Weis Margaret

by Dragons of the Hourglass Mage (v5)

  Raistlin made a deep bow to Iolanthe and another to the bozak. He slung the sack with the bed linens and his spellbooks and few belongings over his shoulder. Feeling like a peddler, he hurried down the staircase. Iolanthe held a lantern at the top to light his way.

  “I will stop by the Tower tomorrow to see how you are coming along with your work,” she called when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  She shut her door before he could answer. The bozak remained waiting for her on the landing.

  Raistlin walked into the street, which was empty that time of night. He missed his staff, missed its shining light, the support it lent his weary steps. The sack was heavy, made his arms ache.

  “Here, Caramon, you carry this—”

  Raistlin stopped. He could not believe he had said that. He could not believe he had thought that. Caramon was dead. Furious with himself, Raistlin walked rapidly down the street, his way lit by the red rays of Lunitari and the silver rays of Solinari.

  The Dark Queen’s temple came into view. The moons’ feeble light seemed incapable of reaching the Temple. The twisted towers and bulbous minarets caused the moons to shrink, the stars to vanish. Its shadow fell upon him, and he was crushed beneath it.

  If she wins the war, her shadow will fall on every person in the world.

  I did not come to serve. I came to rule.

  Raistlin began to laugh. He laughed until the laughter caught in his throat and he choked on it.

  6

  Forces of the Dark Queen

  The search. The find.

  8th Day, Month of Mishamont, Year 352 AC

  eing a Treatise on the Subject of the Advisability of the Using of Parrots as Familiars, with Particular Emphasis on Teaching Said Birds the Words to Magical Spells, and Remarks on the Unfortunate Consequences Resulting Therefrom.

  Raistlin gave a deep sigh. Tossing the manuscript into a large crate he had labeled “Ineffable Twaddle,” he gazed in gloomy despair at the pile of manuscripts, books, scrolls, and various other types of documents that surrounded him. He’d been working for hours, all day the previous day and most of this day, sitting on a footstool, sorting through crap. The crate was almost full. He was half suffocated from the dust, and he could not tell that he had made any progress.

  Iolanthe had been right. There was nothing of value in what could only be laughingly termed a “library.” The high-level Black Robes must have taken their spellbooks and scrolls with them when they departed. Either that or, as Iolanthe had said, the books had been sold.

  He resumed his task and was rewarded by unearthing a spell-book, nicely bound in red leather. He thought he’d stumbled across a treasure until he opened it to find it was a child’s primer, a book meant to teach aspiring young wizards the art of spellcasting. He was flipping through it, thinking back to his own school days—the torment he endured, his inept teacher—when he heard a commotion outside the front door of the Tower. Someone began pounding on the door.

  “Open in the name of Her Majesty the Queen!”

  Down the hall from him, the three old men broke into panicked shrieks at the clamor. Raistlin rose to his feet.

  “It’s the Temple guards!” cried Hook Nose, peering out a filthy window. “The elite Temple guards! What do we do?”

  “Let them in,” said Paunchy.

  “No, don’t,” said the third, whom Raistlin had dubbed Scrawny.

  Raistlin made his way through the piles of junk to the door, which was standing wide open. Slowly and silently, he shut the door, leaving it open only a crack, and peered out.

  The pounding on the door and the shouting continued, as did the arguing among the Black Robes. Eventually Hook Nose decided they should open the door; his reason being that if they did not, the guards would break it down, and the Black Robes would have to pay the landlord for the damage.

  Raistlin kept his eye to the door. A contingent of draconians entered and climbed the stairs, their claws leaving scratch marks on the wood.

  “I am Commander Slith,” barked one. “I have orders to search the premises.”

  “Search? For what? This is an outrage,” said Hook Nose, his voice trembling.

  “It has come to the attention of Queen Takhisis that a powerful and potentially dangerous magical artifact has entered the city of Neraka,” Commander Slith said in sonorous tones. “As you know, by law, all magical artifacts must be brought to the temple for evaluation and registration. Those artifacts which are deemed a threat to the good people of Neraka will be confiscated in the interests of public safety.”

  Raistlin thought immediately of the Staff of Magius, and he was thankful it was safely hidden in his room in the Broken Shield, tucked under the mattress. Security appeared to be somewhat lax around the Broken Shield, and he had been worried about thieves. He was puzzled however. The Staff of Magius was powerful, and it could be dangerous, but Raistlin did not think it was powerful enough to attract the attention of the Dark Queen.

  “We know the law,” Hook Nose was saying in angry tones. “And we have always obeyed it. We have no artifacts of any sort here.”

  “What about Mistress Iolanthe?” asked Paunchy eagerly. “She has dangerous artifacts. She doesn’t keep them here, though.”

  “You should search her,” prompted Scrawny.

  “We have spoken to Mistress Iolanthe,” said Commander Slith. “We met with her in the private chambers of Emperor Ariakas. Mistress Iolanthe assures us that she has no knowledge of this artifact. She gave us permission to search her apartment. We didn’t find it.”

  “Why do you think we would have it?” Hook Nose demanded.

  “We believe that some of you are members of Hidden Light,” said Commander Slith.

  Raistlin saw the sivak wink at one of the other soldiers.

  “Hidden Light! No, no, no!” Hook Nose was babbling in terror. “We are all of us loyal subjects of our glorious Queen, I assure you!”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind if we search the building,” said the commander coolly.

  “Please do. We have nothing to hide. What is this artifact?” Hook Nose asked with pathetic eagerness. “We will be glad to hand it over to you if we find it.”

  “A dragon orb,” said Commander Slith, and he ordered his detail to separate, sending some to the lower levels, some to the upper, and some to search the ground floor.

  “Dragon orb?” Hook Nose glanced at his fellows.

  “Never heard of it,” said Paunchy, and Scrawny shook his head.

  Commander Slith rattled off the description. “A crystal ball the size of a man’s head. It can either be nondescript in appearance or it may swirl with color.” He yelled at his men, “If you find anything that fits this description, don’t touch it. Summon me at once.”

  Raistlin left the door, stumbling over books as he made his way back to his stool, hardly seeing where he was going. He pulled his cowl low, picked up a sheaf of parchment pages, and pretended to be absorbed in studying the contents. The words swam before his eyes. His hand crept to the leather pouch he wore on his belt, the pouch that was filled with marbles. None were as large as a man’s head, but one of them indeed swirled with color.

  He could hear wood splintering—the draconians on the lower level were kicking in the doors. His first panicked impulse was to shove the pouch underneath a stack of books or hide it behind a row of shelving. He swiftly regained command of himself and thought through the problem. Hiding the pouch would be the worst thing he could do. If the draconians discovered it, they would guess at once that it contained something valuable. Draconians were smart and they were users of magic. They would soon figure out that a large crystal globe known to possess magical properties might be able to reduce itself to a small size.

  Far better to keep the pouch on his person, hidden in plain sight. He could hear the draconians chanting spells. He could not distinguish the words, but he knew the type of spell he would cast if he were searching for a hidden magical artifact. He would use a spell that
would detect magic, cause the artifact to reveal itself, perhaps glow with light or make a humming sound.

  Raistlin reached into the pouch. His sensitive fingers could distinguish the dragon orb from the other marbles by feel alone. The marbles were cool to the touch. The orb was slightly warm and its surface was far smoother, its shape more perfectly round.

  Other draconians were searching the kitchen, flinging pots and pans to the floor, banging the door of the pantry, breaking crockery. They would reach the library next.

  Raistlin took hold of the orb and clasped it in his hand, closing his fist over it. What if the orb gave itself away? What if the orb wanted to be found by Queen Takhisis? What if the orb had told Takhisis where to find it?

  The orb grew warm in his hand. Viper’s voice whispered to him. Takhisis fears the orbs. She seeks to destroy the orbs. She knows the danger we pose. Keep me safe and I will keep you safe.

  The door to the library flew open, and two bozak draconians entered. They stopped dead in the doorway to stare.

  Raistlin thrust the orb back into the pouch and rose respectfully, smoothing his robes with his hands and keeping his head bowed as though too frightened to lift his eyes.

  “Commander, you better come see this,” called the bozak.

  Commander Slith strode into the room. He glanced around at the stacks and bundles and piles and snorted with disgust.

  “Looks like gully dwarves have been living here,” he said. The sivak eyed Raistlin. “Who in the Abyss are you?”

  Hook Nose came bustling importantly through the door. “He’s nobody, Commander. A novice. He does odd jobs for us. Look at the mess you’ve created, Majere! Get this cleaned up at once!”

  “Yes, Master,” said Raistlin. “I am sorry, Master.”

  “Are we going to search through all this junk, sir?” the bozak asked as Hook Nose hurried off to complain loudly about the fact that the draconians had scattered flour all over the kitchen floor. “It will take weeks!”

  “Cast your spell and be done with it,” replied Commander Slith. “Mistress Iolanthe warned us that coming here would be a waste of time, and she was right.”

  “Do you trust the witch, sir?” the bozak asked doubtfully. “What makes you think she hasn’t got the orb herself?”

  Commander Slith chuckled. “The witch has a strong sense of self-preservation. She knows that her life wouldn’t be worth spit if Takhisis caught her with a dragon orb.”

  “What is a dragon orb, anyway?” The bozak kicked at a stack of books and sent them tumbling. “What does it do?”

  “Beats me. All I know is that the orb was responsible for the Blue Lady losing the Battle of the High Clerist’s Tower, or so I heard.” Commander Slith rubbed his clawed hands. “I’d love to get my hands on it. Several people I know will pay a good price for it.”

  “Pay for it?” The bozak was shocked. “If we find it, we’re under orders to give it to the Nightlord immediately.”

  Commander Slith shook his head sadly and draped his arm around the bozak’s shoulders. “Glug, my boy, I keep trying to educate you. You never ‘give’ anything to anyone.”

  “But our orders—”

  “Orders, shmorders!” Slith sniffed in disdain. “Who gives us orders? Humans. And who’s losing this war? Humans. We dracos have got to start looking out for ourselves.”

  The bozak glanced nervously out the door. “I don’t think you should be talking like that, sir.”

  Raistlin was sweating beneath his robes. He could do nothing except stand in the middle of the library, keeping his head down. He was afraid to move, afraid to draw attention to himself.

  “This dragon orb must be powerful,” Slith said longingly, “and worth a bundle. We’ve never been ordered to institute a citywide search for any kind of magical artifact before.”

  “Just that Green Gemstone Man, that Berem fellow,” said Glug.

  “I’d like to find him and earn that bounty.” Slith smacked his lips. “I could buy a small city with the reward the Queen is offering!”

  “A city, sir?” said Glug with interest. “What would you do with a city?”

  Raistlin thought he would go mad if they stayed here much longer. His hands clenched beneath his robes.

  “I’d build a wall around it,” Commander Slith was saying. “Make it a city for dracos only. No humans, dwarves, elves, or any of the rest of that scum allowed inside. Well, maybe I’d let in a few dwarves,” he conceded. “Keep my friends and me in dwarf spirits. I’d name it—”

  He was interrupted by shouting.

  “All finished downstairs, Commander! No sign of anything.” “Finished upstairs, sir!” called out another. “Nothing of interest.”

  “Cast your spell, Glug, and let’s get out of here,” said Commander Slith. “That foul stench coming from the kitchen is turning my stomach.”

  The bozak spoke a few words and waved a clawed hand. Under other circumstances, Raistlin would have been interested to study the bozak’s spellcasting techniques. He was far too tense to pay any attention at the moment, however.

  He held his breath, keeping his head lowered, his hands in his sleeves, his sleeves hiding the pouch. He saw in terror a telltale glow emanating from his left arm.

  Raistlin’s heart pulsed in his throat. His mouth went dry. His body shook. He prayed to all the gods of magic, prayed to every god he could think of, that the draconians would not notice. For a moment, he thought his prayers had been answered, for the bozak turned away. The sivak was about to follow when he glanced back over his shoulder. The sivak stopped.

  “Go on ahead, Glug,” Commander Slith ordered. “Assemble the troops. I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Glug departed. The commander waded through the stacks and piles, shoving them aside, and came to stand in front of Raistlin.

  “You going to hand over the bit of magic you’re carrying, boy, or shall I take it?” Commander Slith asked.

  Before Raistlin had a chance to answer, the sivak seized hold of Raistlin’s left arm and shoved up the sleeve of his black robes. A dagger, attached to his wrist by a leather thong, gleamed with a bright silver light.

  “Now ain’t that something!” said Commander Slith in admiring tones. “How does this work?”

  Raistlin was having trouble keeping his arm from trembling. He gave his wrist a flick, releasing the dagger from the thong. The dagger slid down into his hand.

  Commander Slith eyed Raistlin shrewdly. “My guess is you’re something more than a novice. Got them all fooled, don’t you?”

  “I assure you, sir—” Raistlin began.

  Commander Slith grinned. His tongue flicked out from his teeth. “Don’t worry. It’s none of my business. But I do think I better confiscate this magical weapon. Could get you in trouble.”

  Commander Slith deftly removed the dagger and the leather thong.

  “Please don’t take it, sir,” Raistlin said, thinking it would look suspicious if he did not protest. “As you can see, it is only a small dagger. It is worth little, but it means everything to me—”

  “Sentimental value, eh?” Commander Slith cast an expert eye over the dagger. “I can get two steel for this, easy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, boy, and this is only because I think you’re the sort of human I could get to like. You know old Snaggle over in Wizard’s Row? I’ll sell it to him, then you can go round and buy it back.”

  Commander Slith slipped the dagger, which had lost its magical glow, into his harness. He made certain it was well concealed, then winked a reptilian eye at Raistlin and sauntered out, tromping over the books on the floor.

  Weak with relief, Raistlin sank down onto the stool. He was sorry to lose the dagger, which did mean a great deal to him, but the sacrifice was worth it. The brighter glow emanating from the dagger had kept the sivak from noticing the very faint green glow shining from the pouch.

  Outside the library, the three old men were bewailing the damage and threatening to complain to the Nightlord. None of them
cared to volunteer for the job, however, and in the end they decided they would delegate Iolanthe to make their complaint. After that, they agreed to have a drink to calm their nerves. Hook Nose, passing the library on his way from the keg where they kept the ale, wanted to know why Raistlin was just sitting there. He should start cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.

  Raistlin ignored him. He sat on his stool, surrounded by children’s spellbooks and spell scrolls with half the words spelled wrong and trivial treatises on parrots and felt overwhelmed by the knowledge that the Queen of Darkness, the most dangerous and powerful goddess in the pantheon, was searching for him and the dragon orb. It would be only a matter of time before she found them both.

  He could flee the city, but he had almost no steel. His departure, so soon after arriving, would look extremely suspicious. And he had nowhere to go. The members of the Conclave would have declared him a renegade wizard by that time. Every White Robe would be pledged to try to redeem him. Every Black Robe would be pledged to kill him on sight. He would be an outcast from society, with no way to earn his living except by resorting to the unsavory, the demeaning. He could see his future. He would become like those old men, consumed by greed, living on boiled cabbage.

  “Unless Takhisis finds me first, in which case I won’t have to worry about my future because I won’t have one,” Raistlin muttered. “I might as well be at the bottom of the Blood Sea with my fool brother.”

  He hunched forward on his stool, let his head sink into his hands, and gave way to despair.

  In the living room, the Black Robes had quickly drowned their fear in ale and were getting belligerent.

  “I’ll tell you who has this dragon gourd,” said Hook Nose.

  “Orb, you bonehead,” Paunchy said surlily. “Dragon orb.”

  “What does it matter?” Hook Nose snarled. “Hidden Light. You heard that draco say so!”