He ducked into a doorway, hiding in the shadows as some draconians passed him—laughing and talking in their cold, guttural language. Apparently they assumed this job was finished and were seeking other amusement. Three others, he noticed—dressed in blue uniforms, not red—appeared extremely upset at the Inn’s destruction, shaking their fist at the red dragon overhead.
Sturm felt the weakness of despair sweep over him. He sagged against the door, watching the draconians dully, wondering what to do next. Were they all still in there? Perhaps they had escaped. Then his heart gave a painful bound. He saw a flash of white.
‘Elistan!’ he cried, watching the cleric emerge from the rubble, dragging someone with him. The draconians, swords drawn, ran toward the cleric, calling out in Common for him to surrender. Sturm yelled the challenge of a Solamnic knight to an enemy and ran out from his doorway. The draconians whirled about, considerably disconcerted to see the knight.
Sturm became dimly aware that another figure was running with him. Glancing to his side, he saw the flash of firelight off a metal helm and heard the dwarf roaring. Then, from a doorway, he heard words of magic.
Gilthanas, unable to stand without help, had crawled out and was pointing at the draconians, reciting his spell. Flaming darts leaped from his hands. One of the creatures fell over, clutching its burning chest. Flint leaped on another, beating it over the head with a rock, while Sturm felled the other draconian with a blow from his fists. Sturm caught Elistan in his arms as the man staggered forward. The cleric was carrying a woman.
‘Laurana!’ Gilthanas cried from the doorway.
Dazed and sick from the smoke, the elfmaid lifted her glazed eyes. ‘Gilthanas?’ she murmured. Then, looking up, she saw the knight. ‘Sturm,’ she said confusedly, pointing behind her vaguely. ‘Your sword, it’s here. I saw it—’
Sure enough, Sturm saw a flash of silver, barely visible beneath the rubble. His sword, and next to it was Tanis’s sword, the elven blade of Kith-Kanan. Moving aside piles of stone, Sturm reverently lifted the swords that lay like artifacts within a hideous, gigantic cairn. The knight listened for movement, calls, cries. There was only a dreadful silence.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he said slowly, without moving. He looked at Elistan, who was staring back at the wreckage, his face deathly pale. ‘The others?’
‘They were all in there,’ Elistan said in a trembling voice. ‘And the half-elf...’
‘Tanis?’
‘Yes. He came through the back door, just before the dragon hit the Inn. They were all together, in the very center. I was standing beneath a doorway. Tanis saw the beam breaking. He threw Laurana. I caught her, then the ceiling collapsed on top of them. There’s no way they could have—’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Flint said fiercely, leaping into the rubble. Sturm grasped hold of him, yanked him back.
‘Where’s Tas?’ the knight asked the dwarf sternly.
The dwarf’s face fell. ‘Pinned under a beam,’ he said, his face gray with grief and sorrow. He clutched at his hair wildly, knocking off his helm. ‘I’ve got to go back to him. But I can’t leave them—Caramon—’ The dwarf began to cry, tears streaming into his beard. ‘That big, dumb ox! I need him. He can’t do this to me! And Tanis, too!’ The dwarf swore. ‘Damn it, I need them!’
Sturm put his hand on Flint’s shoulder. ‘Go back to Tas. He needs you now. There are draconians roaming the streets. We’ll be all—’
Laurana screamed, a terrifying, pitiful sound that pierced Sturm like a spear. Turning, he caught hold of her just as she started to rush into the debris.
‘Laurana!’ he cried. ‘Look at that! Look at it!’ He shook her in his own anguish. ‘Nothing could be alive in there!’
‘You don’t know that!’ she screamed at him in fury, tearing away from his grasp. Falling onto her hands and knees, she tried to lift one of the blackened stones. ‘Tanis!’ she cried. The stone was so heavy, she could only move it a few inches.
Sturm watched, heartsick, uncertain what to do. Then he had his answer. Horns! Nearer and nearer. Hundreds, thousands of horns. The armies were invading. He looked at Elistan, who nodded in sorrowful understanding. Both men hurried over to Laurana.
‘My dear,’ Elistan began gently, ‘there’s nothing you can do for them. The living need you. Your brother is hurt, so is the kender. The draconians are invading. We must either escape now, and keep fighting these horrible monsters, or waste our lives in useless grief. Tanis gave his life for you, Laurana. Don’t let it be a needless sacrifice.’
Laurana stared up at him, her face black with soot and filth, streaked with tears and blood. She heard the horns, she heard Gilthanas calling, she heard Flint shouting something about Tasslehoff dying, she heard Elistan’s words. And then the rain began, dripping from the skies as the heat of the dragonfire melted the snow, changing it to water.
The rain ran down her face, cooling her feverish skin.
‘Help me, Sturm,’ she whispered through lips almost too numb to shape the words. He put his arm around her. She stood up, dizzy and sick with shock.
‘Laurana!’ her brother called. Elistan was right. The living needed her. She must go to him. Though she would rather lie down on this pile of rocks and die, she must go on. That was what Tanis would do. They needed her. She must go on.
‘Farewell, Tanthalas,’ she whispered.
The rain increased, pouring down gently, as if the gods themselves wept for Tarsis the Beautiful.
Water dripped on his head. It was irritating, cold. Raistlin tried to roll over, out of the way of the water. But he couldn’t move. There was a heavy weight pressing down on top of him. Panicking, he tried desperately to escape. As fear surged through his body, he came fully to consciousness. With knowledge, panic vanished. Raistlin was in control once more and, as he had been taught, he forced himself to relax and study the situation.
He could see nothing. It was intensely dark, so he was forced to rely on his other senses. First, he had to get this weight off. He was being smothered and crushed. Cautiously he moved his arms. There was no pain, nothing appeared broken. Reaching up, he touched a body. Caramon, by the armor—and the smell. He sighed. He might have known. Using all his strength, Raistlin shoved his brother aside and crawled out from under him.
The mage breathed more easily, wiping water from his face. He located his brother’s neck in the darkness and felt for the lifebeat. It was strong, the man’s flesh was warm, his breathing regular. Raistlin lay back down on the floor in relief. At least, wherever he was, he wasn’t alone.
Where was he? Raistlin reconstructed those last few terrifying moments. He remembered the beam splitting and Tanis throwing Laurana out from under it. He remembered casting a spell, the last one he had strength enough to manage. The magic coursed through his body, creating around him and those near him a force capable of shielding them from physical objects. He remembered Caramon hurling himself on top of him, the building collapsing around them, and a falling sensation.
Falling...
Ah, Raistlin understood. We must have crashed through the floor into the Inn’s cellar. Groping around the stone floor, the mage suddenly realized he was soaked through. Finally, however, he found what he had been searching for—the Staff of Magius. Its crystal was unbroken; only dragonfire could damage the Staff given him by Par-Salian in the Towers of High Sorcery.
‘Shirak,’ whispered Raistlin, and the Staff flared into light. Sitting up, he glanced around. Yes, he was right. They were in the cellar of the Inn. Broken bottles of wine spilled their contents onto the floor. Casks of ale were split in two. It wasn’t all water he had been lying in.