r  frame  was  an enormous
 helical auger, a grossly enlarged  version of  the tool  used by
 carpenters  to  bore  holes.  According  to  the figures  on the
 parchment,  the  bit alone  was fifteen  feet wide,  the optimum
 diameter, Stutts said, to allow Cupelix to pass through.
   "Very ingenious," said  the dragon,  eyeing the  peculiar cre-
 ation with evident skepticism. "How is it operated?"
      "By this eccentric crank, here." The pointer tapped the
 drawing.  "All eleven  of us  will man  the crank.  According to
 our  best estimates,  the auger  will bore  through the  wall in
 sixty-seven hours of work."
   "That's almost three days!" Kitiara said.
   "On Lunitari, only two days and nights," said Sighter.
   "Never  mind  that,"  Sturm  said.  "Where  will the  steel come
 from to make the bit?  Where will  you get  the timber  to build
 the frame?"
     "Ah," said Cutwood. "Except for the bit blades and a few
 points of stress, such as the bearings, all parts of the Obelisk
 Escape Auger will be made of wood."
   "What wood!"
   "Why, the hull and frame of the Cloudmaster."
   "Ai!" said Kitiara.  She let  her head  fall forward  into her

 hands. Sturm sighed.
   "If you dismantle the flying ship, how  will we  get home?"
 he said with as much patience as he could muster.
   The  gnomes  looked  from one  to another,  surprised. Very
 faintly, Fitter said  something about  putting the  ship back
 together once the dragon was out.
   "No!"  said  Kitiara.  "You'll never  get the  timbers back
 together as a ship. You fellows must do better!"
   "Not  to  worry!"  Stutts  rejoined."He whipped  the elabo-
 rate  drawing  of  the  Obelisk Escape  Auger off  the easel.
 Beneath it  was another,  equally detailed  diagram.'"This, I
 am  proud  to  say,  is  the  Obelisk Arch  Doorway Widener,"
 said Stutts.
   "ъeasoning  that  the  doorway  represents a  natural point
 of  entry,  we came  up with  this alternative  scheme. These
 screw  jacks -"  Again the  pointer flew  to the  diagram. "-
 will be fitted in the doorway. By tightening them  with these
 turnbuckles here,  here, and  here, the  rams will  be forced
 apart, cracking the door wide open."
   It  took  exactly  one  minute  for  Sturm  and  Kitiara to
 demolish  the  Arch  Doorway  Widener,  mostly  for  the same
 reasons as the Obelisk Escape Auger: lack of  quality materi-
 als. There was just no wood or metal to  be had,  except what
 the Cloudmaster and its crew had brought with them.
   "It seems hopeless," said  the dragon  with a  profound sigh.
   "Never!"   vowed   Wingover.  He   pushed  the   bandages  up
 from his face so that everyone could see  his eyes.  They had
 turned  completely  black.  Wingover  shielded  them futilely
 with his hands.
   "You see what has happened to  me," he  said, "I  no longer
 can  shut  out anything.  I have  to sleep  face down  to the
 ground, where I count strata all the way  down to  the moon's
 core."  He  pointed  with a  thumb at  Cutwood, next  to him.
 "My  good  colleague  hears  every  grain  of   sand  rubbing
 against another. ъoperig's hands are almost  sealed together,
 aren't they, ъoperig? ъainspot's clothes are beginning to rot
 from the constant  damp. All  the rest  of us  have problems,
 too, but we won't leave until we solve this problem."
   Sturm heard  these words  carefully. He  said, "As  long as
 we are discussing our gifts, let me show  you this."  He tore

 the cloth  bandage from  his leg.  Where two  nights and  a day
 before  there  had  been  an  ugly,  gaping  wound,  there  was
 now only smooth, unscarred skin.
   "The  same  magic that  makes  trees   walk  and   fight  has
 healed my wound. I did not ask for it  to be  done, but  it has
 convinced me of one thing. This is no  place for  mortals. I'll
 lend  my  aid,  dragon, for  that reason  alone. The  longer we
 remain on Lunitari, the more  the magic  will affect  us. Since
 my  companions  have  resolved  to  help  you,   my  resistance
 only impedes their progress."
   "Welcome to the struggle," said Cupelix.
   "Wingover,"  Kitiara  said,  "if  you can  see into  the ground
 we  stand  on, can  you see  any deposits  of iron  or copper?
 Anything we can use?"
   "Alas, lady, nothing. This entire moon seems made of
 sand, granite, and more sand."
   "Sand,"  said  Sighter,  musing.  He  hopped  down  from  the
 bench  and  strolled  to  the far  wall and  back. He  traced a
 stubby  finger  along the  lead seams  where two  marble cours-
 es  lay  on  top  of  each  other.  "Sand!" he  shouted. "Sand,
 sand, sand!"
   "Look out," said ъainspot. "He's slipped his gears."
   Sighter  took a  deep breath  and strode  to Stutts  with grave
 dignity. "Sand," he said, "is the one thing this world provides
 in abundance, yes?"
   "Uh, yes," said Stutts.
   Sighter snapped  his spyglass  open and  laid it  across his
 colleague's palm. "What are lenses made of?"
   "Glass," ъoperig said promptly.
   Sighter whirled, pointing to the adhesive gnome. "And
 what do the Lunitarians make their weapons out of?"
   "Glass," said Sturm and Kitiara together.
   "Yes! And what is glass made of?" Sighter cried.
   No one said a word. Finally, Fitter said, "Sand, but -"
   "Sand,  glass, lenses!  Don't you  see? We  can cast  a giant
 lens, and  with that  concentrate the  rays of  the sun  into a
 burning beam. The focal point of  the rays  will be  far hotter
 than the melting point of lead, so -"
   "The  wall  will  come  tumbling  down,"  said  Cupelix. "Do
 you think you can do it!"

   "Nothing is for certain," Sighter  said with  ungnomish cau-
 tion. "We'll need a continuous source of heat for  the melting
 of the sand."
   "What about the heat source we found in the caverns?"
 said Sturm. "Would that be hot enough for you?"
   "Hmm, magma is more than hot enough to melt sand,"
 said Flash.
   "The Micones can gather any amount of sand you'll
 need," said Cupelix. "Shall I get them started?"
   "We'd  better  push the  Cloudmaster outside,"  Stutts said.
 "We'll need the floor space in here to work."
   Cupelix  summoned  two  ants,   and  the   gnomes  harnessed
 them to the bow  of the  flying ship.  The Micones  pulled the
 creaking   craft   through   the  doorway   and  out   to  the
 smoothed  soil.  The  gnomes  carried  the detached  wings and
 laid  them  in the  shadow of  the hull.  Cupelix fell  into a
 lengthy  telepathic  commune  with his  minions, and  soon the
 Micones  were  mustered  in  the  valley. They  surrounded the
 obelisk on  all sides,  an army  of mute,  clicking creatures,
 intent  on  a voice  no one  heard but  them. Without  as much
 as a nod, the three score giant ants turned their backs to the
 tower and began  to plow  the soil  with their  heads. Furrows
 of  dull  red  sand  turned up  to the  starry sky,  and other
 Micones pushed the sand into convenient mounds.
   Sighter  showed  off his  hasty design  for a  burning lens,
 twenty-two feet in diameter and five feet, seven  inches thick
 in the center.
   "Do you think it will work?" Kitiara said.
   "If the lens can be cast in one piece, the polishing
 shouldn't take long. There's plenty of sand, after  all," said
 Sighter.  He  rolled up  his parchment  drawing and  tucked it
 under  his  arm. Outside,  the Micones  slaved on,  the ground
 trembling against the force of their unyielding heads.

                   Chapter 26

                    The Lens

     To refine the sanb awd eliminate any impurities, the
 gnomes  resorted  to  washing  it.  Poor  ъainspot  was hauled
 up to the lowest of Cupelix's ledges and instructed to make it
 rain for several hours. The  floor of  the obelisk  grew quite
 grimy   with  wet   sand  and   sodden  vegetable   muck.  The
 dragon  descended  from  his  sanctum   with  the   news  that
 clouds were forming up there, too. A  gentle rain  was falling
 450 feet above  ъainspot. Midget  streaks of  lightning flick-
 ered through the hollow  shaft, glancing  off the  marble like
 minnows  in  a  racing  brook. Far  from being  annoyed, Cupe-
 lix was delighted with all this. He had read of the mysterious
 thing called 'weather,' but had never experienced it.
 "It doesn't naturally  occur indoors,"  Sturm said  sourly. He
 was wet to the skin, as the gnomes  had appropriated  his oil-

 cloth slicker to make buckets for the clean sand.
   Micones were fitted with pairs of big buckets,  which were
 draped  like  saddlebags  on  each  side  of  their globular
 thoraxes. They scuttled down to the cavern with their loads,
 where Sighter, Birdcall, and Flash were preparing the vat in
 which  the  sand  would be  melted. This,  like the  mold in
 which the lens would be  cast, was  simply and  roughly made
 from  mud.  The  disintegrated plant  fluff that  coated the
 entire  red  moon, mixed  with dry  dirt, made  an admirable
 clay. The gnomes in the cavern slapped  together a  wide tub
 of mud, reinforced with just a few laths 'borrowed' from the
 Cloudmaster.  At  about  dawn,  the  vat  was ready.  With a
 Micone as a  draft beast,  the gnomes  shifted the  vat into
 place over one of the volcanic vents. Then they sat back and
 waited for the clay to harden.
   Flash's head popped  up through  one of  the holes  in the
 floor. "We're ready for the sand!" he cried.
   ъoperig moved closer to the hole  and said,  "What's hold-
 ing you up?"
   "Nothing,"  said  the  mud-caked  gnome.  "I  said,  we're
 ready for the sand."
   "He  means,  what's  holding  you  up  in the  hole?" said
 Sturm.
   "Oh! I'm standing on a Micone." The  giant ant  was cling-
 ing upside down under  the opening,  and Flash  was standing
 on its belly.
   The whole crew, save Kitiara and ъainspot, descended    to
 the great cavern. There  the train  of Micones  saddled with
 hoppers of sand stood  in a  line, like  a cavalry  troop on
 parade.  Each  time  Birdcall  poked  his  head  through the
 toothed passage in the  rock and  whistled, an  ant detached
 and followed him.
   Farther  in,  past  the  Micones'  birthing  chamber,  the
 gnomes labored  over the  glass vat.  Sturm watched  as they
 emptied  bucket  after  bucket  into  the  baked  mud  bowl,
 spreading the sand evenly across  the bottom  and sprinkling
 in  various  unnamed  powders they'd  brought down  from the
 flying ship. The heat in the chamber was terrific.  On Cupe-
 lix's orders, the Micones had broken open  one of  the magma
 flues, allowing more of the rock to well out of  the ground.

 The giant creatures seemed unaffected by  the heat.  The vat
 was precariously perched above  the magma  pool on  piers of
 stones. The little  men walked  nonchalantly along  the edge
 of the fiery pit, hardly noticing painful death  could claim
 them if they slipped. Not for the first time, Sturm  felt an
 admiration for the gnomes. They were  foolish and  trying at
 times, but in their element,. they were indomitable.
   The sand grew  hot and  steamed. In  a process  too sudden
 and subtle to see, the  hard grains  softened into  a smooth
 mass, first bright orange and then nearly white as  the heat
 rose to its highest level. The  glare was  too much  for the
 gnomes and Sturm, and they drew  back to  the cooler  end of
 the chamber.
   "How will you get the melted glass up  to the  lens mold?
 asked Sturm.
   "We shan't," said  Stutts, mopping  his florid  pink brow.
 "We're casting the rough lens down here."
   Even  as  he  said  this,  Micones  laden  with  fresh mud
 clicked into  the chamber.  Birdcall, who  seemed to  have a
 particular  rapport  with  the ants,  directed them  to dump
 their loads in a natural hollow in the cavern floor. Birdcall
 and Sighter fell to with trowels,  sweeping the  crimson mud
 about in smooth swirls, forming a round bowl.
   When the  mud was  firm, though  not entirely  dry, Stutts
 and Sighter conferred. Everyone  waited for  the word  - the
 gnomes,  Sturm,  the  Micones, even  Kitiara and  Cupelix in
 the obelisk above.  Stutts tapped  his fingers  together and
 talked far too fast for Sturm to follow. Sighter nodded.
   Four  Micones  took  up  positions  around the  glass vat.
 Birdcall sat astride one ant, warbling and waving  his hands
 to conduct the  giants' efforts.  The Micones  clamped their
 pincer jaws on the studs the gnomes left poking  through the
 mud walls, and lifted the vat easily off the  magma furnace.
 Supported  by  twenty-four  individual  legs,  the  vat  was
 maneuvered over the rocky floor to the mold.
   "Are you ready?" Stutts called to Birdcall.  The whistling
 gnome gave the  high sign  and Stutts  called out,  "You may
 pour now!"
   Two ants lifted the vat up. White-hot molten glass slipped
 over the rim of the vat and splashed heavily into  the mold.

 Torrents of steam  billowed out  as the  water was  driven from
 the still-damp mud.
   "Higher!" Stutts cried. "Tip the end up higher!"
   Parts  of the  vat's outside  began to  crumble and  break off.
 The molten mass of glass surged against the weakening
 walls. Cracks developed in the lip.
   "Keep    them   back!"    Sturm   admonished    Stutts.   The
 gnomes,  in  their  boundless  urge  to  see   everything,  had
 crowded close to the  lens mold.  If the  vat broke  open, they
 would  all  be  swamped  with melted  glass. Stutts  pushed his
 colleagues to a safer distance.
   The vat was vertical  now, and  the last  gobs fell  into the
 mold.  There  was  more  molten  glass  than  the   mold  would
 hold,  so  it  lapped over  the edges.  As the  Micones lowered
 the vat to horizontal, the cracked sides fell to pieces.
   "Phew!"  said  Stutts.  His  forehead  was raw  from constant
 wiping. "That was none too soon!"
    The mold,  being solidly  bound by  rock, was  holding well.
 Already the edges of the  lens were  turning red,  cooling from
 incandescent  white.  Bubbles  popped  in  the center  as steam
 forced  its  way  out from  the mud  liner. Sighter  frowned at
 the sight.
   "Hadn't planned on that," he said. "Bubbles will distort
 the glass."
   "It doesn't need to be of the first water," said Stutts.
   "How long will  it take  to cool?"  asked Sturm.  The shim-
 mering heat from the poured glass was mesmerizing.
   "Fully cooled, twelve hours or more," said Sighter. "It'll be
 hard  a  lot sooner  than that,  but we  can't crack  the mold
 until we're sure the core is cooled."
   "Maybe  we  could get  ъainspot to  sprinkle it  with water,"
 Cutwood suggested.
   "No! It would shatter into a million pieces!"
   With nothing else to do but wait, Sturm and all the
 gnomes  but  Sighter  left  the  cavern.  There was  still some
 daylight  left on  the surface,  and the  gnomes wanted  to get
 the Cloudmaster back into flying trim.
   The flying ship posed proudly on the level valley floor,
 and once the wings were restored to the hull, it gained a
 majestic  air.   The  obelisk's   long  shadow   moved  swiftly

 around with the rapidly setting sun.
   "ъeady  for  wing  test?" Wingover  hallooed in  the voice
 pipe.  A  squawky,  muffled "Yes"  returned from  the engine
 room. "Engage engine!"
   Kitiara sensed a deep grinding  vibration under  her feet.
 The wing  tips lifted,  flexed and  started down  again, but
 balked. An  agonizing shudder  ran the  length of  the ship.
 The wings hung down where they were and quivered.
   "No, no! Shut off!" Wingover yelled. The door of  the din-
 ing room banged open, and Flash emerged, coughing.
   Wingover  stuck  his  head  out the  wheelhouse window.
 "What happened'" he said.
   "That stupid Birdcall installed the armature switch upside
 down! When I fed lightning  to the  engine, it  flashed back
 through the cable and burned  out the  storage jar!  We have
 no power!" Flash exclaimed, close to tears.
  Kitiara grabbed the gnome by the shoulder and spun him
 around. "No power?" she said. "What does that mean?"
   "It means, we can't fly home!"

                     Chapter 27

                    The Invaders

    Gloom settled in with the night. Birdcall was sound-
 ly  berated  for  his  sloppy  work,  but once  the reproaches
 were  finished,  the  gnomes  went right  back to  their usual
 good-natured   camaraderie.   Kitiara   was   furious,   Sturm
 resigned. The dragon tried to lighten their spirits.
    "Be of stout heart!" he admonished. "If worse comes to
 worst, I shall  fly to  Mt. Nevermind  and notify  the gnomish
 authorities of your plight. They will, of course, mount a res-
 cue expedition. Assuming I get clear of this tower, that is."
  "Yes,  assuming  that,"  Sturm  said.  He  went away  to com-
 miserate with the gnomes.
      Kitiara sidled over to where Cupelix was perched. "Can
 you hear me?" she said in the lowest of whispers.
  Certainly.  The  dragon's  telepathic  voice   caressed  her

 mind.
    "When we get  you out,  I want  you to  take me  with you,"
 she muttered.
    And leave your friends behind?
    "You said  yourself the  gnomes on  Sancrist can  be notified.
 It may take some months, but they'll try  to reach  their col-
 leagues marooned on Lunitari."  Since the  ruin of  the Cloud-
 master's  engine,  Kitiara  had  begun  to understand  how the
 dragon  felt,  trapped on  this moon.  Also, once  Cupelix was
 free, she feared  he would  not linger  on Lunitari  while the
 gnomes  struggled  to repair  the flying  ship. Her  dreams of
 partnership would be over.
    And what of Sturm?
    "Someone  has  to look  after the  little fellows,"  she said.
 "Don't  think  me  uncaring; I'm  just eager  to be  gone from
 here."
   Fortunes to find, wars to win.
   "Not to forget showing you around, too."
    Yes, of course. Still, I wonder, dear Kit. If you could fly
 and I could not, would you leave me here also?
    She grinned up at the  huge creature.  "You're far  too big
 for me to carry," she said.
    Supper was a subdued affair,  and they  all turned  in soon
 after  eating.  Cupelix  withdrew  to his  tower top,  and the
 humans  and gnomes  slept scattered  about the  obelisk's now-
 spacious floor.
    Sturm was awake. He lay on  his back,  staring up  into the
 tower's black  recesses. It  well matched  his mood.  Was this
 his ultimate fate,  to be  marooned on  the red  moon forever?
 The  dragon  had  said  something  about  things  never  dying
 here. Would he live on and on, bitter, lonely,  forever denied
 his heritage as a knight?
    The  dark  space above  him closed  in. The  odd, displaced
 sensation flooded over him yet again -
 ~ He sat up  and heard  crickets chirruping  in the  bushes. A
 canopy  of trees  almost closed  out the  sky of  Krynn. Sturm
 could see the sculpted outline of a high wall in the distance,
 and knew that it was Castle Brightblade.
    He drifted across  the night-cloaked  land to  the castle's
 main gate. To his surprise, torches flamed in the  side brack-

 ets, and two imposing figures in armor flanked  the entrance.
 He moved in closer.
   "Uh! What goes?" said the guard on  Sturm's right.  He lev-
 eled his poleaxe directly at Sturm.
       He can see me! Sturm held up his hand and said, "I am
 Sturm Brightblade. This castle belongs to my father."
   "Fool,  nothing  goes,"  said  the  other  guard.  "Put axe
 away."
   "I say is."  The right-hand  guard took  a torch  down from
 its  holder  and  stomped toward  - and  through -  Sturm. By
 the blazing pine knot, Sturm saw the guard's face. It was not
 human,  nor  dwarven,  elven,  kender,  or  gnome.  The  pro-
 truding snout was green and scaly,  and