Dragons of the Hourglass Mage dc-3

by Margaret Weis

  Iolanthe gave his arm a sympathetic pat. "I am sorry to say it only gets worse from here. You have yet to meet your fellow Black Robes."

  Her violet eyes, gazing at him, were piercing in their intensity. "You must decide, Raistlin Majere," she said softly. "Which side will you choose? Mother or son?"

  "What about you?" he hedged.

  Iolanthe laughed. "Oh, that is easy. I am always on my own side."

  And her side appears to include serving my sister, Kitiara, Raistlin thought. That might work well for me, or it might not. I did not come to serve. I came to rule.

  Sighing, Raistlin picked up the ruins of his shattered ambition and packed away the pieces. The path he had been walking had carried him not to glory but to a pig sty. He had to watch every step, look closely where he put his feet.

  The door to the Tower of High Lunacy, as Iolanthe mockingly termed it, was guarded by a rune burned in the wood. The magical spell was rudimentary. A child could have removed it.

  "Aren't you worried that people will break in?" Raistlin asked.

  Iolanthe gave a delicate snort. "It will give you some idea of how little the people of Neraka care about us when I tell you that thus far no one has ever attempted to break into our Tower. People are quite right not to waste their time. There's nothing in here of value."

  "But there must be a library," said Raistlin, his dismay growing. "Spellbooks, scrolls, artifacts…"

  "Everything of value was sold off long ago to pay the rent on the building," said Iolanthe.

  Pay the rent! Raistlin burned with shame. He thought of the grand and glorious and tragic histories of the Towers of High Sorcery down through the ages. Magnificent structures designed to inspire fear and awe in all who gazed upon them. He watched a rat run into a hole at the base of the brick wall and felt sick to his stomach.

  Iolanthe dispelled the rune and shoved open the door leading to a small and filthy entryway. To their right, a corridor extended into dusty darkness. A rickety-looking staircase led up to the second floor.

  "There are rooms here, but you see why I suggested you live somewhere else," said Iolanthe.

  She called out, pitching her voice to carry to the second level. "It's me! Iolanthe! I'm coming upstairs. Don't cast any fireballs." She added in a disparaging undertone, "Not that the old farts could. What spells they ever knew, they long ago forgot."

  "What is down that corridor?" Raistlin asked as they climbed the stairs that creaked ominously underfoot.

  "Classrooms," said Iolanthe. "At least that's what they were meant to be. There were never any students."

  Silence had greeted their arrival, but once Iolanthe had announced herself, voices broke out, high-pitched and querulous, pecking and clucking.

  The second level was the common living and working space. The bedchambers were on the third floor. Iolanthe pointed out the laboratory, which consisted of a long worktable, set with cracked and dirty crockery, and a cauldron bubbling over a fire. The escaping steam told of boiled cabbage.

  Next to the laboratory was the library. Raistlin looked through the door. The floor was covered with stacks and piles of books, parchments, and scrolls. Someone appeared to have started to sort through them, for a few books had been placed neatly on a shelf. After that, nothing had been done, apparently, except to create a bigger mess.

  The largest room on that level, located across from the staircase, was the central living area. Iolanthe entered with Raistlin trailing behind her, keeping his hood over his head, his face in shadow. The room was furnished with a couple of broken-down couches, several wobbly-legged chairs, and a few small tables and storage chests. Three Black Robes-human males, well into their middle years-descended upon Iolanthe, all talking at once.

  "Gentlemen," she said, raising her hands for silence. "I will deal with your concerns in a moment. First, I want to introduce Raistlin Majere, a new addition to our ranks."

  The three Black Robes differed only in that one man had long gray hair and one had sparse gray hair and one had no hair at all. They were alike in that they loathed and distrusted each other, and all believed that magic was nothing but a tool to satisfy their own needs. Whatever souls they might have once possessed had been gnawed away by ignorance and greed. They were in Neraka because they had nowhere else to go.

  Iolanthe named the three swiftly. The names passed in and out of Raistlin's head. He did not consider it worth taking the time to learn them, and as it turned out, he had no need to know. The Black Robes were not the least interested in him. Their only interest was themselves, and they bombarded Iolanthe with questions, demanding answers, then refusing to listen when she tried to give them.

  They crowded around her in a suffocating circle. Raistlin remained on the outside, listening and observing.

  "One of you-one of you," Iolanthe repeated sternly when they all seemed about to talk, "tell me the reason for this uproar."

  The reason was given to her by the eldest mage, a seedy-looking old specimen with a crooked nose who had, Raistlin was to learn, eked out a living selling vile charms and dubious potions to peasants until forced to flee for his life after poisoning several of his patrons. According to Hook Nose, as Raistlin nicknamed him, they had all heard the rumor that Nuitari had broken with Queen Takhisis, that Ladonna had been killed, and that they were all doomed.

  "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 name
d 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 fo
ul. 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.