Dragons of Autumn Twilight - By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman Page 0,130

"Your axe! Break the lock!"

The gully dwarf's eyes opened wide. He stared at the companions, then he glanced down the trail the Fewmaster had taken. His face twisted in an agony of indecision.

"Sestun—" Tasslehoff began. An arrow zinged past the kender. The draconians behind them were moving forward, firing into the cages. Tas flattened himself on the floor. "Sestun," he began again, "help free us and you can come with us!"

A look of firm resolve hardened Sestun's features. He reached for his axe, which he wore strapped onto his back. The companions watched in nailbiting frustration as Sestun felt all around his shoulders for the axe, which was located squarely in the middle of his back. Finally, one hand discovered the handle and he pulled the axe out. The blade glinted in the gray light of dawn.

Flint saw it and groaned. "That axe is older than I am! It must date back to the Cataclysm! He probably couldn't cut through a kender's brain, let alone that lock!"

"Hush!" Tanis instructed, although his own hopes sank at the sight of the gully dwarf's weapon. It wasn't even a battle-axe, just a small, battered, rusty woodcutting axe the gully dwarf had apparently picked up somewhere, thinking it was a weapon. Sestun tucked the axe between his knees and spat on his hands.

Arrows thunked and clattered around the bars of the cage. One struck Caramon's shield. Another pinned Tika's blouse to the side of the cage, grazing her arm. Tika couldn't remember being more terrified in her life—not even the night dragons struck Solace. She wanted to scream, she wanted Caramon to put his arm around her. But Caramon didn't dare move.

Tika caught sight of Goldmoon, shielding the injured Theros with her body, her face pale but calm. Tika pressed her lips together and drew a deep breath. Grimly she yanked the arrow out of the wood and tossed it to the floor, ignoring the stinging pain in her arm. Looking south, she saw that the draconians, momentarily confused by the sudden attack and the disappearance of Toede, were organized now, on their feet and running toward the cages. Their arrows filled the air. Their chest armor gleamed in the dim gray light of morning, so did the bright steel of their longswords, which they carried clamped in their jaws as they ran.

"Draconians, closing in," she reported to Tanis, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Hurry, Sestun!" Tanis shouted.

The gully dwarf gripped the axe, swung it with all his might, and missed the lock, striking the iron bars a blow that nearly jarred the axe from his hands. Shrugging apologetically, he swung again. This time he struck the lock.

"He didn't even dent it," Sturm reported.

"Tanis," Tika quavered, pointing. Several draconians were within ten feet of them, pinned down for a few moments by the elven archers, but all hope of rescue seemed lost.

Sestun struck the lock again.

"He chipped it," Sturm said in exasperation. "At this rate we'll be out in about three days! What are those elves doing, anyway? Why don't they quit skulking about and attack!"

"We don't have enough men to attack a force this size!" Gilthanas returned angrily, crouching next to the knight. "They'll get to us when they can! We are at the front of the line. See, others are escaping."

The elf pointed to the two wagons behind them. The elves had broken the locks and the prisoners were dashing madly for the woods as the elves covered them, darting out from the trees to let fly their deadly barrage of arrows. But once the prisoners were safe, the elves retreated into the trees.

The draconians had no intention of going into the elven woods after them. Their eyes were on the last prison cage and the wagon containing the prisoners' possessions. The companions could hear the shouts of the draconian captains. The meaning was clear: "Kill the prisoners. Divide the spoils."

Everyone could see that the draconians would reach them long before the elves did. Tanis swore in frustration. Everything seemed futile. He felt a stirring at his side. The old magician, Fizban, was getting to his feet.

"No, Old One!" Raistlin grasped at Fizban's robes. "Keep under cover!"

An arrow zipped through the air and stuck in the old man's bent and battered hat. Fizban, muttering to himself, did not seem to notice. He presented a wonderful target in the gray light. Draconian arrows flew around him like wasps, and seemed to have as little effect, although he did appear mildly annoyed when