Lyrexis, with whatever instinct was instilled in her newborn mind, understood her enemies were getting away. She displayed her wicked teeth and advanced. Butting into the draconians' shields didn't discourage her. “Kill,” she said distinctly. Her first words. “Enemy. Kill.”
One of the draconians made a mistake. He used his sword to fend off the enraged creature. The keenly forged blade cut Lyrexis, and her reluctance to battle cold-bloods like herself vanished in an instant. She rammed her iron-nailed hand through the draconian's shield, seized him by the throat and crushed it, armor, bone, and all.
“Kill that beast,” Shanz ordered.
“No!” Krago cried out.
“Get in the pot!” Riverwind demanded.
The draconians closed around Lyrexis to cut her down. Their strength and their weapons were far superior to the goblins' and they knew their business. That the newly born ophidian had not been properly prepared for her awakening made the task easier. One of Lyrexis's legs crumpled, and she fell. Draconian swords rose and fell, and the howling and hissing ended in a rattling gasp.
They were all finally in the pot, though Riverwind and Krago each had one leg dangling outside. “The spell! The spell!” Riverwind snapped. Krago turned away from his poor dead creation. He knotted his good hand into a fist and uttered the arcane words of the spell.
Shanz looked over the remains of Lyrexis and, satisfied the wild creature was dead, turned to the escaping quartet. He saw Krago with his eyes rolled back, hand clenched, mouthing the words of a spell. The stubby legs of the pot bobbled on the ground. Shanz's own magical senses tingled. He knew what Krago was doing.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Krago, I command you to stop!”
The legs lifted off the pavement.
“Stop, Krago! Stopl” Shanz turned a dead goblin over with his foot and picked up the soldier's crossbow. He cocked the steel bow with his bare hands and fumbled for a bolt in the goblin's belt pouch.
“Don't falter now, man,” Riverwind urged.
The pot rose faster. Krago was chanting loudly now. A subtle tang filled the air around the lift, the same sort of sparkling sensation that spreads after a violent thunderstorm. The companions rose through the air, the pot rattling up against the hoisting chain. The dark roof of the cavern rushed toward them.
Shanz butted the crossbow against his shoulder and squeezed the trigger bar. The bolt flew wide, and the pot continued to rise. He quickly cocked the bow and fitted another projectile. The range was extreme, almost straight up. Shanz squinted through the brass pins that were the front sight on the bow. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Ah!” Krago gasped suddenly, his eyelids snapping open. The sudden cessation of the spell had the intended effect. The pot wobbled and began its precipitous plunge to the floor.
“Grab the chain!” Riverwind screamed.
The three of them grabbed hold of the iron chain as the pot dropped away from them. Krago's dead body, a bolt protruding from its back, fell into the pot as the cast iron kettle plummeted to the floor, hundreds of feet below. They hung, swaying only slightly, listening to the crossbow bolts sing through the air around them.
“Is everyone here?” Riverwind hissed. His arms felt as though they were on fire.
“I'm-here,” Di An whispered a few feet above him.
From Catchflea, above the elf girl, there was no sound, but his rag-covered body hugged the chain as if it were a dear friend.
“We must climb up,” Riverwind said. “Move, Catchflea.”
“Can't,” the old man hissed. “Can't.”
Riverwind couldn't spare the strength to look up. His face pressed into the cold iron, he said harshly, “If you don't move, we'll all die. Di An and I can't climb over you!”
Catchflea inched his left hand up. When it had a grip, he inched his right hand up. With his toes in the loops of the chain, he tried to take some of the strain from his thin arms. His face was deathly pale.
Di An, usually the best climber of the three, round the going tough. Her new body was much heavier than she was used to. Nothing seemed to fit just right. In silence, the three made the agonizing ascent.
As the dark shape hurtled down, Shanz and his dracon-ians stood back. The iron kettle struck the floor with such force, it buried its bottom half in the stone and a great crack split it in two.
Shanz walked to the kettle and peered in. Krago's lifeless eyes stared up at him. The draconian leader spat. “Always thus for warm-bloods,” he said to no one in particular. “Always the grand ideas which come to naught. That is why we shall prevail. With the Great Ones to lead us, our discipline will overcome all the warm-bloods and their fancy ideas.”
The other draconians joined him.
“Don't just stand there,” he said irritably. “Round up a hundred gully dwarves to clean up this mess and replace the pot. Do you want our mistress to see this putrid waste?' The draconians quickly dispersed, propelled by their fear of the black dragon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Not much farther! Not much farther!”
The hole at the top of the lift yawned. Sweat stung the companions' eyes and mixed with the blood on their cut hands, making their grips unsure. Catchflea disappeared into the short shaft at the top of the cavern. Di An followed, and Riverwind brought up the rear.
At the top of the shaft was a large room. Catchflea's last bit of strength went into heaving himself off the chain and onto the cold stone floor. He rolled away from the opening and lay still.
Di An and Riverwind followed suit. All three were soon laid out on the floor, wheezing and trembling.
“Why you come up that way?” asked a voice. Riverwind cracked an eyelid and saw a gang of gully dwarves watching him closely. With his black eye, wounds, and bleeding hands, he was a grim sight. His friends were no more appealing.
The bearded male that had spoken raised his bushy eyebrows. “Our job to fill one pot to raise the other,” he said. “Why you climb chain?”
“We just escaped-from draconians,” Riverwind managed to say.
The male shrugged and tugged at one fat earlobe. He waved to his comrades, and they bustled forward bearing water skins. Riverwind and Di An drank deeply. “Thank you,” Di An said gratefully.
“Not to mention,” said the young male who handled the water skin. “You pretty lady.”
“What you want do about him arrow?” asked the first male, apparently the leader of the lift operators.
Riverwind sat up. “What arrow?”
“Gray beard have arrow in side.” The gully dwarf pointed solemnly. “You see.”
Riverwind went on hands and knees to Catchflea's side. The old man was lying on his back. The stump of a quarrel poked out of his right side. His ragged clothes were soaked with dark blood.
“You're wounded, old man!” Riverwind cried. “Why didn't you say something?”
“What could you do?” Catchflea asked weakly.
Di An knelt beside Catchflea. She tried to probe the wound with her fingers, but it was too painful for the old soothsayer.
“If we can stop the flow of blood…,” she said, dabbing at the edges of the wound with a piece of Catchflea's clothing. The old man caught her arm with his hand. His grasp was already cold.
“Do not trouble yourself,” Catchflea said. “I am done.”
“Don't say that!” she cried.
“It's true. My only regret is that I did not get to see the stars one last time.” He coughed. “As the oracle said…”
Riverwind leaned close. “What did the oracle say?”
“You will find… glory. Defeat great… darkness. That you have done.”
Riverwind looked bitter. “All I did was stay alive.”
“Sleep,” Catchflea said. He closed his eyes. “Sleep, yes.” His hands, which had been holding Di An's and River-wind's, slowly went slack.