Read The War Of The Lance for Free Online Page B

     and tossed him backward. Slamming into the wall, the kender slid down to the floor where
     he spent an entertaining few moments attempting to breathe. Caramon reached out a shaking
     hand.
    “Gawain, let's get out of - ”
    The knight thrust Caramon's hand aside and, kneeling on one knee, started to lay his sword
     at the knight's feet. “I will come to your aid, Sir Knight!”
    “Caramon, stop him!” The hissing whisper slid over stone and through shadow. “Stop him or
     we ourselves are doomed!”
    “No!” said the dead knight, his fiery eyes seeming to see Caramon for the first time.
     “Join my fight! Or are you a coward?”
    “Coward!” Caramon glowered. “No man dares call me -”
    “Listen to me, my brother!” Raistlin commanded. “For my sake, if for no other or I will be
     lost, too!”
    Caramon cast a fearful look at the dead wizard, saw the mage's empty eyes fixed on
     Raistlin. The dead knight was leaning down to lift Gawain's sword. Lurching forward on
     stiff legs, Caramon kicked the weapon with his foot and sent it spinning across the stone
     floor.
    The dead knight howled in rage. Gawain jumped up and ran to retrieve his weapon. Caramon,
     with a desperate lunge, managed to grab hold of the knight by the shoulders. Gawain
     whirled around and struck at him with his bare hands. The legion of dead knights clattered
     their swords against their shields, the wizards raised their hollow voices in a cheer that
     grew louder when Raistlin entered the room.
    “What an interesting experience,” said Earwig, feeling to see if any ribs were cracked.
     Finding himself in one piece, he rose to his feet and looked to see what was going on. “My
     goodness, someone's lost a sword. I'll just go pick it up.”
    “Wizard of the Red Robes!” The dead were shouting at Raistlin. “Join us in our fight!”
    Caramon caught a glimpse of his brother's face from the comer of his eye. Tense and
     excited, Raistlin was staring at the wizards, a fierce, eager light in his golden eyes.
    “Raist! No!” Caramon lost his hold on Gawain.
    The knight clouted him on the jaw, sending the big warrior to the floor, and bounded after
     the sword, only to find Earwig clutching it tightly, a look of radiant joy on his face
     that began to fade as the knight approached.
    “Oh, no,” said the kender firmly, clutching the sword to his bosom. “Finders keepers. You
     obviously didn't want this anymore.”
    “Raist! Don't listen to them!” Caramon staggered to his feet. TOO LATE, he thought. His
     brother was walking toward the dead wizard, who was extending a bony hand for the glowing
     staff.
    The chill fingers were nearly touching it when Raistlin suddenly turned the staff
     horizontally and held it out before him. The crystal's light flared, the dead wizard
     sprang back from the frail barrier as though it had scalded him.
    “I will not join your fight, for it is an eternal fight!” Raistlin raised his voice above
     the clamoring. “A fight that can never be won.”
    At this, the dead ceased their calling. A brooding silence descended in the hall. Gawain
     ceased to threaten the kender and turned around. Earwig, suddenly losing interest in the
     sword, let it fall to the floor and hopped forward to see what was going on. Caramon
     rubbed his aching jaw and watched warily, ready to leap to his brother's defense.
    Leaning on his staff, whose crystal seemed to shine more brightly in the chill darkness,
     Raistlin walked forward until he stood in the center of the hall. He looked first at the
     knight - the rotting, decaying face beneath a battered helm, a bony hand clutching a
     rusting sword. The young mage turned his golden-eyed gaze to the wizard - red robes, torn
     and slashed by sword thrusts, covering a body that had for centuries been denied the peace
     of death.
    Then Raistlin, lifting his head, stared up into the
    darkness. “I would talk with the maiden,” he called. The figure of