"The greater hatori, and a very ancient one by the size of it," whispered Kirsig. "It can't have had much to eat on this island over the past decades, and a hungry hatori is a hungry fighter, as my daddy always used to say."
The bulette glared first at the kyrie and their friends, then out over the army it had assembled. While none of these killer animals had any love for each other, they had even less for the minotaurs, who were known in the desert world as wanton, arrogant bullies.
The bulette had communicated the arrangement proposed by Bird-Spirit and Cloudreaver. The animals would fight together for one day, and the kyrie would cede desolate Karthay to them for one thousand years. Because of the presence of Kit, and presumably Raistlin, in the ruined city, the creatures were under strict orders not to harm any humans or other races, only minotaurs. These they could kill according to their whim.
A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked Flint down. The wind continued gusting, blowing blankets and packs around the campsite. With a sinking feeling, Flint looked up. Just overhead hovered four rocs, two adults and two smaller ones, probably their adolescent offspring. Sharp black eyes regarded the assembled company. With their muscular bodies, sleek, bulletlike heads, and immense wingspans, each roc was as big as a vallenwood. Their glossy brown and yellow plumage and strong, curved beaks shone in the rays of the rising sun.
Toth-Ur paced restlessly in front of his tent. The afternoon sun beat down on him, matting his glossy black fur with perspiration. The Nightmaster and his retinue had departed safely for the volcano's summit. Apparently everything was in order, but uneasiness dogged Toth-Ur's steps. Zedhar hadn't returned from his scouting mission the previous day. The commander debated sending out a search party for him, but with his troops' numbers already diminished by the contingent that accompanied the Nightmaster, Toth-Ur was reluctant to do so. The high shaman had warned him to be vigilant today… especially today.
His tent was pitched near the western perimeter of the ruined city of Karthay, near a crumbled parapet. Hands on his haunches, Toth-Ur surveyed the barren, desolate landscape. A few soldiers stood off to one side, ready to do his bidding.
Suddenly a giant shape burst from the ground, not ten feet in front of the commander's tent, springing straight up into the air, then coming down heavily on a minotaur soldier's back. A quick thrust of its jaw snapped the bull-man's neck.
Before the other soldiers had time to do much more than unsheath their swords, one horax after another was streaming out of the hole made by the bulette. Everywhere the astonished Toth-Ur looked, strange, horrible animals were pouring out of holes in the ground and attacking his small army from all directions.
The minotaurs couldn't stand their ground, for the savage animal force had attacked in their midst. Some died on the spot. Others stood and fought, though swords and spears merely glanced off the insectoids' chitinous shells. Others retreated to better fighting positions.
The bulette was on a rampage, leaping and smashing and snapping minotaurs with impunity.
The packs of horax were blood-crazed. It took two or three of the creatures to overwhelm a single minotaur. One would fasten its mandibles around each leg just above a hoof, crushing the bones. A third horax would jab the minotaur's soft body parts after the soldier fell to the ground. Then all would stop and devour the victim.
To the south approached an even worse nightmare. The very desert seemed to be on the move against the minotaurs. The greater hatori had emerged and was slithering backward toward a contingent of minotaurs bravely standing their ground. It whipped its bony tail back and forth, knocking down a half-dozen soldiers at a blow, mercilessly mashing them into the ground.
To the north, the giant rocs swept down from the clouds, their wings almost blotting out the sun. They circled out of spear range while the bull-men tossed everything they could think of in their direction. Then, before reinforcements could arrive, each of the rocs hurtled toward the ruins and snatched up huge chunks of ash-encrusted stone, dropping them on two or three minotaur soldiers at a time and crushing the enemy. Kyrie flew with the rocs, giving orders to the giant birds.
Everywhere the minotaurs struggled to regroup. Turning away from a fight was unthinkable to a minotaur, but the attack by this army of monstrous creatures unnerved them. Their eyes goggled. Their responses were disorganized and ineffective. Toth-Ur had never seen, never dreamed, anything like it. The minotaur commander gave the order to fall back.
Sturm, Flint, Kirsig, Yuril, and the other sailors from the Castor hunkered down behind the hatori, dodging spears and tesstos, the barbed clubs favored by many of the minotaurs.
While in hand-to-hand combat with a seven-foot tall brute wielding a katar, Sturm heard Yuril cry out. With a final lunge, the Solamnic stabbed the minotaur soldier through its stomach, then stepped out of the way of the falling beast. He turned to find Yuril.
A short way off, the female first mate stood looking down at the crumpled form of one of her fellow sailors, which lay next to the beheaded body of a minotaur.
"It's Dinchee," she said, looking up at Sturm with moist eyes. "We-we sailed together for many years." Yuril kicked the headless bull-man in the side, then raced back into the fight. Sturm thought about pulling the sailor's body to the side for burial later, but before he could, two hairy, cleft hooves materialized in front of him.
The Solamnic looked up just in time to parry the downward swing of a two-handed sword. The powerful blow cracked his sword in two. The minotaur's nostrils flared as it raised the sword again. Sturm fumbled with the dagger at his belt. Desperately he pulled it free and flung it. It clove into the stomach of the beast, who doubled over. Sturm reached up and pulled the knife sharply upward, then out, disemboweling the bull-man.
The commander of the minotaur army had retrenched inside the perimeter of the city. But his soldiers were in disarray, and the enemy appeared to be all around and above them, swirling and attacking.
A runner approached Toth-Ur. "A band of kyrie, an elf, and a human have penetrated the inner city and are near the Nightmaster's camp, where the human female was being held prisoner."
With an oath, Toth-Ur shouted "Follow me!" to a small band of soldiers and stormed off in the direction of the old library.
The plan had been for the desert creatures and rocs to engage and occupy the perimeter forces, while Caramon, Tanis, Cloudreaver, Bird-Spirit, and the other kyrie would pierce the Nightmaster's enclave, rescuing Kitiara. By now it was almost sundown, but nobody had been able to locate Kit-or Raistlin, for that matter.
Side by side, Caramon and Tanis had fought toward the high shaman's campsite, driving away the few minotaur soldiers who had remained behind to guard it. But when they reached the cage that the kyrie said had held Kit, the cage was empty.
Dangerous though it was, without any flanking support, Bird-Spirit offered to fly quickly over the interior of the ruined city to look for her.
Before he could take off, a shatang, a barbed throwing spear, clattered into their midst. Caramon turned just in time to duck away from the downward stroke of Toth-Ur's studded club. The commander bore down on the Majere twin, slashing at him with the tessto in one hand, a clabbard in another. From the grunts and clanging swords around him, the young warrior surmised that his friends were also engaged in pitched fighting.
The kyries' primitive stone weapons would have put them at a definite disadvantage against the tempered metal of the minotaurs, except that the bird-men were able to lift into the air in an instant, slashing at the minotaurs with their talons while changing the angle of their attack, disconcerting their opponents, whose sword thrusts often went awry.