“Please, Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” Par-Salian spoke with great courtesy, “tell us what you know.” The mage smiled. “Then, perhaps, we can bring this meeting to a close and you can have your dinner.”
Tas blushed, wondering if Par-Salian could, perhaps, see through his head and read his thoughts printed on his brain like he read words printed on a sheet of parchment.
“Oh! Yes, dinner would be great. But, now, um—about Lady Crysania.” Tas paused to collect his thoughts, then launched into his tale. “Well, I’m not certain about this, mind you. I just know from what little I was able to pick up here and there. To begin at the beginning, I met Lady Crysania when I was in Palanthas visiting my friend, Tanis Half-Elven. You know him? And Laurana, the Golden General? I fought with them in the War of the Lance. I helped save Laurana from the Queen of Darkness.” The kender spoke with pride. “Have you ever heard that story? I was in the Temple at Neraka—”
Par-Salian’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and Tas stuttered.
“Uh, w-well, I’ll tell that later. Anyway, I met Lady Crysania at Tanis’s home and I heard their plans to travel to Solace to see Caramon. As it happened, I-I sort of … well, found a letter Lady Crysania had written to Elistan. I think it must have fallen out of her pocket.”
The kender paused for breath. Par-Salian’s lips twitched, but he refrained from smiling.
“I read it,” Tas continued, now enjoying the attention of his audience, “just to see if it was important. After all, she might have thrown it away. In the letter, she said she was more—uh, how did it go—‘firmly convinced than ever, after my talk with Tanis, that there was good in Raistlin’ and that he could be ‘turned from his evil path. I must convince the mages of this—’ Anyhow, I saw that the letter was important, so I took it to her. She was very grateful to get it back,” Tas said solemnly. “She hadn’t realized she’d lost it.”
Par-Salian put his fingers on his lips to control them.
“I said I could tell her lots of stories about Raistlin, if she wanted to hear them. She said she’d like that a lot, so I told her all the stories I could think of. She was particularly interested in the ones I told her about Bupu—
“ ‘If only I could find the gully dwarf!’ she said to me one night. ‘I’m certain I could convince Par-Salian that there is hope, that he may be reclaimed!’ ”
At this, one of the Black Robes snorted loudly. Par-Salian glanced sharply in that direction, the wizards hushed. But Tas saw many of them—particularly the Black Robes—fold their arms across their chests in anger. He could see their eyes glittering from the shadows of their hoods.
“Uh, I’m s-sure I didn’t mean to offend,” Tas stuttered. “I know I always thought Raistlin looked much better in black—with that golden skin of his and all. I certainly don’t believe everyone has to be good, of course. Fizban—he’s really Paladine—we’re great personal friends, Paladine and I—Anyway, Fizban said that there had to be a balance in the world, that we were fighting to restore the balance. So that means that there has to be Black Robes as well as White, doesn’t it?”
“We know what you mean, kenderken,” Par-Salian said gently. “Our brethren take no offense at your words. Their anger is directed elsewhere. Not everyone in the world is as wise as the great Fizban the Fabulous.”
Tas sighed. “I miss him, sometimes. But, where was I? Oh, yes, Bupu. That’s when I had my idea. Maybe, if Bupu told her story, the mages would believe her, I said to Lady Crysania. She agreed and I offered to go and find Bupu. I hadn’t been to Xak Tsaroth since Goldmoon killed the black dragon and it was just a short hop from where we were and Tanis said it would be fine with him. He seemed quite pleased to see me off, actually.
“The Highpulp let me take Bupu, after a—uh—small bit of discussion and some interesting items that I had in my pouch. I took Bupu to Solace, but Tanis had already gone and so had Lady Crysania. Caramon was—” Tas stopped, hearing Caramon clear his throat behind him. “Caramon was—wasn’t feeling too good, but Tika—that’s Caramon’s wife and a great friend of mine—anyway, Tika said we had to go after Lady Crysania, because the Forest of Wayreth was a terrible place and—No offense meant, I’m certain, but did you ever stop to think that your Forest is really nasty? I mean, it is not friendly”—Tas glared at the mages sternly—“and I don’t know why you let it wander around loose! I think it’s irresponsible!”
Par-Salian’s shoulders quivered.
“Well, that’s all I know,” Tas said. “And, there’s Bupu, and she can—” Tas stopped, looking around. “Where’d she go?”
“Here,” Caramon said grimly, dragging the gully dwarf out from behind his back where she had been cowering in abject terror. Seeing the mages staring at her, the gully dwarf gave a shriek and collapsed onto the floor, a quivering bundle of ragged clothes.
“I think you had better tell us her story,” Par-Salian said to Tas. “If you can, that is.”
“Yes,” Tas replied, suddenly subdued. “I know what it was Lady Crysania wanted me to tell. It happened back during the war, when we were in Xak Tsaroth. The only ones who knew anything about that city were gully dwarves. But most wouldn’t help us. Raistlin cast a charm spell on one of them—Bupu. Charmed wasn’t exactly the word for what it did to her. She fell in love with him,” Tas paused, sighing, then continued in a remorseful tone. “Some of us thought it was funny, I guess. But Raistlin didn’t. He was really kind to her, and he even saved her life, once, when draconians attacked us. Well, after we left Xak Tsaroth, Bupu came with us. She couldn’t bear to leave Raistlin.”
Tas’s voice dropped. “One night, I woke up. I heard Bupu crying. I started to go to her, but I saw Raistlin had heard her, too. She was homesick. She wanted to go back to her people, but she couldn’t leave him. I don’t know what he said, but I saw him lay his hand on her head. And it seemed that I could see a light shining all around Bupu. And, then, he sent her home. She had to travel through a land filled with terrible creatures but, somehow, I knew she would be safe. And she was,” Tas finished solemnly.
There was a moment’s silence, then it seemed that all the mages began to talk at once. Those of the Black Robes shook their heads. Dalamar sneered.
“The kender was dreaming,” he said scornfully.
“Who believes kender anyway?” said one.
Those of the Red Robes and the White Robes appeared thoughtful and perplexed.
“If this is true,” said one, “perhaps we have misjudged him. Perhaps we should take this chance, however slim.”
Finally Par-Salian raised a hand for silence.
“I admit I find this difficult to believe,” he said at last. “I mean no disparagement to you, Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” he added gently, smiling at the indignant kender. “But all know your race has a most lamentable tendency to, uh, exaggerate. It is obvious to me that Raistlin simply charmed this—this creature”—Par-Salian spoke with disgust—“to use her and—”
“Me no creature!”
Bupu lifted her tear-stained, mud-streaked face from the floor, her hair frizzed up like an angry cat’s. Glaring at Par-Salian, she stood up and started forward, tripped over the bag she carried, and sprawled flat on the floor. Undaunted, the gully dwarf picked herself up and faced Par-Salian.
“Me know nothing ’bout big, powerful wizards.” Bupu waved a grubby hand. “Me know nothing ’bout no charm spell. Me know magic is in this”—she scrabbled around in the bag, then drew forth the dead rat and waved it in Par-Salian’s direction—“and me know that man you talk ’bout here is nice man. Him nice to me.” Clutching the dead rat to her chest, Bupu stared tearfully at Par-Salian. “The others—the big man, the kender—they laugh at Bupu. They look at me like me some sort of bug.”
Bupu rubbed her eyes. There was a lump in Tas’s throat, and he felt lower than a bug himself.
Bupu continued, speaking softly. “Me know how me look.” Her filthy hands tried in vain to smooth her dress, leaving streaks of dirt down it.
“Me know me not pretty, like lady lying there.” The gully dwarf snuffled, but then she wiped her hand across her nose and—raising her head—looked at Par-Salian defiantly. “But him not call me ‘creature!’ Him call me ‘little one.’ Little one,” she repeated.
For a moment, she was quiet, remembering. Then she heaved a gusty sigh. “I-I want to stay with him. But him tell me, ‘no.’ Him say he must walk roads that be dark. Him tell me, he want me to be safe. Him lay his hand on my head”—Bupu bowed her head, as if in memory—“and I feel warm inside. Then him tell me, ‘Farewell, Bupu.’ Him call me ‘little one.’ ” Looking up, Bupu glanced around at the semi-circle. “Him never laugh at me,” she said, choking. “Never!” She began to cry.
The only sounds in the room, for a moment, were the gully dwarf’s sobs. Caramon put his hands over his face, overcome. Tas drew a shuddering breath and fished around for a handkerchief. After a few moments, Par-Salian rose from his stone chair and came to stand in front of the gully dwarf, who was regarding him with suspicion and hiccuping at the same time.
The great mage extended his hand. “Forgive me, Bupu,” he said gravely, “if I offended you. I must confess that I spoke those cruel words on purpose, hoping to make you angry enough to tell your story. For, only then, could we be certain of the truth.” Par-Salian laid his hand on Bupu’s head, his face was drawn and tired, but he appeared exultant. “Maybe we did not fail, maybe he did learn some compassion,” he murmured. Gently he stroked the gully dwarf’s rough hair. “No, Raistlin would never laugh at you, little one. He knew, he remembered. There were too many who had laughed at him.”
Tas couldn’t see through his tears, and he heard Caramon weeping quietly beside him. The kender blew his nose on his handkerchief, then went up to retrieve Bupu, who was blubbering into the hem of Par-Salian’s white robe.
“So this is the reason Lady Crysania made this journey?” Par-Salian asked Tas as the kender came near. The mage glanced at the still, white, cold form lying beneath the linen, her eyes staring sightlessly into the shadowy darkness. “She believes that she can rekindle the spark of goodness that we tried to light and failed?”
“Yes,” Tas answered, suddenly uncomfortable beneath the gaze of the mage’s penetrating blue eyes.
“And why does she want to attempt this?” Par-Salian persisted.
Tas dragged Bupu to her feet and handed her his handkerchief, trying to ignore the fact that she stared at it in wonder, obviously having no idea what she was supposed to do with it. She blew her nose on the hem of her dress.
“Uh, well, Tika said—” Tas stopped, flushing.
“What did Tika say?” Par-Salian asked softly.
“Tika said”—Tas swallowed—“Tika said she was doing it … because she l-loved him—Raistlin.”
Par-Salian nodded. His gaze went to Caramon. “What about you, twin?” he asked suddenly. Caramon’s head lifted, he stared at Par-Salian with haunted eyes.
“Do you love him still? You have said you would go back to destroy Fistandantilus. The danger you face will be great. Do you love your brother enough to undertake this perilous journey? To risk your life for him, as this lady has done? Remember, before you answer, you do not go back on a quest to save the world. You go back on a quest to save a soul, nothing more. Nothing less.”
Caramon’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. His face was lighted by joy, however, a happiness that sprang from deep within him. He could only nod his head.
Par-Salian turned to face the assembled Conclave.
“I have made my decision,” he began.
One of the Black Robes rose and cast her hood back. Tas saw that it was the woman who had brought him here. Anger burned in her eyes. She made a swift, slashing motion with her hand.
“We challenge this decision, Par-Salian,” she said in a low voice. “And you know that means you cannot cast the spell.”
“The Master of the Tower may cast the spell alone, Ladonna,” Par-Salian replied grimly. “That power is given to all the Masters. Thus did Raistlin discover the secret when he became Master of the Tower in Palanthas. I do not need the help of either Red or Black.”
There was a murmur from the Red Robes, as well; many looking at the Black Robes and nodding in agreement with them. Ladonna smiled.
“Indeed, Great One,” she said, “I know this. You do not need us for the casting of the spell, but you need us nonetheless. You need our cooperation, Par-Salian, our silent cooperation—else the shadows of our magic will rise and blot out the light of the silver moon. And you will fail.”
Par-Salian’s face grew cold and gray. “What of the life of this woman?” he demanded, gesturing at Crysania.
“What is the life of a cleric of Paladine to us?” Ladonna sneered. “Our concerns are far greater and not to be discussed among outsiders. Send these away”—she motioned at Caramon—“and we will meet privately.”
“I believe that is wise, Par-Salian,” said the red-robed mage mildly. “Our guests are tired and hungry, and they would find our family disagreements most boring.”
“Very well,” Par-Salian said abruptly. But Tas could see the white-robed mage’s anger as he turned to face them. “You will be summoned.”
“Wait!” Caramon shouted, “I demand to be present! I—”
The big man stopped, nearly strangling himself. The Hall was gone, the mages were gone, the stone chairs were gone. Caramon was yelling at a hat stand.
Dizzily, Tas looked around. He and Caramon and Bupu were in a cozy room that might have come straight from the Inn of the Last Home. A fire burned in the grate, comfortable beds stood at one end. A table laden with food was near the fire, the smells of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat made his mouth water. Tas sighed in delight.
“I think this is the most wonderful place in the whole world,” he said.
CHAPTER
14
he old, white-robed mage sat in a study that was much like Raistlin’s in the Tower of Palanthas, except that the books which lined Par-Salian’s shelves were bound in white leather. The silver runes traced upon their spines and covers glinted in the light of a crackling fire. To anyone entering, the room seemed hot and stuffy. But Par-Salian was feeling the chill of age enter his bones. To him, the room was quite comfortable.
He sat at his desk, his eyes staring into the flames. He started slightly at a soft knock upon his door, then, sighing, he called softly, “Enter.”
A young, white-robed mage opened the door, bowing to the black-robed mage who walked past him—as was proper to one of her standing. She accepted the homage without comment. Casting her hood aside, she swept past him into Par-Salian’s chamber and stopped, just inside the doorway. The white-robed mage gently shut the door behind her, leaving the two heads of their Orders alone together.
Ladonna cast a quick, penetrating glance about the room. Much of it was lost in shadow, the fire casting the only light. Even the drapes had been closed, blotting out the moons’ eerie glow. Raising her hand, Ladonna murmured a few, soft words. Several items in the room began to gleam with a weird, reddish light indicating that they had magical properties—a staff leaning up against the wall, a crystal prism on Par-Salian’s desk, a branched candelabra, a gigantic hourglass, and several rings on the old man’s fingers among others. These did not seem to alarm Ladonna, she simply looked at each and nodded. Then, satisfied, she sat down in a chair near the desk. Par-Salian watched her with a slight smile on his lined face.
“There are no Creatures from Beyond lurking in the corners, Ladonna, I assure you,” the old mage said dryly. “Had I wanted to banish you from this plane, I could have done so long ago, my dear.”
“When we were young?” Ladonna cast aside her hood. Iron-gray hair, woven into an intricate braid coiled about her head, framed a face whose beauty seemed enhanced by the lines of age that appeared to have been drawn by a masterful artist, so well did they highlight her intelligence and dark wisdom. “That would have been a contest indeed, Gre
at One.”
“Drop the title, Ladonna,” Par-Salian said. “We have known each other too long for that.”
“Known each other long and well, Par-Salian,” Ladonna said with a smile. “Quite well,” she murmured softly, her eyes going to the fire.
“Would you go back to our youth, Ladonna?” Par-Salian asked.
She did not answer for a moment, then she looked up at him and shrugged. “To trade power and wisdom and skill for what? Hot blood? Not likely, my dear. What about you?”
“I would have answered the same twenty years ago,” Par-Salian said, rubbing his temples. “But now … I wonder.”
“I did not come to relive old times, no matter how pleasant,” Ladonna said, clearing her throat, her voice suddenly stern and cold. “I have come to oppose this madness.” She leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing. “You are not serious, I hope, Par-Salian? Even you cannot be soft-hearted or soft-headed enough to send that stupid human back in time to try and stop Fistandantilus? Think of the danger! He could change history! We could all cease to exist!”
“Bah! Ladonna, you think!” Par-Salian snapped. “Time is a great flowing river, vaster and wider than any river we know. Throw a pebble into the rushing water—does the water suddenly stop? Does it begin to flow backward? Does it turn in its course and flow another direction? Of course not! The pebble creates a few ripples on the surface, perhaps, but then it sinks. The river flows onward, as it has ever done.”
“What are you saying?” Ladonna asked, regarding Par-Salian warily.
“That Caramon and Crysania are pebbles, my dear. They will no more affect the flow of time than two rocks thrown into the Thon-Tsalarian would affect its course. They are pebbles—” he repeated.
“We underestimate Raistlin, Dalamar says,” Ladonna interrupted. “He must be fairly certain of his success, or he would not take this risk. He is no fool, Par-Salian.”
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