Hiddukel apparently didn't believe him, for he ducked past Talent and snatched up the bone. Clamping his teeth over it, Hiddukel growled a warning at Shinare to keep her distance.
Talent shoved the crate to one side. Beneath the crate was a trapdoor. Talent pulled open the trapdoor, grinning to think what the mastiff would do to a stranger who dared encroach upon the dog's "lair." Crudely built stairs led down into semidarkness. Somewhere in the distance, a dim lamp burned, giving a faint yellow light.
Talent pulled the trapdoor shut and descended the stairs. The mastiffs came along behind him, sniffing the air, noses twitching and ears pricked. Hiddukel dropped his bone, and both dogs barked, their tails wagging. They had spotted a friend.
Maelstrom was standing guard over "the goods," a man slumped in a chair. Talent could not get a look at him, for the man's head was bowed. His arms were bound behind his back, his feet tied to the chair. He wore black robes and carried several pouches on his belt.
"Hello, Maelstrom," said Talent, walking over to greet his friend.
The man's large hand engulfed Talent's, giving it an affectionate squeeze that caused Talent to wince.
"Ah, careful there. I might need my fingers some day," said Talent. He looked down with frowning interest at the man in the chair. "So this is Mari's wizard. He's a tenant of mine, you know. I was surprised when she said it was him."
"He's a sickly lot," Maelstrom sniffed. "Almost puked at the smell of good dwarf spirits. Still, he's talented at what he does, seemingly. Old Snaggle says his potions are the best he's ever used."
"So where's he been keeping himself? He hasn't slept in his room for several nights."
"He's been at the Red Mansion," said Maelstrom.
Talent frowned. "With Ariakas?"
"More likely with the witch. Iolanthe seems to have made this fellow her pet. She's trying to get Ariakas to hire him. The Emperor has other things on his mind these days, however, and Raist here didn't get the job. He left in a huff. Since then, he's been working in the Tower, making up glop and bartering it to old Snaggle."
"So he tried selling himself to Ariakas, and when that didn't work, he thought he'd hire on with us."
"Either that or he did sell himself to Ariakas," Maelstrom growled, "and he's here to spy on us."
Talent regarded Raistlin in thoughtful silence. The dogs lay down at the wizard's feet. Maelstrom stood over him, arms folded across his chest.
"Wake him up," said Talent abruptly.
Maelstrom grabbed hold of Raistlin by the hair, jerked his head back, and smacked him a couple of times.
Raistlin gasped. His eyelids flared opened. He grimaced at the pain and blinked in the flickering light. Then his gaze focused on Talent, and a look of astonishment crossed his face. He raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod, as if thinking it all made sense.
"You still owe me for the damage to your room, Majere," said Talent.
Drawing over a chair, he spun it around and seated himself on it, resting his arms on the chair's back.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Raistlin. "If that's what this is about, I have the steel…"
"Forget it," said Talent. "You saved Mari's life. We'll call it even. I hear you might be interested in working for Hidden Light."
"Hidden Light?" Raistlin shook his head. "I never heard of it." "Then why did you go to the Hair of the Troll tonight?" "I went for a drink-"
Talent laughed. "No one goes to the Hair of a Troll for a drink unless you're unusually fond of horse piss." He frowned. "Cut the crap, Majere. Mari gave you the code word. For some reason she's taken a fancy to you."
"No accounting for taste," said Maelstrom, and he gave Raistlin a cuff on the head that knocked him sideways. "Answer the boss's questions. He don't take kindly to prevaricators."
Talent waited for Raistlin's ears to quit ringing from the blow; then he said, "Want to try again? Why did you go to the Hair of the Troll?"
"I admit, I am interested in working for Hidden Light," said Raistlin, licking blood from a split lip.
"A wizard who wears the black robes wants to help in the fight against Takhisis. Why should we trust you?"
"Because I wear the black robes," said Raistlin.
Talent regarded him thoughtfully. "You might want to explain yourself."
"If Takhisis wins this war and frees herself from the Abyss, she will be the master and I will be her slave. I will not be a slave. I much prefer to be the master."
"At least you are honest," said Talent.
"I see no reason to lie," Raistlin said, shrugging as well as his bound arms would permit. "I am not ashamed of wearing the black robes. Nor am I ashamed of my ambition. You and I fight the battle against Takhisis for different reasons, sir, or at least so I presume. You fight for the good of mankind. I fight for the good of myself. The point is: we both fight."
Talent shook his head in wonderment. "I've met all manner of men and women, Majere, but never anyone quite like you. I'm not certain whether I should embrace you or slit your throat."
"I know what I'd do," muttered Maelstrom, fingering a large knife he wore on his belt.
"I'm sure you will understand if we ask you to prove yourself," said Talent, briskly getting down to business. "I have a job for you, one for which you are uniquely qualified. I hear that Kitiara uth Matar, known as the Blue Lady, is your sister."
"She is my half sister," said Raistlin. "Why?"
"Because the Blue Lady is plotting something, and I need to know what," said Talent.
"It has been years since I have seen Kitiara, but from what I hear, she is commander of the Blue Dragonarmy, an army that is currently ravaging Solamnia, making hash of the Solamnic Knights. What she is plotting is undoubtedly the demise of the Knighthood."
"You might want to speak of the Solamnic Knights with more respect," Talent said.
Raistlin gave a half smile. "I thought I detected a faint Solamnic accent. Don't tell me, sir. I can guess your story. You were an impoverished knight, reduced to selling his sword. You sold it to the wrong people, briefly walked the side of Darkness, had a change of heart, and now you're on the side of Light. Am I right?"
"I didn't have a change of heart," said Talent quietly. "I had a good friend who changed it for me. He saved me from myself. But we're not talking about me. We're talking about a job. As it happens, Kitiara is not busy pursuing the war in Solamnia. She has left the war to her commanders. No one has seen her on the battlefield in weeks."
"Perhaps she was wounded," Raistlin suggested. "Perhaps she is dead."
"We would have heard. What we do hear is that she is working on some secret project. We want to know what this project is and, if possible, prevent its completion."
"And since I am her brother, you expect her to tell me everything. Unfortunately, I do not know where Kit is."
"Most fortunately, we do," said Talent. "You've heard of the death knight Lord Soth?"
"Yes," said Raistlin warily.
"Soth is alive-so to speak. The death knight resides in an accursed castle known as Dargaard Keep. And your sister, Kitiara, is with him."
Raistlin stared, incredulous. "You can't be serious."
"I have never been more so. The entry of the dragons of Light into the war caught Takhisis unprepared. She now fears she might lose. Kitiara is in Dargaard Keep with Lord Soth, and we believe they are plotting something to crush out this spark of hope. I want to know what they are plotting. I want you to find out and come back to tell me."
"And if I refuse?"
"I don't recall giving you a choice," said Talent, smoothing his mustache. "You came to me, Majere. And now you know too much about us. Either you agree to travel to Dargaard Keep, or your bones will be Hiddukel's dinner this night. Hiddukel the dog," Talent added by way of clarification, petting the mastiff's head, "not the god."
Raistlin looked at the mastiff. He glanced back over his shoulder at Maelstrom. Then he gave a slight shrug. "I will need a day or two to put my affairs in order and devise some e
xcuse for my absence. There are those who would find my sudden disappearance suspicious."
"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Talent. He stood up from the chair. The dogs, who had been lying at his side, jumped to their feet. "Maelstrom will see to it you get home safely. You won't mind being blindfolded, I hope."
"It will be better than being drugged," said Raistlin wryly.
Maelstrom drew his knife and cut the ropes that bound Raistlin's hands and feet.
"One thing I meant to ask," said Talent. "The gate guards have been told to watch for a man named Berem who has a green gemstone embedded in his chest. Sounds like the kind of man a wizard might know. You don't happen to, do you? Or know anything about him?"
"I'm afraid not," said Raistlin, his face a blank mask.
He stood up stiffly, rubbing his wrists. His lip was starting to swell, a bruise was turning the golden skin of his face an unsightly green color.
Maelstrom brought out a strip of black cloth. Talent held up his hand, indicating he should wait.
"Then there's this magical artifact the guards are searching for. A dragon globe or some such thing."
"Dragon orb," said Raistlin.
"You have heard of it?" Talent affected surprise.
"I would be a poor excuse for a student of magic if I had not," said Raistlin.
"You don't know where it is, do you?"
The young wizard's strange eyes glinted. "Believe me, sir, when I tell you that you would not want me to find it." He wiped blood from his lip.
Talent eyed him, then shrugged. "Let Mari know when you're leaving for Dargaard Keep," he said. Whistling to the dogs, he turned to go.
"One moment," said Raistlin. "I have a question for you. How did you corrupt the kender?"
"Corrupt?" Talent repeated angrily. "What do you mean? I didn't corrupt Mari."
"You made her a cold-blooded killer. What do you call that if not corruption?"
"I did not corrupt her," Talent reiterated. "I don't know Mari's story. She never talks about it. And just to be clear, I never sent her to murder the Adjudicator. She undertook to kill him herself. I didn't know anything about the murder until she'd done it, and then I was appalled."
Raistlin frowned, dubious.
"I swear by Kiri-Jolith," said Talent earnestly, "that if I had known what Mari meant to do, I would have chained her up in the cellar. She put all of us in danger." He paused, then added, "Thank you for helping her, by the way, Majere. Mari means a lot to us. The evil in the world has destroyed much that was beautiful, innocent. Take you, for example. I must assume that before you turned to evil, you were once a happy, carefree child-"
"You would assume wrong," sharply interjected Raistlin. "Am I free to go?"
Talent nodded. Maelstrom tied the blindfold around the wizard's eyes, then pulled his cowl over his face and guided him out of the subterranean chamber.
After they'd gone, one of the dogs gave a sudden shudder, causing her skin to twitch. She shook herself all over.
"I know, girl," said Talent, placing his hand soothingly on the mastiff's head. "He gives me the creeps too."
12
A Meeting With Ariakas. Another Job Offer. 15th Day, Month of Mishamont, Year 352 AC
The morning after his meeting with Talent, Raistlin was working in the laboratory in the Tower, mixing up the last of the potions for Snaggle. He had already purchased his dagger. He needed only enough more steel to pay for his room at the inn. He would not go to Kitiara beholden to her. More importantly, he would not spy on her and then take her charity.
"You would be proud of me, Sturm," Raistlin remarked as he spooned a concoction meant to help ease sore throats into a jar. "It seems I do have some smattering of honor."
From downstairs came the sound of the front door opening and closing and light footsteps ascending the stairs at a run. Raistlin did not halt in his work. Even without the faint scent of gardenia, he would have known his visitor was Iolanthe. No one else came near the Tower, rumor having gone around the city that it was haunted by the ghosts of the dead Black Robes. "Raistlin?" Iolanthe shouted.
"In here," he called.
Iolanthe entered the room. She was breathing hard from her exertions. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes bright and eager.
"Drop what you are doing," she said. "Ariakas wants to meet with you."
"Meet with me?" Raistlin asked, his eyes on his task.
"Yes, you! Who else would I be talking about? He wants to talk to you now! Put that down," Iolanthe said, snatching the spoon from his hand. "He does not like to be kept waiting."
Raistlin's first alarmed thought was that Ariakas had somehow discovered his involvement with Hidden Light. But, he reasoned, if that were the case, Ariakas would have sent draconians after him, not his mistress.
"What does he want with me?"
"Ask him yourself," said Iolanthe.
Raistlin placed the stopper in the jar.
"I will go, but I cannot leave this yet." He bent over a small kettle he had placed upon the cooktop. "It must come to a rolling boil."
Iolanthe peered into the kettle and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh.
What is it?"
"An experiment," said Raistlin.
Mindful of the adage that a watched pot never boils, he turned to another task, carefully packing the jar of sore throat medicine in a crate along with several other potions and ointments he had readied to sell. Iolanthe watched him, tapping her foot and drumming her fingers on her arms, fuming with impatience.
"Your pot is boiling," she said.
Raistlin took hold of the handle with a cloth and removed the pot from the fire. Setting it down on the counter, he took off the apron he had worn to protect his robes.
"Is that all? What happens now?" Iolanthe asked, regarding the concoction with distaste.
"It must ferment," said Raistlin, folding the apron neatly. "On the Night of the Eye, I will-"
"Night of the Eye! Oh, yes!" Iolanthe said, slapping her forehead. "What a ninny I am. That's coming up, isn't it? Are you traveling to the celebration at the Tower in Wayreth?"
"No, I plan to remain here and work on my experiments," said Raistlin. "What about you?"
"We'll talk about it on the way to the Emperor." She grabbed his hand and hustled him down the stairs and out the door.
"Why aren't you going to Wayreth?" she asked.
He glanced at her sharply. "Why aren't you?"
Iolanthe laughed. "Because I will have a better time in Neraka. I know, it's hard to believe. But Talent always throws a huge party in the Broken Shield on the Night of the Eye and there's another party at the Hairy Troll. The ale is free. Everyone gets drunk… or rather they get drunker. People light bonfires in the streets and everyone dresses up like wizards and pretends to cast magic spells. It's the only fun anyone ever has in this city."
"I wouldn't think the Nightlord would approve," said Raistlin.
"Oh, he doesn't. And that's half the fun. Every year, the Nightlord issues an edict against the celebration and threatens to send out soldiers to shut the taverns down. But since all the soldiers will be attending the party, his threats never amount to anything."
She smiled coyly at him. "You didn't answer my question. Why aren't you going to the Tower?"
"I would not be welcome. I did not ask the Conclave for permission to change my allegiance from Red to Black."
"Well, that was stupid," said Iolanthe bluntly. "You seem to go out of your way to make enemies. All you would have had to do was go before the Conclave and explain your reasons and ask for their blessing. It is a mere formality. Why forgo it?"
"Because I do not like asking anyone for anything," said Raistlin.
"And so you throw away all the advantages you could enjoy by keeping in good graces with your fellow wizards, not to mention putting your life at risk. What for? What do you gain?"
"My freedom," said Raistlin.
Iolanthe rolled her eyes. "Freedom to end up dead. I swear by
the three moons, I do not understand you, Raistlin Majere."
Raistlin wasn't sure he understood himself. Even as he shrugged off the thought of going to the Tower of Wayreth for the Night of the Eye celebration, he felt a pang of regret that he would not be there. He had never attended one of the celebrations; after taking his Test, he didn't have the means of traveling to the Tower. But he knew what happened, and he had often longed to participate.
The Night of the Eye: A night when all three moons of magic came into alignment to form an "eye" in the sky. The silver moon was the white of the eye, the red was the iris, the black the pupil. On that night, wizardly powers were at their height. Mages from all over Ansalon traveled to the Tower in Wayreth to make use of the magical power that would sparkle in the air like moonbeams. They would use the power to craft magical artifacts or imbue them with magic, record spells, concoct potions, summon demons from the nether planes. Wondrous magicks would be performed that night, and he would miss it.
He shrugged it off. He'd made his decision, and he did not regret it. He'd stay here and watch over his own wondrous magicks.
That was, if Ariakas didn't have other plans for him.
Iolanthe did not take Raistlin to the Red Mansion, as he had expected. Ariakas was in his headquarters in the camp of the Red Dragonarmy, a spare, squat building where he could nail his maps to the wall, engage in swordplay with his soldiers if he felt like it, and speak his mind without fear that his words were going to be carried straight to the Nightlord.
Two enormous, armor-clad ogres, the largest ogres Raistlin had ever seen, stood guard at the door to Ariakas's office. Raistlin was not one to be impressed, but the thought came to him that their armor alone probably weighed twice as much as he did. The ogres knew and obviously admired Iolanthe, for their hairy faces split into smiles when they saw her. They were still professional in their treatment of her, asking her to remove any pouches she was wearing.
Iolanthe stated that she wasn't wearing any pouches, as they well knew. She then raised her arms, inviting them to search her body for weapons.
"Which of you won the coin toss today?" she asked teasingly.
Dragons of the Hourglass Mage dc-3 Page 17
