The Damaged Castor had limped back to the mouth of the bay and was about to enter the open sea. Watching the boat from shore, Tanis adjusted the sack slung across his back, a small store of provisions provided by Captain Nugetre. Nearby stood Flint, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to stretch out the soreness in his leg without anyone noticing. But Kirsig watched the dwarf solicitously.

Yuril, plus the four other sailors from the Castor who had decided crewing on a disabled ship was not to their taste, worked near the water's edge, dragging their two small boats up onto the beach. Tanis hoped they hadn't traded one bad job for worse.

Standing apart from the others, his back to the sea, Raistlin surveyed the terrain.

The narrow strip of rock-strewn beach gave way to low sand dunes. Beyond these, the land began rising and breaking up into a maze of ravines and plateaus. As far as the eye could see the terrain looked barren and uninviting.

Although it was only midmorning, the sun burned hot and bright in the sky. A dry wind stirred up the sand on the shore. Tanis felt the grit invade his throat.

A hand brushed the half-elf's arm. It belonged to Raistlin. The young mage had a disconcerting habit of moving around so quietly it was difficult to keep track of him.

Raistlin didn't seem dismayed by the tough, broken landscape. "I judge that we have about a two-day journey inland before we reach the ruins of the dead city," said the mage to Tanis in a low voice. "Do you think Flint's leg will hold up?"

"His leg is much better," replied Tanis. "The old dwarf will probably outlast all of us."

Both men looked over to where Kirsig hovered around Flint, apparently offering a poultice for his leg while the dwarf grumbled and attempted to shoo her away. But not too strenuously, Tanis noticed. He and Raistlin exchanged a grin.

When Tanis turned back, his momentary good humor faded. "The question I have, Raistlin, is where are we headed? You haven't told us very much about the spell that you say will open a portal to let this evil god, or whatever it is, into this world."

Raistlin caught not only the impatience but also the hint of skepticism in Tanis's voice. "Surely in the land of your mother's people you learned something about the old gods," the young mage answered, knowing that any reference to Tanis's divided heritage risked offending the half-elf. Raistlin saw that his words had hit their mark, for color rose in Tanis's cheeks.

"I can't vouch for whether the spell I uncovered will open a portal, or whether the old gods such as Sargonnas are more than mere fairy tales," the mage continued brusquely. "I do know that the spell seems to be ancient and powerful magic. And I know that if there is any chance of Sargonnas entering this world, it behooves us to try to prevent it."

"What about Sturm, Caramon, and Tasslehoff? Are they somewhere on this island?" Tanis asked. "Aren't they the reason we came all this way?"

"I can't wave a magic wand to see if they're here or not," snapped Raistlin, "but you heard what Kirsig said about the minotaurs forming alliances with other races. If, as I suspect, the minotaurs are caught up in their age-old visions of conquest and are trying to bring Sargonnas into the world to help them, it wouldn't matter where Caramon and the others are. We're all in dire jeopardy."

Raistlin paused, taking a deep breath. Visibly calmed, he continued. 'The jalopwort was just one of the ingredients necessary for the spell. The magic also calls for the sacrifice of a victim amenable to Sargonnas. My guess is that may be the reason why Caramon, Sturm, and Tas were brought to this part of the world. One of them may be the intended offering.

"We don't have much time. The spell can only occur during certain conjunctions of the sun, the moons, and the stars. These conjunctions occur not twice in one hundred years, and the next is only three nights away.

"Now let me show you a map I copied from an antique atlas in Morath's library."

Tanis waited, convinced. With Flint and Kirsig, who had overheard the tense discussion and joined them, the half-elf looked at a scrap of parchment that Raistlin had produced. It was covered with squiggly lines and geographic symbols. Yuril and the other sailors came hurrying up, and the small group gathered round the young mage.

"I think the spell will be cast somewhere in or near the ancient ruins of the city of Karthay," said Raistlin. "The city was destroyed by a volcano during the Cataclysm and buried under tons of ash and lava. It is a sacred site of the minotaur nation." He pointed to an area on the map marked as a mountain range. "Sargonnas is the god of deserts, fires, and volcanoes," he added.

"Based on this map, I think we can get there in time, but the journey promises to be dangerous. Anyone who does not relish that prospect should feel free to stay here and wait for us." At this, Raistlin looked up, not at Flint, but at Yuril and the female sailors.

Yuril and her small band had apparently already discussed the risks. "I have a debt to repay," spoke the sinewy sailor, "and my friends here are no strangers to adventure. I speak for us all when I say we cast our lot with you." Yuril delivered her statement proudly, one hand on the hilt of the short sword she wore at her waist. The muscles stood out on her bronzed forearms.

We are fortunate to have her and the others, thought Tanis.

"This dead city," Flint spoke up, "will probably be well guarded, and Sturm and Caramon and that damnable kender along with it. What do you plan to do once we get there?"

"I don't know," admitted Raistlin. "I won't know until we see how many soldiers are guarding the area. Between us," he added, looking at Tanis, "we should be able to come up with a plan."

Tanis felt his heart constrict as he thought once more of the missing Kitiara. He turned away from the group, pretending to scan the inhospitable terrain.

Following Raistlin's map, they picked up a trail along a river that had long ago flowed to the sea from the Worldscap Mountains. Now it had dried up, leaving only cracked, sun-baked earth.

The river route led them down one side and up the other of countless ravines and gashes in the earth. When they could, they kept to the dusty riverbed. Other times, they followed the dry river from paths above, proceeding single-file on narrow ridgetops. All day they stuck to their course, making such slow and uncertain progress traveling up and down and then doubling back that Tanis was left confused as to what, if any, headway they were making. Pausing as they reached one of several plateaus, the half-elf was glad to see that the Blood Sea had receded into the distance while a range of towering peaks had drawn somewhat nearer.

The land appeared empty-empty of greenery, animals, indeed of all life. The wind gusted at the higher elevations, strong and dry, howling into their faces and driving grit into their eyes and throats. The sun glared overhead, creating ovenlike heat that reached into all but the deepest recesses of the rocks. Whenever they plunged abruptly downward and briefly luxuriated in cool shadows, they felt a hint of something worse-the bitter chill of the territory at night.

By late afternoon, the small group was exhausted and dispirited. Raistlin and Tanis headed the column, in effect sharing leadership. Flint and Yuril brought up the rear. Trekking along the bottom of a ravine, the companions trudged along in silence, no longer so confident of the path they had chosen.