon cried.
Clawed hands were reaching up out of the pit and grabbing hold of the edge of the platform. A draconian emerged from the pit, effortlessly pulling himself up onto the platform. Unlike other draconians, this one had no wings. His scales were a dull greenish gold. He was tall and thin with a short, stubby tail. He wore black robes decorated in whorls and runes. The draconian lifted his head, looked up at the ceiling, and raised arms as though signaling. Then he crept toward the unsuspecting young dwarf.
Arman had his back turned. He did not see his danger. The Thanes saw it and cried out in alarm. Flint did more than that. He took hold of his Hammer and ran toward the pit.
“Flint! Stop!” Tanis shouted, and he started to run to his friend’s aid, when he heard Sturm cry out a warning.
“Tanis! Above you!”
Tanis looked up to see armed draconians dropping down on top of them, leaping through the hole in the ceiling. At the same time, additional draconian troops entered from the south door. A group of Theiwar, armed to the teeth, ran in through the door to the east. Sturm, pale and shivering, was on his feet, sword in hand. Caramon positioned himself next to Sturm, in case the knight faltered. Raistlin’s lips were moving. Magic crackled on his fingertips. Tasslehoff, calling out jeers and insults and jumping up and down, waved his hoopak and yelled for the draconians to come and get him.
Confusion swirled about the temple as the draconians, swords slashing, hit the floor fighting. Hornfel lifted a ram’s horn to his lips, and at his call, Hylar soldiers swept into the Temple from the north. The Daewar thronged in from the west, and friend and foe met in the center in a thunderous crash. Battle swirled around the pit. Steel hit steel, draconians shrieked their battle cries, angry dwarves bellowed theirs, and the dying and the wounded screamed. Tanis looked desperately for Flint, trying to spot him in the chaos, but he could not find him. Then Tanis was forced to forget about his friend and fight for his life.
Arman Kharas was exalted. He held the hammer high, and he shook it defiantly in the beards of those who had sneered at him over the years, those who had called him Mad Kharas, those who had doubted him. He was vindicated. He had found the Hammer, and with it, he had slain the fearsome Dragon Highlord. Arman was a hero, as he had always dreamed. He gave a fierce cry of joy. In his heady elation, he did not see the monster crawling up out of the pit. The Thanes saw the danger. Arman’s father saw it and ran to help his son, but at that moment dragonmen fell out of the skies, a draconian army stormed the Temple from the south, and a rampaging mob of Theiwar burst in from the east.
Thanks to Tanis and his friends, the Theiwar and the draconians did not take the Thanes by surprise, as they had planned. The Hylar, the Daewar, and the Klar were prepared. Horn calls sounded, and their armies swarmed into the Temple to attack their foes. The battle was fierce, desperate, and furious. The Temple was soon jammed with combatants, heaving, pushing, shoving, and hacking. The floor fast became slippery with blood.
Hornfel, his battle-axe red with gore, was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the enemy and lost sight of his son in the confusion.
Flint had been blown off the platform when Verminaard appeared. Flint had been appalled at the sight, but there was not much he could do. The old dwarf was well nigh finished. His legs were stiff and sore, his back hurt, and his shoulders ached. He was in pain from his injuries, and he was consumed with guilt.