“I was strong enough, barely,” she whispered, her lips parting in the crooked smile that made Dalamar’s blood burn. She raised her arms. “I’ve come to you. Help me stand.”
Reaching down, Dalamar lifted Kitiara to her feet. She slumped against him. He could feel her body shivering and shook his head, knowing what poison worked in her blood. His arm around her, he half-carried her into the laboratory and shut the door behind them.
Her weight upon him increased, her eyes rolled back. “Oh, Dalamar,” she murmured, and he saw she was going to faint. He put his arms completely around her. She leaned her head against his chest, breathing a thankful sigh of relief.
He could smell the fragrance of her hair—that strange smell, a mixture of perfume and steel. Her body trembled in his arms. His grasp around her tightened. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his. “I’m feeling better now,” she whispered. Her hands slid down...
Too late, Dalamar saw the brown eyes glitter. Too late, he saw the crooked smile twist. Too late he felt her hand jerk, and the quick stabbing thrust of pain as her knife entered his body.
“Well, we made it,” Caramon yelled, staring down from the crumbling courtyard of the flying citadel as it floated above the tops of the dark trees of the Shoikan Grove.
“Yes, at least this far,” Tanis muttered. Even from this vantage point, high above the cursed forest, he could feel the cold waves of hatred and bloodlust rising up to grasp at them as if the guardians could, even now, drag them down. Shivering, Tanis forced his gaze to where the top of the Tower of High Sorcery loomed near. “If we can get close enough,” he shouted to Caramon above the rush of the wind in his ears, “we can drop down on that walkway that circles around the top.”
“The Death Walk,” Caramon returned grimly.
“What?”
“The Death Walk!” Caramon edged closer, watching his footing as the dark trees drifted beneath them like the waves of a black ocean. “That’s where the evil mage stood when he called down the curse upon the Tower. So Raistlin told me. That’s where he jumped from.”
“Nice, cheerful place,” Tanis muttered into his beard, staring at it grimly. Smoke rolled around them, blotting out the sight of the trees. The half-elf tried not to think about what was happening in the city. He’d already caught a glimpse of the Temple of Paladine in flames.
“You know, of course,” he yelled, grabbing hold of Caramon s shoulder as the two stood on the edge of the courtyard of the citadel, “there’s every possibility Tasslehoff is going to crash right into that thing!”
“We’ve come this far,” Caramon said softly. “The gods are with us.”
Tanis blinked, wondering if he’d heard right. “That doesn’t sound like the old jovial Caramon,” he said with a grin.
“That Caramon’s dead, Tanis,” Caramon replied flatly, his eyes on the approaching Tower.
Tanis’s grin softened to a sigh. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say, putting a clumsy hand on Caramon’s shoulder.
Caramon looked at him, his eyes bright and clear. “No, Tanis,” he said. “Par-Salian told me, when he sent me back in time, that I was going back to ‘save a soul. Nothing more. Nothing less.’”
Caramon smiled sadly. “I thought he meant Raistlin’s s soul. I see now he didn’t. He meant my own.” The big man’s body tensed. “C’mon,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “We’re close enough to jump for it.”
A balcony that encircled the top of Tower appeared beneath them, dimly seen through the swirling smoke. Looking down, Tanis felt his stomach shrivel. Although he knew it was impossible, it seemed that the Tower itself was lurching around beneath him, while he was standing perfectly still. It had looked so huge, as they were nearing it. Now, he might have been planning to leap out of a vallenwood to land upon the roof of a child’s toy castle. To make matters worse, the citadel continued to fly closer and closer to the Tower. The blood-red tips of the black minarets that topped it danced in Tanis’s vision as the citadel lurched back and forth and bobbed up and down.
“Jump!” shouted Caramon, hurling himself into space.
An eddy of smoke swirled past Tanis, blinding him. The citadel was still moving. Suddenly, a huge, black rock column loomed right before him. It was either jump or be squashed. Frantically, Tanis jumped, hearing a horrible crunching and grinding sound right above him. He was falling into nothingness, the smoke swirled about him, and then he had one split second to brace himself as the stones of the Death Walk materialized beneath his feet.
He landed with a jarring thud that shook every bone in his body and left him stunned and breathless. He had just sense enough to roll over onto his stomach, covering his head with his arms as showers of rock tumbled down around him.
Caramon was on his feet, roaring, “North! Due north!”
Very, very faintly, Tanis thought he heard a shrill voice screaming from the citadel above, “North! North! North! We’ve got to head off straight north!”
The grinding, crunching sound ceased. Raising his head cautiously, Tanis saw, through a ripple in the smoke, the flying citadel drifting off on its new tack, wobbling slightly, and heading straight for the palace of Lord Amothus.
“You all right?” Caramon helped Tanis to his feet.
“Yeah,” said the half-elf shakily. He wiped blood from his mouth. “Bit my tongue. Damn, that hurts!”
“The only way down is over here,” Caramon said, leading the way around the Death Walk. They came to an archway carved into the black stone of the Tower. A small wooden door stood closed and barred.
“There’ll probably be guards,” Tanis pointed out as Caramon, backing off, prepared to hurl his weight against the door.
“Yeah,” the big man grunted. Making a short run, he threw himself forward, smashing into the door. It shivered and creaked, wood splintered along the iron bars, but it held. Rubbing his shoulder, Caramon backed off. Eyeing the door, concentrating all his strength and effort on it, he crashed into it once again. This time, it gave with a shattering boom, carrying Caramon with it. Hurrying inside, peering around in the smoke-filled darkness, Tanis found Caramon lying on the floor, surrounded by shards of wood. The half-elf started to reach a hand down to his friend when he stopped, staring.
“Name of the Abyss!” he swore, his breath catching in his throat.
Hurriedly, Caramon got to his feet. “Yeah,” he said warily. “I’ve run into these before.”
Two pairs of disembodied eyes, glowing white with an eerie, cold light, floated before them.
“Don’t let them touch you,” Caramon warned in a low voice. “They drain the life from your body.” The eyes floated nearer.
Hurriedly Caramon stepped in front of Tanis, facing the eyes. “I am Caramon Majere, brother of Fistandantilus,” he said softly. “You know me. You have seen me before, in times long past.”
The eyes halted, Tanis could feel their chill scrutiny. Slowly, he lifted his arm. The cold light of t he guardian’s eyes was reflected in the silver bracelet.
“I am a friend of your master’s, Dalamar,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm. “He gave me this bracelet.” Tanis felt, suddenly, a cold grip on his arm. He gasped in pain that seemed to bore straight to his heart. Staggering, he almost fell. Caramon caught hold of him.
“The bracelet’s gone!” Tanis said through clenched teeth.
“Dalamar!” Caramon yelled, his voice booming and echoing through the chamber. “Dalamar! It is Caramon! Raistlin’s brother! I’ve got to get into the Portal! I can stop him! Call off the guardians, Dalamar!”
“Perhaps it’s too late,” Tanis said, staring at the pallid eyes, which stared back at them. “Maybe Kit got here first. Perhaps he’s dead... .”
“Then so are we,” Caramon said softly.
6