"The great worm Catyrpelius!" breathed Tasselehoff, his eyes shining. "That's incredible. I've never heard of-"
Tanis clapped his hand over the kender's mouth.
The goblins backed away from the pile of weapons which seemed to almost glow with a green aura.
"Get those weapons, somebody!" ordered Toede in a rage.
"You get 'em," muttered a goblin.
No one moved. Toede was at a loss. Although he was not particularly imaginative, a vivid picture of the great worm, Catyrpelius, reared up in his mind. "Very well," he muttered, "take the prisoners away! Load them into the cages. And bring those weapons, too, or you'll wish that worm what's-its-name was sucking your blood!" Toede stomped off angrily.
The goblins began to shove their prisoners toward the door, prodding them in the back with their swords. None, however, touched Raistlin.
"That's a wonderful spell, Raist," Caramon said in a low voice. "How effective is it? Could it-"
"It's about as effective as your wit!" Raistlin whispered and held up his right hand. As Caramon saw the tell-tale black marks of flashpowder, he smiled grimly in sudden understanding.
Tanis was the last to leave the Inn. He cast a final look around. A single light swung from the ceiling. Tables were overturned, chairs broken. The beams of the ceiling were blackened from the fires, in some cases burned through completely. The windows were covered with greasy black soot.
"I almost wish I had died before I saw this."
The last thing he heard as he left were two hobgoblin captains arguing heatedly about who was going to move the enchanted weapons.
3
The slave caravan. A strange old magician
The companions spent a chill, sleepless night, penned up in an iron-barred cage on wheels in the Solace Town Square. Three cages were chained to one of the posts driven into the ground around the clearing. The wooden posts were black from flame and heat, the bases scorched and splintered. No living thing grew in the clearing, even the rocks were black and melted.
When day dawned, they could see other prisoners in the other cages. The last slave caravan leaving Solace for Pax Tharkas, it was to be personally led by the Fewmaster himself, Toede having decided to take this opportunity to impress Lord Verminaard who was in residence at Pax Tharkas.
Caramon tried once, during the cover of night, to bend the bars of the cage and had to give up.
A cold mist arose in the early morning hours, hiding the ravaged town from the companions. Tanis glanced over at Goldmoon and Riverwind. Now I understand them, Tanis thought. Now I know the cold emptiness inside that hurts worse than any swordthrust. My home is gone.
He glanced over at Gilthanas, huddled in a corner. The elf had spoken to no one that night, excusing himself by begging that his head hurt and he was tired. But Tanis, who had kept watch all through the night, saw that Gilthanas did not sleep or even make a pretence of sleeping. He gnawed his lower lip and stared out into the darkness. The sight reminded Tanis that he had-if he chose to claim it-another place he could call home: Qualinesti.
No, Tanis thought, leaning against the bars, Qualinesti was never home. It was simply a place I lived…
Fewmaster Toede emerged from the mist, rubbing his fat hands together and grinning widely as he regarded the slave caravan with pride. There may be a promotion here. A fine catch, considering pickings were drying up in this burned-out shell of a town. Lord Verminaard should be pleased, especially with this last batch. That large warrior, particularly-an excellent specimen. He could probably do the work of three men in the mines. The tall barbarian would do nicely, too. Probably have to kill the knight, though-the Solamnics were notoriously uncooperative. But Lord Verminaard will certainly enjoy the two females-very different, but both lovely. Toede himself had always been attracted to the red-haired barmaid, with her alluring green eyes, the low-cut white blouse purposefully revealing just enough of her lightly-freckled skin to tantalize a man with thoughts of what lay beyond.
The Fewmaster's reveries were interrupted by the sound of clashing steel and hoarse shouts floating eerily through the mist. The shouts grew louder and louder. Soon almost everyone in the slave caravan was awake and peering through the fog, trying to see.
Toede cast an uneasy glance at the prisoners and wished he'd kept a few more guards handy. The goblins, seeing the prisoners stir, jumped to their feet and trained their bows and arrows on the wagons.
"What is this?" Toede grumbled aloud. "Can't those fools even take one prisoner without all this turmoil?"
Suddenly a cry bellowed above the noise. It was the cry of a man in torment and pain, but whose rage surpassed all else.
Gilthanas stood up, his face pale.
"I know that voice," he said. "Theros Ironfeld. I feared this. He's been helping elves escape ever since the slaughter. This Lord Verminaard has sworn to exterminate the elves"- Gilthanas watched Tanis's reaction-"or didn't you know?"
"No!" Tanis said, shocked. "I didn't know. How could I?"
Gilthanas fell silent, studying Tanis for long moments. "Forgive me," he said at last. "It appears I have misjudged you. I thought perhaps that was why you had grown the beard."
"Never!" Tanis leaped up. "How dare you accuse me-"
"Tanis," cautioned Sturm.
The half-elf turned to see the goblin guards crowding foward, their arrows trained at his heart. Raising his hands, he stepped back to his place just as a squadron of hobgoblins dragged a tall, powerfully built man into sight.
"I heard Theros had been betrayed," Gilthanas said softly. "I returned to warn him. But for him, I never would have escaped Solace alive. I was supposed to meet him in the Inn last night. When he did not come, I was afraid-"
Fewmaster Toede threw open the door to the companions' cage, yelling and gesturing for the hobgoblins to hurry their prisoner forward. The goblins kept the other prisoners covered while the hobgoblins threw Theros into the cage.
Fewmaster Toede slammed the door shut quickly. "That's it!" he yelled. "Hitch up the beasts. We're moving out."
Squads of goblins drove huge elk into the clearing and began hitching them to wagons. Their yelling and the confusion registered only in the back of Tanis's mind. For the moment, his shocked attention was on the smith.
Theros Ironfeld lay unconscious on the straw-covered floor of the cage. Where his strong right arm should have been was a mangled stump. His arm had been hacked off, apparently by some blunt weapon, just below the shoulder. Blood poured from the terrible wound and pooled on the floor of the cage.
"Let that be a lesson to all those who help elves!" The Fewmaster peered in the cage, his red pig eyes squinching in their pouches of fat. "He won't be forging anything ever again- unless it be a new arm! I, eh-" A huge elk lumbered into the Fewmaster, forcing him to scramble for his life.
Toede turned on the creature leading the elk. "Sestun You oaf!" Toede knocked the smaller creature to the ground.
Tasslehoff stared down at the creature, thinking it was a very short goblin. Then he saw it was a gully dwarf dressed in a goblin's armor. The gully dwarf picked himself up, shoved his oversized helm back, and glared after the Fewmaster, who was waddling up to the front of the caravan. Scowling, the gully dwarf began kicking mud in his direction. This apparently relieved his soul, for he soon quit and returned to prodding the slow elk into line.
"My faithful friend," Gilthanas murmured, bending over Theros and taking the smith's strong, black hand in his. "You have paid for your loyalty with your life."
Theros looked at him with vacant eyes, clearly not hearing the elf's voice. Gilthanas tried to stanch the dreadful wound, but blood continued to pump onto the floor of the cart. The smithy's life was emptying before their eyes.