It wasn’t until Caramon started to mount the stairs leading out into the arena, that Raag finally removed the bindings from the gladiator’s wrists. Flexing his fingers, grimacing, Caramon followed Kiiri and Pheragas and the Red Minotaur out into the center of the arena. The audience cheered. Caramon, taking his place between Kiiri and Pheragas, looked up at the sky nervously. It was past High Watch, the sun was beginning its slow descent.
Istar would never live to see the sunset.
Thinking of this, and thinking that he, too, would never again see the sun’s red rays stream over a battlement, or melt into the sea, or light the tops of the vallenwoods, Caramon felt tears sting his eyes. He wept not so much for himself, but for those two who stood beside him, who must die this day, and for all those innocents who would perish without understanding why.
He wept, too, for the brother he had loved, but his tears for Raistlin were for someone who had died long ago.
“Kiiri, Pheragas,” Caramon said in a low voice when the Minotaur strode forward to take his bow alone, “I don’t know what the mage told you, but I never betrayed you.”
Kiiri refused to even look at him. He saw her lip curl. Pheragas, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, saw the stain of tears upon Caramon’s face and hesitated, frowning, before he, too, turned away.
“It doesn’t matter, really,” Caramon continued, “whether you believe me or not. You can kill each other for the key if you want, because I’m finding my freedom my own way.”
Now Kiiri looked at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. The crowd was on its feet, yelling for the Minotaur, who was walking around the arena, waving his trident above his head.
“You’re mad!” she whispered as loudly as she dared. Her gaze went meaningfully to Raag. As always, the ogre’s huge, yellowish body blocked the only exit.
Caramon’s gaze followed imperturbably, his face not changing expression.
“Our weapons are real, my friend,” Pheragas said harshly. “Yours are not!”
Caramon nodded, but did not answer.
“Don’t do this!” Kiiri edged closer. “We’ll help you fake it in the arena today. I-I guess neither of us really believed the black-robed one. You must admit, it seemed weird—you trying to get us to leave the city! We thought, like he said, that you wanted the prize all to yourself. Look, pretend you’re injured real early. Get yourself carried off. We’ll help you escape tonight—”
“There will be no tonight,” Caramon said softly. “Not for me, not for any of us. I haven’t got much time. I can’t explain. All I ask is this—just don’t try to stop me.”
Pheragas took a breath, but the words died on his lips as another tremor, this one more severe, shook the ground.
Now, everyone noticed. The arena swayed on its stilts, the bridges over the Death Pits creaked, the floor rose and fell, nearly knocking the Red Minotaur to his feet. Kiiri grabbed hold of Caramon. Pheragas braced his legs like a sailor on board a heaving vessel. The crowd in the stands fell suddenly silent as their seats rocked beneath them. Hearing the cracking of the wood, some screamed. Several even rose to their feet. But the tremor stopped as quickly as it had begun.
Everything was quiet, too quiet. Caramon felt the hair rise on his neck and his skin prickle. No birds sang, not a dog barked. The crowd was silent, waiting in fear. I have to get out of here! Caramon resolved. His friends didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered. He had just one fixed objective—to stop Raistlin.
And he must act now, before the next shock hit and before people recovered from this one. Glancing quickly around, Caramon saw Raag standing beside the exit, the ogre’s yellow, mottled face creased in puzzlement, his slow brain trying to figure out what was going on. Arack had appeared suddenly beside him, staring around, probably hoping he wouldn’t be forced to refund his customers’ money. Already the crowd was starting to settle down, though many glanced about uneasily.
Caramon drew a deep breath, then, gripping Kiiri in his arms, he heaved with all his strength, hurling the startled woman right into Pheragas, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Seeing them fall, Caramon whirled around and propelled his massive body straight at the ogre, driving his shoulder into Raag’s gut with all the strength his months of training had given him. It was a blow that would have killed a human, but it only knocked the wind out of the ogre. The force of Caramon’s charge sent them both crashing backward into the wall.
Desperately, while Raag was gasping for breath, Caramon grappled for the ogre’s stout club. But just as he yanked it out of Raag’s grip, the ogre recovered. Howling in anger, Raag brought both massive hands up under Caramon’s chin with a blow that sent the big warrior flying back into the arena.
Landing heavily, Caramon could see nothing for a moment except sky and arena whirling around and around him. Groggy from the blow his warrior’s instincts took over. Catching a glimpse of movement to his left, Caramon rolled over just as the minotaur’s trident came down where his sword arm had been. He could hear the minotaur snarling and growling in bestial fury.
Caramon struggled to regain his feet, shaking his head to clear it, but he knew he could never hope to avoid the minotaur’s second strike. And then a black body was between him and the Red Minotaur. There was a flash of steel as Pheragas’s sword blocked the trident blow that would have finished Caramon. Staggering, Caramon backed up to catch his breath and felt Kiiri’s cool hands helping to support him.
“Are you all right?” she muttered.
“Weapon!” Caramon managed to gasp, his head still ringing from the ogre’s blow.
“Take mine,” Kiiri said, thrusting her shortsword into Caramon’s hands. “Then rest a moment. I’ll handle Raag.”
The ogre, wild with rage and the excitement of battle, barreled toward them, his slavering jaws wide open.
“No! You need it—” Caramon began to protest, but Kiiri only grinned at him.
“Watch!” she said lightly, then spoke strange words that reminded Caramon vaguely of the language of magic. These, however, had a faint accent, almost elvish.
And, suddenly Kiiri was gone. In her place stood a gigantic she-bear. Caramon gasped, unable—for a moment—to comprehend what had happened. Then he remembered—Kiiri was a Sirine, gifted with the power to change her shape!
Rearing up on her hind legs, the she-bear towered over the huge ogre. Raag came to a halt, his eyes wide open in alarm at the sight. Kiiri roared in rage, her sharp teeth gleamed. The sunlight glinted off her claws as one of her giant paws lashed out and caught Raag across his mottled face.
The ogre howled in pain, streams of yellowish blood oozed from the claw marks, one eye disappeared in a mass of bleeding jelly. The bear leaped on the ogre. Watching in awe, Caramon could see nothing but yellow skin and blood and brown fur.
The crowd, too, although they had yelled in delight at the beginning, suddenly became aware that this fight wasn’t faked. This was for real. People were going to die. There was a moment of shocked silence, then—here and there—someone cheered. Soon the applause and wild yells were deafening.
Caramon quickly forgot the people in the stands, however. He saw his chance. Only the dwarf stood blocking the exit now, and Arack’s face, though twisted in anger, was twisted in fear as well. Caramon could easily get past him...
At that moment, he heard a grunt of pleasure from the minotaur. Turning, Caramon saw Pheragas slump over in pain, catching the butt end of the trident in his solar plexus. The minotaur reversed the stroke, raising the weapon to kill, but Caramon yelled loudly, distracting the minotaur long enough to throw him off stride.
The Red Minotaur turned to face this new challenge, a grin on his red-furred face. Seeing Caramon armed only with a shortsword, the minotaur’s grin broadened. Lunging at Caramon, the minotaur sought to end the fight quickly. But Caramon sidestepped deftly. Raising his foot, he kicked, shattering the minotaur’s kneecap. It was a painful, crippling blow, and sent the minotaur stumbling to the ground.