As the bozak’s body began to stiffen, Caramon remembered what happened to bozaks when they died, and he crawled, slipped and slid in his scramble to put as much ground between him and the corpse as possible. The bones of the bozak exploded. The foul heat and shock of the blast struck Caramon, knocking him flat and momentarily stunning him.
He shook his head to clear it and rose hastily to his feet, only to find the battle had ended. Two of the surviving draconians were fleeing back into the fortress, running for their lives. The wraiths flowed in after them and Caramon heard their death shrieks. He gave a sigh of relief, then froze. Two of the pale eyes hovered near Raistlin.
Caramon ran toward his twin, though he had no idea how to save him.
Then he saw the eyes lower, almost as if the undead was bowing to his brother. The eyes disappeared, leaving behind a bone-numbing chill and the dust of their victims.
“Are you hurt?” Caramon gasped.
“No. You?” Raistlin asked tersely.
He gave his brother a quick glance that apparently answered his question, for he shifted his gaze to Sturm. “What about him?”
“I don’t know. He was hit by some sort of magic spell. Raist, those wraiths—”
“Forget the wraiths. Is he hurt badly?” Raistlin asked, shoving past his brother.
“I don’t know,” Caramon said, limping after him. “I was kind of busy.” He reached out and took hold of his brother’s arm, dragging Raistlin to a stop.
“That thing bowed to you. Did you summon it?”
Raistlin regarded his brother with a cold stare, a slight sardonic smile on his lips. “You have an inflated notion of my powers, my brother, to think that I could command the undead. Such a spell is far beyond my capabilities, I assure you.”
“But Raist, I saw it—”
“Bah! You were imagining things.” Raistlin glowered. “How many times must I tell you that I do not like to be touched!”
Caramon released his grip on his twin.
Raistlin hurried off to check on Sturm. Caramon could not remember his brother having ever been this worried about the knight before. Caramon had a feeling that Raistlin was more worried about Prince Grallen than Sturm. Caramon trailed after him, just as Tasslehoff, sputtering and spitting out muck, pulled himself up out of the water.
“Ugh!” said the kender, dragging sopping wet hair out of his eyes. “What a stupid place to put a swamp! How’s Sturm? What did I miss?”
Raistlin had his hand on the knight’s pulse. His breastplate was scorched, but it had protected him from the worst of the blast. At Raistlin’s touch, Sturm moved his hands and his eyes opened. He tried to stand up.
“Raist,” said Caramon, helping Sturm to his feet, “if you didn’t summon them, then why didn’t the wraiths attack us? Why just attack the draconians?”
“I don’t know, Caramon,” Raistlin said in exasperation. “I am not an expert on the undead.” Seeing his brother still expected an answer, Raistlin sighed. “There are many explanations. You know as well as I do that undead are often left behind as guardians. Perhaps the draconians took some sort of sacred artifact, or perhaps, as the knight is so fond of saying, evil turned upon itself.”
Caramon seemed unconvinced. “Yeah, maybe.” He eyed his brother, then said abruptly, “We should clear out of here, before the rest of those baaz come back.”
Raistlin looked at the cave’s opening, which resembled the grinning jaw of a skull, and he fancied for a moment that the ruins were laughing. “I do not think the others will be coming back, but you are right. We should leave.” He glanced around at the bundles of loot lying on the ground, and shook his head. “A pity we do not have time to go through this. Who knows what valuable objects they found down there?”
“I wouldn’t touch it if you paid me,” said Caramon, giving the bundles a dark glance. “All right, Your Highness. Lead the way.”
Sturm was groggy but appeared to be uninjured, except for some superficial burns on his hands and arms. He plunged into the swamp, wading ankle-deep through the water. The mists rolled and twined about him.
“I just came out of there,” Tas protested. “It’s not as much fun as you might imagine.” He shrugged his shoulders and picked up his hoopak. “Oh well. I guess I can’t get any wetter.” He jumped in and went floundering after Sturm.
Raistlin grimaced. Kilting up his robes around his knees, he thrust his staff into the murk to test the bottom and then stepped gingerly into the dark water.
Caramon came after him, his hand ready to steady his brother. “It’s just that I thought I heard that wraith say something to you, Raist. I thought I heard it call you ‘Master’.”
“What a vivid imagination you have, my brother,” Raistlin returned caustically. “Perhaps, when this is over, you should write a book.”
Chapter 16
Tika’s warning. Riverwind’s Dilemma. The Refugees decide.
Laurana was in the cavern she shared with Tika, lying on the bed. She had been up a day and a night, out searching for her missing friend and the kender, and she was exhausted. Still, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking back over everything Tika had said, everything she’d done the last time they’d been together. The clues were there, right in front of her. Laurana should have known immediately that Tika meant to go off after Caramon and that Tas would go with her. She should have done something to stop them.
“If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, thinking about… other things…”
Other things such as Tanis. Laurana had just shut her eyes and was starting to drift off, when Goldmoon’s voice brought her wide awake. “Laurana! They’ve found her!” Two Plainsmen carried Tika on a make-shift litter into the cave where the sick and injured were tended. People gathered to see, and murmurs of pity and concern rose from the women, while the men shook their heads. They rested the litter gently on the floor.
Riverwind built up the fire, as his wife brought cool water. Laurana hovered over Tika.
“Where did they find her?”
“Lying on the bank of the stream,” said Goldmoon.
“Was Tas with her?”
“She was alone. No sign of the kender.”
Tika moaned in pain and stirred restlessly. Her eyes were wide open and hectically brilliant, but she saw only her feverish world. When Goldmoon bent over her, Tika screamed and began to strike her savagely with her fists. It took Riverwind and the two Plainsmen to hold her down, and even then she tried to struggle to free herself.
“What’s the matter with her?” Laurana asked, alarmed.
“Look at those scratches. She’s been attacked by some sort of wild animal,” Goldmoon answered, bathing Tika’s forehead in cool water. “A bear or a mountain lion, maybe.”
“No,” said Riverwind. “Draconian.”
His wife raised her head, looking at him in consternation. “How can you tell?” Riverwind pointed to several smears of gray ash on Tika’s leather armor. “The claw marks are only on her arms and legs, whereas a wild beast would have left its marks all over her body. The draconian was trying to subdue her, to rape her…”
Laurana shuddered. Riverwind looked very grim and his wife deeply troubled.
“What’s the matter?” Laurana asked. “She’ll be all right, won’t she? You can heal her…”
“Yes, Laurana, yes,” said Goldmoon, reassuringly. “Leave her with me, all of you.” She smoothed Tika’s red curls, damp with sweat, and placed her hand on the medallion of Mishakal she wore around her neck. “You should call a meeting of the Council, husband.”
“I need to talk to Tika first.”
Goldmoon hesitated, then said, “Very well. I will summon you when she is awake, but only talk to her for a little while. She is in need of food and rest.”