Dragons of Autumn Twilight - By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman Page 0,121
fell. Riverwind stepped in front of Goldmoon. He had laid his bow down, but he still wore his sword, as did the knight.
Suddenly Raistlin intervened. The mage had laid down his staff, his pouches of spell components, and the precious bag that contained his spellbooks. He was not worried about these—spells of protection had been laid on the books; anyone other than their owner attempting to read them would go insane; and the Staff of Magius was quite capable of taking care of itself. Raistlin held out his hands toward Goldmoon.
"Give them the pack," he said gently. "Otherwise they will kill us."
"Listen to him, my dear," called out Toede hastily. "He's an intelligent man."
"He's a traitor!" cried Goldmoon, clutching the pack.
"Give them the pack," Raistlin repeated hypnotically.
Goldmoon felt herself weakening, felt his strange power breaking her. "No!" She choked. "This is our hope—"
"It will be all right," Raistlin whispered, staring intently into her clear blue eyes. "Remember the staff? Remember when I touched it?"
Goldmoon blinked. "Yes," she murmured. "It shocked you—"
"Hush," Raistlin warned swiftly. "Give them the pouch. Do not worry. All will be well. The gods protect their own."
Goldmoon stared at the mage, then nodded reluctantly.
Raistlin reached out his thin hands to take the pouch from her.
Fewmaster Toede stared at it greedily, wondering what was in it. He would find out, but not in front of all these goblins.
Finally there was only one person left who had not obeyed the command. Sturm stood unmoving, his face pale, his eyes glittering feverishly. He held his father's ancient, two-handed sword tightly. Suddenly Sturm turned, shocked to feel Raistlin's burning fingers on his arm.
"I will insure its safety," the mage whispered.
"How?" the knight asked, withdrawing from Raistlin's touch as from a poisonous snake.
"I do not explain my ways to you," Raistlin hissed. "Trust me or not, as you choose."
Sturm hesitated.
"This is ridiculous!" shrieked Toede. "Kill the knight! Kill them if they cause more trouble. I'm losing sleep!"
"Very well!" Sturm said in a strangled voice. Walking over, he reverently laid the sword down on the pile of weapons. Its ancient silver scabbard, decorated with the kingfisher and rose, gleamed in the light.
"Ah, truly a beautiful weapon," Toede said. He had a sudden vision of himself walking into audience with Lord Verminaard, the sword of a Solamnic knight hanging at his side. "Perhaps I should take that into custody myself. Bring it—"
Before he could finish, Raistlin stepped forward swiftly and knelt beside the pile of weapons. A bright flash of light sprang from the mage's hand. Raistlin closed his eyes and began to murmur strange words, holding his outstretched hands above the weapons and packs.
"Stop him!" yelled Toede. But none dared.
Finally Raistlin ceased speaking and his head slumped forward. His brother hurried to help.
Raistlin stood. "Know this!" the mage said, his golden eyes staring around the common room. "I have cast a spell upon our belongings. Anyone who touches them will be slowly devoured by the great worm, Catyrpelius, who will rise from the Abyss and suck the blood from your veins until you are nothing more than a dried husk."
"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.