The priests tied Raistlin's wrists together behind the stake, then they wound coils of rope around his chest and

torso, binding him tightly. He was held fast, and though he struggled with all his remaining strength, he could not

free himself. The High Priest had been going to make a speech, but some eager drunk flung a torch on the wood

before the priests had finished tying up their prisoner, nearly setting the High Priest himself on fire. He and the

others were forced to jump and skip with unseemly haste away from the pyre. The liquor-soaked wood caught

quickly. Tongues of flame licked the tinder, began to devour it.

Smoke stung Raistlin's eyes, filled them with tears. He closed them against the flames and the smoke and cursed

his feebleness and helplessness. He braced himself to endure the agonizing torment when the flames reached his

skin.

"Hullo, Raistlin!" chimed a voice directly behind him. "Isn't this exciting? I've never seen anyone burned at the

stake before. 'Course, I would much rather it wasn't you-"

All the while that Tasslehoff prattled, his knife cut rapidly through the knots on the rope that bound Raistlin's

wrists.

"The kender!" came hoarse, angry shouts. "Stop him!"

"Here, I thought this might help!" Tas said hurriedly.

Raistlin felt the hilt of a knife shoved into his hand.

"It's from your friend, Lemuel. He says to-"

Raistlin was never to know what Lemuel said, because at that moment an enormous bellow broke over the crowd.

People screamed and shouted in alarm. Steel flared in the torchlight. Caramon loomed suddenly in front of Raistlin,

who could have broken down and wept with joy at the sight of his brother's face. Oblivious to the pain, Caramon

snatched up whole bundles of burning wood and flung them aside.

Tanis had placed his back to Caramon's, swung the flat of his blade, knocking away torches and clubs. Kitiara

fought at her lover's side. She was not using the flat of her blade. One priest lay bleeding at her feet. Kit fought with a

smile on her lips, her dark eyes bright with the fun of it all.

Flint was there, wrestling with the priests who had hold of Tasslehoff and were trying to drag him into the temple.

The dwarf attacked them with such roaring ferocity that they soon

let loose of the kender and fled. Sturm appeared, wielding his sword with dispatch, the blood forming a mask on his

face.

Haven's citizens, though sorry to see that the wizard wasn't going to go up in flames, were diverted and

entertained by the daring rescue. The fickle mob turned against the priests, cheered the heroes. The High Priest fled

for the safety of the temple. His cohorts-those who remained standing, at least-followed in haste. The mob hurled

rocks and made plans to storm the temple.

Relief and the realization that he was safe, that he was not going to die in the fire, flooded through Raistlin in a

tidal surge that left him faint and dazed. He sagged against his bonds.

Caramon snatched the ropes from around Raistlin's body and caught hold of his fainting brother. Lifting Raistlin

in his arms, Caramon carried him away from the stake and laid him on the ground.

People crowded around, eager to help save the young man whom they had been just as eager to see burn to death

only moments earlier.

"Clear off, you buggers!" Flint roared, waving his arms and glowering. "Give him air."

Someone handed the dwarf a bottle of fine brandy "to give to the brave young man."

"Thankee," Flint said and took a long pull to fortify himself, then handed over the bottle.

Caramon touched the brandy to Raistlin's lips. The sting of the liquor on his cut lip and the fiery liquid biting into

his throat brought him to consciousness. He gagged, choked, and thrust the brandy bottle away.

"I have narrowly escaped being burned to death, Caramon! Would you now poison me?" Raistlin coughed and

wretched.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring Caramon's protestations that he should rest. The mob had surrounded the

temple, shouting that the priests of Belzor should all be burned.

"Was the young man hurt?" came a worried voice. "I have an ointment for burns."

"It's all right, Caramon," Raistlin said, halting his brother, who was attempting to shoo away the curious. "This is

a friend of mine."