Raistlin kept silent.
“Speaking of your sister and knives,” Ariakas said amiably, continuing his thought. “I want you to do a job for me. Kitiara is up to something, along with that death knight of hers, and I want to know what.”
Raistlin was startled. Talent Orren had used almost those very same words in regard to Kit. He had not put much stock in Orren’s claim that Kit was working on some secret assignment. After Ariakas mentioned it, he began to think that perhaps there was something to it and wondered what his sister was plotting.
Raistlin did not like the way Ariakas was staring at him. It might be what it appeared to be on the face of it—a request to spy on his sister. Or it might be an attempt to find out if Raistlin was involved. He was in dangerous waters, and he had to tread carefully.
“As I told Your Imperial Majesty,” Raistlin said, “I have not seen my half sister, Kitiara, in some time, nor have I had any contact with her—”
“Tell it to someone who gives a rat’s ass,” said Ariakas, cutting him off impatiently. “You are going to contact her. You are going to go pay her a brotherly visit. You’re going to find out what she and the accursed death knight are doing, and you’re going to report back to me. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Raistlin evenly.
“That’s all,” said Ariakas, gesturing in dismissal. “Iolanthe will take you to Dargaard Keep. She has some sort of magical spell that she uses to transport herself. She will assist you.”
Raistlin felt demeaned. “I do not require her assistance, lord. I am quite capable of traveling using my own magic.”
Ariakas picked up a dispatch and affected to be reading it. “You wouldn’t happen to be using a dragon orb to do that, would you?” he asked offhandedly.
He had set the trap so neatly, asked the question so smoothly, that Raistlin very nearly fell into it. He caught himself at the last moment and managed to speak calmly and, he trusted, with conviction.
“I am sorry, lord, but I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Ariakas raised his eyes and gave him a piercing look; then he glanced back at the dispatch and summoned his guards.
The ogres opened the door and waited for Raistlin. He was sweating, shaking from the encounter. Yet he’d be damned if he was going to be dismissed like just one more sycophant.
“I beg your pardon, your lordship,” said Raistlin, his heart beating fast, the blood rushing in his ears. “But we have yet to discuss what I am to be paid for my services.”
“How about I don’t slit your damn impertinent throat,” said Ariakas.
Raistlin smiled faintly. “The job is dangerous, lord. We both know Kitiara. We both know what she would do to me if she found out I was sent there to spy on her. My pay should be commensurate with the risk I am running.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ariakas glowered at Raistlin. “I give you the chance to serve your Queen, and you haggle with me like some damn fishwife. I should strike you dead where you stand!”
Raistlin realized he’d gone too far, and he cursed himself for being a bloody fool. He had no spell components, but one of his commanders, back when he’d been a mercenary, had taught him to cast spells without the use of components. A wizard had to be desperate to try it. Raistlin considered that desperate was the word for what he was feeling. He brought a spell to mind—
“One hundred steel,” said Ariakas.
Raistlin blinked and opened his mouth.
“If you dare demand more,” Ariakas added, his dark eyes glinting, “I will melt that golden skin of yours into coins and pay you with that. Now get out!”
Raistlin left with alacrity. He glanced around for Iolanthe and, not seeing her, did not think it would be wise to wait around for the wizardess. He was halfway down the street when she caught up with him, and he nearly jumped out of his robes when he felt her touch.
“You must have a death wish!” Iolanthe again clasped his arm, much to his annoyance. “What were you thinking? You nearly got us both killed. He is furious at me now, blames me for your ‘damned cheek.’ He could have killed you. He’s killed men for less. I hope that was worth one hundred steel.”
“I didn’t do it for the steel,” Raistlin said. “Ariakas can throw his steel in the Blood Sea for all I care.”
“Then why risk it?”
Why, indeed? Raistlin pondered the question.
“I’ll tell you why,” Iolanthe answered for him. “You’re always having to prove yourself. No one can be taller than you. If they are, you cut them off at the knees. Someday someone’s going to cut you off.”
Iolanthe shook her head. “People tend to think that because Ariakas is strong he is slow-witted. When they find out they’re wrong, it’s too late.”
Raistlin was forced to admit that he had underestimated Ariakas and he had very nearly paid for it. He didn’t like to be reminded and wished irritably that she would go away and let him think. He tried to slide his arm from her hold, but she clung to him more tightly.
“Are you going to Dargaard Keep?”
“I’m being paid one hundred steel to do so,” he said.
“You will need my help to get there—dragon orb or no dragon orb.”
Raistlin glanced at her sharply, wondering if she was teasing. With her, he could never tell. “Thank you,” he said, “but I am perfectly capable of going on my own.”
“Are you? Lord Soth is a death knight,” she said. “Do you know what that is?
“Of course,” said Raistlin, not wanting to talk or even think about it.
She told him anyway. “A fearsome and powerful undead who can freeze you with his touch or kill you with a single word. He does not like visitors. Do you know his story?”
Raistlin said he had read about Soth’s downfall and tried to change the subject, but Iolanthe appeared obsessively intent on relating the dark and hellish tale. Forced to listen, Raistlin tried to think of Kitiara living in the same dread castle with the murderous fiend. A fiend he might soon be forced to encounter. He thought bitterly that Ariakas could have found easier ways of having him killed.
“Before the Cataclysm, Soth was a Solamnic Knight, respected and revered. He was a man of strong and violent passion, and he had the misfortune to fall in love with an elf woman—some say at the elves’ connivance, for they were loyal to the Kingpriest of Istar and Soth was opposed to his dictatorial rule.
“Soth was married, but he broke his vows and seduced the elf maid and she became pregnant with his child. His wife happened to conveniently disappear at about this time, freeing Soth to marry his elf mistress. When she came to Dargaard Keep, the elf maid discovered his terrible secret, that he’d murdered his first wife. Horrified, she confronted him with his crime. His better nature came to the fore, and he begged her forgiveness and asked the gods to grant him the chance to redeem himself. The gods heard his prayer, and they gave Soth the power to stop the Cataclysm, though it would be at the cost of his own life.
“Soth was on his way to Istar when he was waylaid by a group of elf women. They told him that his wife had been unfaithful; the child she carried was not his. His passions overcame him. Soth flew into a rage. Abandoning his quest, he rode back to his keep. He denounced his wife just as the Cataclysm struck. The ceiling collapsed, or maybe it was a chandelier fell down; I can’t recall. Soth could have saved his wife and child, but he was too angry, too proud. He watched them both die in the flames that swept through his castle.
“His wife’s last words were a curse upon him, that he should live forever with the knowledge of his guilt. His knights were transformed into skeletal warriors. The elf women who were the cause of his downfall were cursed and became banshees, who sing to him of his crimes every night.”
He felt Iolanthe shudder. “I have met Lord Soth. I have looked into his eyes. I wish to the gods I had not.”
A shiver ran up Raistlin’s spine. “How does Kitiara live in the same castle with him?”
“Your sister is a rem
arkable woman,” said Iolanthe. “She fears nothing this side of the grave or beyond.”
“You have been to Dargaard Keep. You have visited my sister there. Do you know what she is doing? Why Ariakas mistrusts her? You told me only a few days ago that they had met and all was well between them.”
Iolanthe shook her head. “I thought it was.”
“Ariakas knows you’ve been to see Kit. He said you were to take me. Why didn’t he send you on this mission?”
“He doesn’t trust me,” said Iolanthe. “He suspects me of being too friendly to Kit. He views her as a rival.”
“Yet he sends me, and Kitiara is kin to me. Why does he think I would betray my sister?”
“Perhaps because he knows you betrayed your brother,” said Iolanthe.
Raistlin stopped to stare at her. He knew he should deny it, but the words wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t make himself say them.
“I tell you that as a warning, Raistlin,” said Iolanthe. “Do not underestimate Lord Ariakas. He knows every secret you have. I think sometimes the wind itself acts as his spy. I have been ordered to escort you to Dargaard Keep. When do you want to leave?”
“I must deliver my potions and make certain preparations,” said Raistlin, adding dourly, “But why am I telling you this? Undoubtedly you and Ariakas know what I’m going to be doing before I do it.”
“You can be angry all you want, my friend, but what else did you expect when you chose to serve the Dark Queen? That she would give you rich reward and ask nothing in return? Far from it, my dear,” Iolanthe said, her voice a purr. “Takhisis demands you serve her with body and soul.”
Iolanthe knows I have the dragon orb, Raistlin thought. Ariakas knows and so does Takhisis.
“She bides her time,” said Iolanthe, speaking to his thoughts, as though she could see them flickering in his eyes. “She waits for her opportunity to strike. One stumble, one mistake …”
Iolanthe removed her hand from his arm.
“I will meet you back in the Tower early tomorrow morning. Bring the Staff of Magius, for you will need its light in Dargaard Keep.”
She paused a moment, then added somberly, “Though no light, magical or otherwise, can banish that awful endless night.”
One stumble. One mistake. They are sending me to Dargaard Keep to confront a death knight. I am a fool, Raistlin thought. A bloody fool …
13
Changing the darkness.
15th Day, Month of Mishamont, Year 352 AC
hat evening, as the sun was setting, Raistlin wrapped his potion jars carefully in cotton wool to prevent them from breaking, then packed them in a crate to carry them to Snaggle’s. He was glad for the chance to walk, to think as he walked, trying to decide what to do. Life had seemed so simple back in Palanthas. The path that led to the fulfillment of his ambitions had been smooth and straight. Except that somewhere along the way he’d veered off it, taken a wrong turn, and found himself floundering in a deadly swamp of lies and intrigue. The slightest misstep would plunge him to his death. He would sink beneath the foul water as …
As I sank beneath the Blood Sea, said a voice.
“Caramon?” Raistlin stopped, startled. He looked around. That had been Caramon’s voice. He was certain of it.
“I know you are here, Caramon,” Raistlin called. “Come out of hiding. I am in no mood for your silly games.”
He was in Wizard’s Row and the place, as usual, was empty. The wind blew down the street, rustling autumn’s dead leaves, picking up trash, moving it along, and dropping it back down. No one was around. Raistlin broke into a chill sweat. His hands shook so he nearly dropped the crate, and he was forced to set it down.
“Caramon is dead,” he said aloud, needing to hear himself say the words.
“Who is Caramon?”
Raistlin turned, a spell on his lips, to see Mari sitting on a front stoop. Raistlin let go of the spell with a sigh. At least that voice had been real, not in his head … or his heart.
“Never mind,” he said. “What do you want?”
“What’s in the crate?” Mari asked, reaching out her hand to touch one of the jars.
Raistlin picked up the crate, holding it just out of her reach. He continued on his way to Snaggle’s shop.
“Want me to help carry that for you?” Mari offered, trotting along at his side.
“No, thank you,” Raistlin said.
Mari shoved her hands in her pockets. “I guess you know why I’m here.”
“Talent wants my answer,” said Raistlin.
“Well, that too. First he wants to know why you went to see Ariakas.”
Raistlin shook his head. “Is everyone in this city a spy?”
“Pretty much,” said Mari, shrugging. “A mouse doesn’t eat a crumb in Neraka without Talent knowing about it.”
Raistlin noticed that she was busy pulling off the stopper from one of his jars and was about to stick a dirty finger into the pristine potion. Raistlin set down the crate, took away the jar, and put the stopper back on it.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” asked Mari.
“Yes,” said Raistlin. He wondered what to do.
He could betray Hidden Light to Ariakas. Raistlin had known the dwarf spirits he’d been given were drugged; he had smelled the opiate when he brought the glass to his lips. He had pretended to drink and feigned unconsciousness. He could lead the Emperor’s guards to Lute’s Loot and the tunnels beneath. He would be handsomely rewarded.
Or he could betray Ariakas, join in Hidden Light’s battle to bring down the Emperor and the Dark Queen. From what Raistlin had heard and seen of the enemies arrayed against him, he considered that was the most dangerous choice with the highest odds against succeeding.
Both sides wanted him to spy on his sister. He wondered, suddenly, which side Kit was on.
She’s like me, he guessed. Kit’s on the side that favors Kit.
“Ariakas summoned me to ask if I knew anything about this man everyone is hunting for,” Raistlin said. “The one with the green gemstone.”
“You mean Berem? Say, do you know why everyone is looking for him?” Mari asked eagerly. “I mean, sure it’s not every day you come across a guy who has an emerald stuck in his chest, but what’s so special about him? Apart from the emerald, I mean. I wonder how it got stuck there. Do you know? And what would happen if someone tried to pull it out. Would he bleed to death? Do you know what I think? I think—”
“I don’t know anything about Berem,” said Raistlin, finally managing to get a word in. “All I know is that is why Ariakas wanted to see me.”
“That’s all?” said Mari, and she gave a whistle of relief. “Good. Now I won’t have to kill you.”
“That’s not funny,” said Raistlin.
“It wasn’t meant to be. So are you going to take the job for Talent? Can I come with you? We make a great team, you and me.”
“Talent didn’t tell you where he’s sending me, did he?” Raistlin asked in alarm. If a kender knew, so would half of Neraka.
“Naw, Talent never tells me anything, which is probably smart,” Mari said. “I’m not much good at keeping secrets. But, hey, wherever it is, you’ll need my help.”
He’d heard those words before, spoken by another kender. Raistlin recalled how many times Tasslehoff had been extremely unhelpful, rummaging through his spell components, spoiling half of them and stealing the other half, sneaking tastes of the potions (with sometimes disastrous results), walking off with various household items from spoons to soup kettles, and forever landing him and his friends in trouble.
Only the previous autumn, Tasslehoff had grabbed what he’d thought was a plain, ordinary staff, only to have it turn into blue crystal and perform a miracle …
Was that really only last autumn? Raistlin asked himself. It seems a lifetime.
“Hey, Raist, wherever you are, come back,” said Mari, twitching his sleeve and waving her hand at him. “Are you going to see old Snaggle? �
�Cause if you are, we’re here.”
Raistlin halted. He set down his crate on the doorstep and sat down beside it.
“You cannot come with me, Mari. In fact, you should leave Neraka,” he said to her. “Quit working for Talent. It is too dangerous.”
“Oh, Talent’s always telling me that,” said Mari. “And see, nothing’s happened to me yet!”
“Yes, it has,” said Raistlin gently. “Kenders belong to the Light, not the Darkness, Mari. If you stay here, the Darkness will destroy you. It is already starting to change you.”
“It is?” Mari’s eyes opened wide.
“You murdered a man. You have blood on your hands.”
“I have some of today’s lunch on my hands and a little glob of that yucky potion and some goblin slime from the tavern, but no blood. Look, you can see for yourself.” Mari held up her hands, palms out for his inspection.
Raistlin shook his head and sighed.
Mari patted him on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. I was only teasing. You mean I have the blood of the Adjudicator on my hands. But I don’t. I washed it off.”
Raistlin rose to his feet. He picked up his crate. “You had better run along, Mari. I have serious business here.”
“We all have serious business here,” said Mari.
“I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”
“Oh, but I do,” Mari said. “We kender don’t want to be serious, but we can if we have to. My people are fighting the Dark Queen all the world over. In Kendermore and Kenderhome and Flotsam and Solace and Palanthas and lots of other places I’ve never even heard of, kender are fighting, and sometimes we’re dying. And that’s sad, but we need to keep fighting because we have to win, because horrible things will happen if we don’t. Takhisis hates kender. She ranks us right up there with elves, which is awfully flattering to us kender, though maybe not to the elves. So you see, Raist, the Darkness isn’t changing us. We’re changing the Darkness.”
Mari’s eyes were bright. Her smile was cheerful. “What do I tell Talent?”
Weis Margaret Page 19
