“The Nightlord’s guards will be breaking down our door at any moment!” Hook Nose said in panicked tones. “They suspect us of working for Hidden Light. We’ll all end up in the Nightlord’s dungeons!”
Iolanthe listened patiently and gave a light and airy laugh. “You may rest easy, gentlemen,” she said. “I, too, heard these rumors. I was myself uneasy, and so I sought out the truth. All of you know that the eminent wizardess Ladonna was my mentor and sponsor.”
The old men apparently knew that and were not impressed, for they said loudly that anything involving Ladonna would only add to their problems. Raistlin, who had not known it, wondered what it might mean. Was Iolanthe loyal to Ladonna?
“I spoke to her only last night. The rumor is completely false. Ladonna remains subject to Takhisis, as does her son, Nuitari. You have nothing to worry about. We may continue with business as normal.”
Seeing the old men glower, Raistlin guessed that “business as normal” was not all that great. In confirmation, Iolanthe drew out her silken purse and removed several steel coins stamped with the five heads of the Dark Queen. She rested the coins on a table.
“There you are. Payment for the services performed by the Black Robes of Neraka.”
She reeled off a list that included such tasks as rodent removal for a tailor’s shop and mixing potions as ordered by Snaggle. Raistlin thought privately he would rather use a potion mixed by gully dwarves than anything those three old coots had concocted. He would later learn from Iolanthe that she poured the potions into the Neraka sewer system. She funded the Tower herself.
“Otherwise,” she told Raistlin privately, “these buzzards would go seeking work on their own, and Nuitari knows what sort of trouble they would bring down on me.”
The old men were reassured by the sight of the coins far more than by Iolanthe’s words. Hook Nose latched onto the coins, as the other two watched him jealously, and they began a lively discussion on how the steel was to be divided, each claiming that he deserved the largest share.
“I hate to interrupt,” Iolanthe said loudly, “but I have a bit more business to conduct. I have introduced you to Raistlin Majere. He is a—”
“—a mere student of magic, sirs,” said Raistlin in his soft voice. Keeping his head humbly bowed and his hands in his sleeves, he kept to the shadows. “I am still learning, and I look to you, my esteemed elders, for teaching and advice.”
Hook Nose grunted. “He’s not planning to live here, is he? Because there’s no room.”
“I have taken other lodging,” Raistlin assured him. “I would be glad to work here, however—”
“Can you cook?” asked one. His double chin and large belly showed clearly where his interests lay. Raistlin named him Paunchy.
“I was thinking I might be of more use to you if I cataloged the books and scrolls in the library,” Raistlin suggested.
“We need a cook,” countered Paunchy testily. “I’m sick to death of boiled cabbage.”
“Young Master Majere has an excellent idea,” Iolanthe said, taking Raistlin’s cue. “Since the rest of you are busy with far more important work, we can assign the library to our novice wizard. Who knows? He may discover something of value.”
Hook Nose’s eyes gleamed at that and he agreed, though Paunchy still grumbled about needing a cook, not a librarian. Raistlin was a fairly good cook, having prepared meals for himself and his brother when they were left orphaned as teenagers, and he promised to assist in that capacity too. Having satisfied everyone, he and Iolanthe departed.
“My robes stink of cabbage!” Iolanthe said, after the two of them left the three old men arguing how to spend the steel. “That horrid smell permeates everything. I will have to go home to change. Will you join me for supper? No cabbage, I promise!”
“I need to move my things into the inn—” Raistlin began.
Iolanthe interrupted him. “It’s growing late. The streets of Neraka are not safe to walk after dark, especially in the Outer City. You should spend another night with me, move into the inn tomorrow. After all,” she added in her mocking tone, “we have yet to play our game of marbles.”
“Thank you, but I have imposed on your hospitality enough,” said Raistlin, ignoring the remark about the marbles. “It will be safer for me to transport my things after darkness, don’t you agree? Especially the staff. And I do not fear walking the streets after nightfall.”
Iolanthe eyed him. “I suppose you are right. I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself. Which makes me wonder what you were up to back there. You—a mere student of magic! You can cast circles of fire around those old bastards. I think only one actually took the Test. The others are low-level, just about capable of boiling water.”
“If I proclaimed my true skill, they would view me as a threat and would constantly be watching me, on their guard against me,” explained Raistlin. “As it is, they will take me for granted. Which brings me to a question of my own: Why did you lie to them, tell them the rumors were not true?”
“They are terrified of the Nightlord. I know for a fact that one or all of them are informing on me,” Iolanthe replied calmly. “If I had told them the rumors were true, they would have knocked me down to be first out the door with the news.”
“Which is why you pay them,” said Raistlin in sudden understanding.
“And why I tell them what I want the Nightlord to hear,” said Iolanthe. “You must understand,” she added somberly. “When Ladonna and the other Black Robes first came to Neraka, we had grand schemes and plans. We traveled here to make our fortunes. We were going to build a magnificent Tower of High Sorcery, the Tower of your dreams,” she said, glancing at Raistlin with a rueful smile and a sigh.
“It soon became apparent to Ladonna and the others that wizards were not welcome in Neraka, not wanted. At first there were clashes with the Church; then the persecutions began. Three wizards—those who had been loud in arguing our cause—were assassinated in the night. The Church denied all knowledge, of course.”
Raistlin frowned. “How is that possible? If these were high-level spellcasters, they could have easily defended themselves—”
Iolanthe shook her head. “The Nightlord has powerful forces at his command. The murders followed the same pattern. The bodies were desiccated. They had been drained of blood, sucked dry. They looked mummified, like those ancient kings of Ergoth. Their skin stuck like horrid parchment to their bones. The sight was ghastly. I still have nightmares about it.”
He felt her shiver, and she pressed closer to him, glad to feel warmth and living flesh and bone.
“There was no evidence that the wizards had fought their attacker,” she continued. “They had all died in their sleep, or so it appeared. And these were men and women with powerful magicks at their command, who had placed protective spells on their doors and persons. Ladonna called the assassin the ‘Black Ghost.’ We had no doubt that the Nightlord had summoned up some foul fiend from beyond the grave and commanded it to slay our comrades.
“Ladonna complained to the Emperor that the Church was killing her wizards. Ariakas told her curtly that he was far too busy pursing the war to become involved in a feud between ‘Skirts’—his disparaging term for all who wear robes. Fearing for their lives, some of the high-level wizards either quietly returned to their homes or, like Dracart and Ladonna, agreed to work on ‘secret projects’ for the Dark Queen, though Ladonna apparently couldn’t stomach that for long.”
“And you?” Raistlin asked. “You do not fear this Black Ghost?”
Iolanthe shrugged. “I am Ariakas’s mistress and under his protection. The Nightlord has no love for the Emperor, but Queen Takhisis does, though how long that will last, with the forces of Light starting to turn the tide, is open to question. For the time being, however, the Nightlord dares not cross the Emperor.”
“You are also my sister Kitiara’s friend,” said Raistlin.
“One needs all the friends one can get these days,”
Iolanthe said lightly, and just as lightly she changed the subject. “On thinking about it, I’m glad you’re going to be working in the Tower. I fear the old men may be right. The Church will undoubtedly take a renewed interest in us. More’s the pity. By cataloging the books and cleaning up the library, you can find out what books are in their possession. And you can keep an ear open, hear what they say.”
Iolanthe cast him a sidelong glance and gave a sly smile. “If you are thinking you will find anything of value in that rat’s nest, you are sadly mistaken. I have a pretty good idea of what’s there.”
Iolanthe would have kept an eye open for anything of value and already removed it. Still, it would not hurt to look, Raistlin thought.
“It’s not as if I have anything better to do for the moment,” he muttered to himself.
Their conversation carried them to the White Gate. The sun was setting; the sky was smeared with red. They could hear laughter and noise emanating from the Broken Shield, which was across the road. Soldiers coming off duty and workers ending their shifts thronged to the tavern for food and drink. The gate guards were busy checking those leaving the Inner City, and dealing with those who wanted to enter Neraka. A few were clerics in their black robes, but most Raistlin recognized as mercenaries, coming to seek employment in the dragonarmies.
He and Iolanthe took their places in line behind two humans—a male and a female—who were chatting together.
“I’ve heard there’s going to be a spring offensive,” said the woman. “The Emperor pays well. That’s why I’m here.”
“Let’s say the Emperor promises to pay well,” said the man dourly. “I’ve yet to see the steel I’m owed, and I’ve been here two months. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll head north. Work for the Blue Lady. She pays good steel, and she pays on time. That’s where I’m headed now. I’m just going back into town to pick up my things.”
“I’m open to suggestion. Maybe you’d like a traveling companion?” said the woman.
“Maybe I would,” said the man.
Raistlin recalled that conversation and what it portended only later. As he waited in line, all he could think of was the forged document, and his trepidation grew. He wondered nervously if the gate guards would accept it. He began to doubt that they would. He pictured himself being arrested, hauled off, perhaps thrown again into the Nightlord’s dungeons.
He glanced at Iolanthe, who stood by his side, her hand on his arm. She was calm, chatting about something to which Raistlin was paying no attention. She had assured him repeatedly that he need not worry; the guard would not look twice at the forgery. Raistlin had compared his forged document with her real one, and he had to admit he could not tell any difference.
He had faith in her—or at least as much faith as he ever put in anyone. He was dubious about Talent Orren, however. Orren was a hard man to figure out. He appeared to be the usual sort of shallow, charming rogue who was out to make steel by any means, fair or foul. Raistlin had the feeling there was more to the man than that. He thought back to Orren’s intense and penetrating gaze, the intelligence and shrewdness in the brown eyes. He remembered the faint hint of Solamnia in his voice. Like Sturm, perhaps, Orren was the son of a noble family who had lost everything and was forced to sell his sword. Unlike Sturm, Orren had chosen the side of Darkness over the side of Light.
At least, Raistlin thought, Talent Orren had shown better business sense.
The gate guard motioned them to come forward. Raistlin’s heart beat fast, the blood rushing in his ears as he held his forged permit out to the guard. Iolanthe greeted the guard by name and asked if she would see him later in the Broken Shield. She told him laughingly he could buy her a drink. The guard had eyes for only her. He barely glanced at Raistlin’s permit and did not look at Raistlin at all. The guard motioned the two through the gate and turned to the next in line.
“There, wasn’t that easy?” Iolanthe said.
“Next time I won’t have you with me,” Raistlin said wryly.
“Bah, it’s nothing. These men are not with the Highlord’s army, though the Highlords ostensibly are in charge of the gates. These soldiers are members of the Neraka city guard. Their main job is to make sure that no one gets inside who might offend the Church. They aren’t paid well enough to go to any trouble or take any risks. I saw a soldier stabbed in the street right in front of two of them one time. The Nerakan guards simply stepped over the body and kept on talking. Now if it had been a dark pilgrim who was murdered or robbed, that would have been a different story. The guards would have fallen all over themselves to catch the perpetrator.”
After that, the two walked in silence. Raistlin was too tired and dispirited to keep up a conversation, and the talkative Iolanthe appeared to have been finally talked-out. By her expression, her thoughts were as dark as the shadows falling around them. Raistlin could not guess what she was thinking. For his own part, he was pondering his future and admitting to himself it looked very bleak.
They returned to Wizard’s Row, and Raistlin understood why almost all the shops were boarded up and shuttered. He marveled that Snaggle managed to stay in business. Then again, being the only mageware shop in Neraka must have its advantages.
Raistlin resisted Iolanthe’s pleas to stay for the evening meal. He was worn out, his exhaustion coming as much from discouragement and unhappiness as from any physical cause. He wanted to be alone, to think through all that had happened and decide what to do. And he had another reason for not wanting to remain around her. He did not like Iolanthe’s continued teasing references to marbles. He did not consider it likely that she had figured out the truth about the dragon orb, but he did not dare take the risk.
Raistlin was polite, but firm in his refusal to stay. Unfortunately, when Iolanthe saw that he meant to have his way, she said she had nothing better to do. She would accompany him to the Broken Shield. They would dine together there.
He tried to think of some way of discouraging Iolanthe without hurting her feelings. Her friendship had already been of benefit to him, and he foresaw how she could be useful to him in the future. She could also be a formidable enemy.
He wondered why she was so insistent on dogging him, and, as he listened to her idle chatter as she moved around the apartment, tidying up the room, the realization struck him. She was lonely. She was hungry to talk to another wizard, someone like herself, who understood her goals and aspirations. His thoughts were confirmed when she turned to him to say, “I have the feeling we are very much alike, you and I.”
Raistlin smiled. He almost laughed. What could he, a frail young man with strange-colored skin and stranger eyes, have in common with such a beautiful, exotic, intelligent, powerful, and self-possessed young woman? He wasn’t attracted to her. He didn’t trust her or even much like her. Every time she brought up marbles in her mocking tone, he could feel his skin crawl. Yet what she said was true. He did feel a kinship to her.
“It is the love of the magic that binds us,” she said, answering his unspoken thought as clearly as if she had heard it. “And the love of the power the magic can bring us. Both of us have sacrificed comfort, safety and security for the magic. And we are both prepared to sacrifice still more. Am I right?”
Raistlin did not answer. She took his silence for his response and went into her bedchamber to change her clothes. He was resigning himself to being forced to spend the evening with her, which meant the strain of keeping a guard on everything he said and did, when he heard footfalls on the stairs leading to her apartment.
The feet were heavy, and there was a scraping sound, as of claws on wood. When Iolanthe came out of her room, she grimaced, as though she knew what the sounds meant.
“Oh, damn,” she said softly and flung open the door.
A large bozak draconian, his wings brushing the ceiling, stood on the landing.
“Is this the lodging of Mistress Iolanthe?” asked the bozak.
“Yes,” said Iolanthe with a sigh. “And I am Iolant
he. What do you want?”
“The Emperor Ariakas has returned to grace Neraka with his august presence. He requests your attendance upon him, madam,” said the bozak. “I am to escort you.”
The draconian’s gaze shifted from her to Raistlin and back to Iolanthe. Seeing the reptilian eyes flicker dangerously, Raistlin rose to his feet, bringing the words of a deadly spell to his mind.
“I see you have company, madam,” continued the bozak in a dire tone. “Have I interrupted something?”
“Only my dinner plans,” said Iolanthe lightly. “I was going to dine at the Broken Shield along with this young man, a novice wizard, newly arrived in Neraka. The Emperor will be interested to meet him, I think. This is Raistlin Majere, brother to Dragon Highlord Kitiara.”
The bozak’s suspicious attitude disappeared. He regarded Raistlin with interest and respect. “I hold your sister in high esteem, sir,” he said. “As does the Emperor.”
“He only tried to have her executed,” Iolanthe whispered to Raistlin as she handed him linens and a blanket, which she had told him he would need for his new lodging.
Raistlin stared at her, shocked at that news. What did she mean? What had happened? Were Ariakas and Kit enemies? More to the point, how would it affect him? Raistlin was desperate to know details, but Iolanthe only grinned at him and winked, well knowing she had just ensured the fact that he would be certain to seek out her company.
“You remember how to find your way to the Broken Shield, Master Majere?” she asked.
“Yes, madam. Thank you,” said Raistlin humbly, playing his part.
Iolanthe held out her hand to him. “It may be some time before I see you again. Good-bye and good luck to you.”
Under the watchful eyes of the bozak, Raistlin stuffed the bed linens into a sack and gathered up his possessions. He did not take the Staff of Magius. He did not even glance at it as he left it standing in a corner. Iolanthe caught his eye and gave a slight nod in reassurance.
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