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. Catching the
look, Caramon nodded slightly just as a heavy hand closed
over his shoulder.
"Good stew, ain't it?" said one of the hunting party.
"Shame to interrupt yer dinner over somethin' that ain't none
of yer business. Unless, of course, you want to share some
of the fun. If so, we'll let you know when it's your tur - "
Caramon's fist thudded into the man's jaw. "Thanks,"
the warrior said coolly, drawing his sword and twisting
around to face the other thugs behind him. "I think I'll take
my turn now."
A chair flung from the back of the crowd caught Caramon
on the shoulder of his sword arm. Two men in front jumped
him, one grabbing his wrist and trying to knock the sword
free, the other flailing away with his fists. The mob - seeing
the warrior apparently falling - surged forward.
"Get the girl, Raist! I'll take care of these!" Caramon
shouted in muffled tones from beneath a sea of bodies.
"Everything's . . . under . . . contr - "
"As usual, my brother," said the mage wryly. Ignoring
the grunts and yells, the cracking of furniture and bone,
Raistlin leaned on his staff and began climbing the stairs.
The girl was fighting her attacker with her fists - she
apparently had no other weapon - and it was easy to see she
must soon lose
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