Raistlin is prepared for the wave of fear crashing over him as he approaches, silent as he can manage, concealed by the underbrush and the nightrender's focus on Guts. He's not prepared for the visions accompanying the fear: the blood, the gore, a woman screaming. A monstrous eye, trod on by clawed feet, spurting fluid -
He flinches back. The Staff is warm in his hand. It's real. That isn't.
Now he can see Guts. The swordsman is nearly overrun: the bodies of three nightrenders lie in pieces, but there were five, and Guts is clutching at his head instead of fighting. No time to think, or even plan. Giddy with fear, he plants the Staff of Magius firmly in the earth and summons its power.
A silvery horn splits the night. One blast, then another. And then, from the trees, an army knights pours into the clearing, swords and lances at the ready, shining chargers trampling the earth under their hooves.
An army of very, very tiny knights. Not more than a handspan tall. One flies above the rest, an illusory Huma mounted on his silver dragon lover. The incredibly small dragon-knight lowers his lance and calls out a challenge as his silver folds her wings to stoop at the nightrender on Guts' back.
It emits a grinding noise that might have been a laugh. Its claws rake through her. The illusion vanishes. One of the nightrenders is turning towards Raistlin. And for the last five seconds, neither of them have been focusing on Guts.
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He flinches back. The Staff is warm in his hand. It's real. That isn't.
Now he can see Guts. The swordsman is nearly overrun: the bodies of three nightrenders lie in pieces, but there were five, and Guts is clutching at his head instead of fighting. No time to think, or even plan. Giddy with fear, he plants the Staff of Magius firmly in the earth and summons its power.
A silvery horn splits the night. One blast, then another. And then, from the trees, an army knights pours into the clearing, swords and lances at the ready, shining chargers trampling the earth under their hooves.
An army of very, very tiny knights. Not more than a handspan tall. One flies above the rest, an illusory Huma mounted on his silver dragon lover. The incredibly small dragon-knight lowers his lance and calls out a challenge as his silver folds her wings to stoop at the nightrender on Guts' back.
It emits a grinding noise that might have been a laugh. Its claws rake through her. The illusion vanishes. One of the nightrenders is turning towards Raistlin. And for the last five seconds, neither of them have been focusing on Guts.