“We have to haul this demon-spawn clear to the top of the Life Tree?” Caramon asked, shaking his head. “Uh, Raist, I don’t suppose you could—”
“No, I could not,” Raistlin snapped. “I am already weakened from the spells I’ve cast this day. You must do the best you can.”
“You take the head,” said Sturm to Caramon.
The big man bent down, took hold of the table with the monster on top of it and, with a grunt, lifted it off the floor. Sturm took hold of his end, and they managed to maneuver table and draconian out the door.
“Wait!” Raistlin ordered. “We should cover it with a blanket. We’ll draw enough attention to ourselves as it is, without being seen hauling a monster through the streets.”
“Hurry up!” Sturm gasped.
Raistlin grabbed up two blankets and draped them over the draconian.
“I’ll walk ahead of you,” Raistlin offered, “to clear the way.”
“You’re sure that won’t take too much out of you?” Sturm said bitterly. Either Raistlin did not hear him, or he chose to ignore him. He preceeded them through the street, the light of his staff shining brightly.
Sturm and Caramon had to stop every so often to rest and shift position to ease cramps in their backs and shoulders. They made relatively good time until they reached the populated parts of Thorbardin. At the sight of the Talls, dwarves immediately surrounded them and demanded to know where they were going and why.
Raistlin managed to find a dwarf who spoke enough Common to carry on a limited conversation. Raistlin explained that one of their number had been taken ill, and they wanted to transport him to the upper levels, where he said they had been told there were Houses of Healing. The dwarf wanted to take a look at the sick Tall, and he reached for the blanket. Raistlin laid his hand on the blanket-covered head.
“You don’t want to touch him,” he said softly, in his whispering voice. “We fear it might be the plague.”
The dwarf fell back, glaring darkly at the companions, and crying out a warning to the other dwarves, who regarded them with even more distrust than before, if that were possible.
“What did you tell them?” Sturm demanded. “By the looks of them, they mean to kill us all!”
“Never mind,” said Raistlin. “We’ll sort it out later. For the moment they’ll stay clear of us. Keep moving.”
The dwarves gave them a clear path, but they fell in behind them, forming a grim and silent escort. The companions arrived at the lift, and this presented their next problem.
“The table won’t fit in the bucket,” Caramon pointed out.
“Dump the draconian into the bottom,” said Sturm.
“They are watching us,” Raistlin warned. He gestured to the crowd of dwarves growing larger by the moment. “Be careful to keep the monster covered.”
He climbed into the lift. Sturm and Caramon tilted the table and the draconian slid off, landing in a heap at the bottom of the bucket. Raistlin hurriedly arranged the blanket over him. As many dwarves as could fit crowded into a second lift and rode up alongside them, keeping an eye on them.
Sturm sank back against the side of the bucket, massaging his shoulders. Caramon flexed his hands and then arched his back, trying to ease a kink in his muscles. Raistlin kept watch on the dwarves in the lift. The dwarves kept their eyes fixed on him.
None of them noticed the faint quivering of the blanket covering the draconian until it was too late.
Grag had come to his senses to find himself being hauled off to some unknown destination by his enemies. He had continued to feign unconsciousness, biding his time, and cursing the Theiwar, who had managed to bungle everything. The draconian would have to reveal himself for what he was, and that was a pity, but it couldn’t be helped. Grag had to return to his command and let Dray-yan know what had happened, so they could alter their plans accordingly. Being dumped into the bottom of the bucket gave Grag his chance. Flinging off the blanket, he leapt to his feet. His first care was to fell the wizard. An elbow to the gut rendered him harmless. The wizard gasped in agony and crumpled. The two warriors were reaching for their swords. Grag whirled about, catching both of them with his lashing tail, knocking the knight backward and nearly flipping the other out of the lift.
Grag would have liked to have settled the score and finished off these three humans, especially the knight, but he didn’t have time. He jumped onto the edge of the bucket and perched there for a moment, getting his bearings. He looked down the lift shaft to see the base of the Life Tree far, far below. His idea had been to try to coast down on his wings, but the shaft was narrow, and he feared he might strike his wings on the stone sides and damage them.
The dwarves in the second lift were raising a ruckus, pointing and shouting and bellowing in horror at the sight of the monster. Those dwarves waiting for the lift on the next level, hearing the commotion echoing up the shaft, saw the draconian poised on the edge of the bucket, wings spread, tail twitching. One quick-thinking dwarf seized the control lever, shoved it in place, halting the lift.
Grag jumped out of the bucket when it was still swinging. He landed on his feet on the ground and came face-to-face with Hornfel and Tanis.
Hornfel took one look at the monster, drew his sword and ran to the attack. Tanis looked into the lift, saw Caramon helping Raistlin to his feet, and Sturm trying to extricate himself. Seeing they were all right, Tanis went with Hornfel. The Daewar Thane, Gneiss, was slower off the mark, but soon caught up with the Hylar and the wild-eyed Klar. Shouting a piercing battle cry and swinging an enormous axe, he ran to join them. The soldiers were startled at the sight of the monster, but inspired by their Thanes’ courageous example, they rallied and raced after them. Grag had no intention of fighting. He was outnumbered, and besides, this was neither the time nor the place. He cast a quick look around and saw what appeared to be a garden with a balcony overlooking the lake. Grag took to his heels. Using his wings to skim over the ground and any obstacles in his way, he easily outdistanced the pursuing dwarves.
Arriving at the balcony, he leapt on it and teetered there a moment, while he figured out where he was in relation to where he wanted to be. He glanced back at his pursuers, spread his wings, and jumped off.
Grag was at the top level of the Life Tree when he leaped, and his training in jumping from the back of a dragon proved invaluable. He could not fly, but as he had learned when jumping off the dragon, he could use his wings to slow his descent. He located the Theiwar wharf from the air, and though it was far off to his left, he could maneuver a little in the air in order to land in the water as near the Theiwar realm as possible.
Glancing up, Grag saw the dwarves peering over the edge of the balcony. More dwarves—hundreds of dwarves—were down below, staring up at him.
So much for their plans for secrecy.
Grag shrugged and gave his wings a twitch. As a commander, he was accustomed to sudden and unexpected shifts in battle. He couldn’t waste time bemoaning mistakes made in the past. He had to think about the future, decide what to do and how to do it, and he had determined his next course of action by the time he was half-way down. He struck the water with a large splash. Draconians don’t like water, but they can swim if they have to. Grag set out for the Theiwar side of the lake, propelling his scaly body through the cold lake with powerful strokes of his strong legs and using his arms to dog-paddle.
Grag reached the wharf and pulled himself, dripping, out of the water. He tore off his robes, leaving them in a sodden heap on the dock.
Then, loping and flying, he headed for the secret tunnels where his army waited for him.
“Is that one of the monsters of which you spoke?” Hornfel leaned over the balcony, watching the draconian drift through the air as gently as a falling feather.