Raistlin avoided the crowd in the front of the booth, entered the back to find the kender tied securely to a chair, with Sturm seated in a chair opposite. If one were to judge by the expressions on the faces of the two, one might have guessed that Sturm was the prisoner. Tasslehoff, quite enjoying the novelty of being tied hand and foot, was passing the time by entertaining Sturm.
“—and then Uncle Trapspringer said, ‘Are you sure that’s your walrus?’ And the barbarian said—Oh, hello, Raistlin! Look at me! I’m tied to a chair. Isn’t this exciting? I’ll bet Sturm would tie you up if you asked him politely. Would you, Sturm? Would you tie up Raistlin?”
“What happened to the gag?” Caramon asked.
“Tanis made me take it off. He said it was cruel. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Sturm replied. He eyed Raistlin grimly as though he would have liked to take the kender up on his offer. “I trust this will be worth it. I doubt now that anything short of the return of the entire pantheon of gods to denounce Belzor would be sufficient to recompense us for the day we’ve spent.”
“Something less than that, perhaps, but just as effective,” Raistlin replied. “Where is Kitiara?”
“She went off to look around the fairgrounds, but she promised she’d be back in time.” Caramon quirked an eyebrow. “She said the atmosphere was too cold for comfort, if you take my meaning.”
Raistlin nodded in understanding. She and Tanis had quarreled last night, a quarrel that had probably been overheard by most of the vendors and perhaps half the town of Haven. Tanis had kept his voice low; no one could hear what he was saying, but Kit had no such scruples.
“What do you take me for? One of your namby-pamby little elf maids who has to be clinging to you every second? I go where I please, when I please, and with whom I please. To tell you the truth, no, I didn’t want you along. You can be such an old man sometimes, always trying to spoil my fun.”
The quarrel had gone on long into the night.
“Did they make up this morning?” Raistlin asked his brother, glancing at Tanis’s back. The half-elf stood behind the booth, counting money, answering questions, taking measurements, and noting down special orders.
“Silver and amethyst, if you please,” a noble lady was dictating. “And a pair of earrings to match.”
“No, not a chance,” Caramon replied. “You know Kit. She was ready to kiss and make up, but Tanis …”
As if aware that they were talking of him, Tanis turned from dropping another three steel into the money box.
“Are you still planning to go through with this?” he asked.
“I am,” Raistlin said.
Tanis shook his head. He had gray smudges beneath his eyes and looked tired. “I don’t like it.”
“No one asked you to,” Raistlin returned.
An uncomfortable silence fell. Caramon flushed and bit his lip, embarrassed for his brother, yet too loyal to say anything. Sturm gave Raistlin a look of haughty disapproval, reminded Raistlin silently that he was not to be disrespectful to his elders. Tas was going to tell another Uncle Trapspringer story, but he couldn’t think of one that seemed to fit, and so he kept quiet, wiggled unhappily in his chair. The kender would have run cheerfully into a dragon’s open mouth and never turned a hair on his topknot, but anger among his friends always made him feel very uncomfortable.
“You are right, Raistlin. No one did ask me,” Tanis said. He started to turn away, to go back to the front of the booth.
“Tanis,” Raistlin called out. “I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to you—my elder—in that manner, as the knight here would remind me. I can offer as my excuse only that I have an extremely difficult task ahead of me tonight. And I remind you and everyone here”—his gaze swept them all—“that if I fail, I will be the one to pay the penalty. None of the rest of you will be implicated.”
“And yet I wonder if you realize the enormous risk you’re running,” Tanis said earnestly. “This false religion is making Judith and her followers wealthy. By exposing her, you may be putting yourself into considerable danger. I think you should reconsider. Let others deal with her.”
“Aye,” said Flint, coming back behind the booth to bring more money for the iron box. He had overheard the latter part of the conversation. “If you’ll take my advice, laddie, which you never do, I say we keep our noses out of this. I was thinking on this last night, and after what you told me about the people tormenting that poor lass who lost her babe, it is my opinion that the humans of Haven and Belzor deserve each other.”
“You can’t be serious, sir!” Sturm protested, shocked. “According to the Measure, if a person has knowledge of a law being broken and that person does nothing to halt it, then that person is as guilty as the lawbreaker. We should do everything in our power to stop this false priestess.”
“We do that by reporting her to the proper authorities,” Tanis argued.
“Who won’t believe us,” Caramon pointed out.
“I think—”
“Enough! I have made my decision!” Raistlin put an end to the arguments, which were making him doubt himself, undermining his carefully built fortifications. “I will go ahead with the plan. Those who want to help me can do so. Those who don’t may go about their business.”
“I will help,” said Sturm.
“Me, too,” Caramon replied loyally.
“And me! I’m the key!” Tas would have jumped up and down, except he found that jumping was difficult when it involved bringing along the chair to which he was tied. “Don’t be mad, Tanis. It will be fun!”
“I’m not mad,” Tanis said, his weary face relaxing into a smile. “I’m pleased that you young men are willing to risk danger for a cause you think is right. I trust that is why you’re doing this,” he said, with a pointed glance at Raistlin.
Never mind my motives, Raistlin advised the half-elf silently. You wouldn’t understand them. So long as I achieve an outcome that pleases you and is beneficial to others, what do you care why I do what I do?
Annoyed, he was turning away when Kitiara strolled through the door of the stall. Elbowing aside several customers, who glared at her resentfully, she made her way behind the counter.
“I see we’re all here. Ready to go feed Judith to the snakes?” she asked, grinning. “I’m among the chosen, by the way, baby brother. I’ve asked to speak to our dead mother, and the High Priestess has kindly granted my request.”
This was not part of the plan. Raistlin had no idea what Kit was up to, but before he could question her, she draped her arm around Tanis, ran her hand caressingly over his shoulder. “Are you coming along to help us tonight, my love?”
Tanis pulled away from her touch.
“The fairgrounds don’t shut down until dark,” he said. “I have work to do here.”
Kit drew close, nibbled at his ear. “Is Tanis still mad at Kitiara?” she asked in a playful tone.
He gently shoved Kit away. “Not here,” he said, adding in a low voice, “We have a lot of things to talk over, Kit.”
“Oh, for the love of—Talk! That’s all you ever want to do!” Kit flared. “All last night, talk, talk, talk. So I told you a harmless little lie! It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. I’m sure you’ve lied to me plenty!”
Tanis paled. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.
“No, of course I don’t. I say things I don’t mean all the time. I’m a liar. Just ask anyone.”
Kit strode angrily around the counter, giving Caramon a kick when he didn’t move out of her way fast enough to suit her. “Are the rest of you coming?”
“Untie the kender,” Raistlin ordered. “Sturm, you’re in charge of Tas. And you, Tas”—he fixed the kender with a stern eye—“you must do exactly as I say. If you don’t, you might be the one fed to the vipers.”
“Ooh, how excit—” Tas saw by Raistlin’s swiftly contracting brows that this was not the right response. The kender was suddenly extremely solemn. “I m
ean, yes, Raistlin. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I won’t even look at a snake unless you say to,” he added with what he considered truly heroic self-sacrifice.
Raistlin suppressed a sigh. He could see great gaps opening in his plan, envision any number of things going wrong. For one, he was counting on a kender, which anyone in Krynn would tell him was sheer madness. Two, he was trusting in a would-be knight, who put honor and honesty over every other consideration, including common sense. Three, he had no idea what Kitiara was plotting on her own, and that was perhaps the most dangerous gap of all—a veritable chasm, into which they all might tumble.
“I’m ready, Raist,” said Caramon stoutly. His loyalty was comforting to his brother, but then Caramon spoiled it by tugging proudly on his collar and adding, “I won’t breathe the smoke. I wore this big shirt specially, so that I could pull it up over my head.”
Presented with a vision of Caramon entering the temple with his shirt hiked up over his head, Raistlin shut his eyes and silently prayed to the gods—the gods of magic, and all true gods everywhere—to walk with him.
16
THEY ARRIVED AT THE TEMPLE IN TIME TO MINGLE WITH THE throng surging inside. The crowd was far larger tonight, word of Judith’s “miracle” having circulated among the fairgoers, and included hill dwarves, several of the barbaric, feather-decorated Plainsmen, and a number of noble families, clad in fine clothes, accompanied by their servants.
Raistlin also saw, much to his dismay, several of their neighbors from Solace. He drew his shapeless felt hat low over his face, huddled into the thick black cloak he wore over his robes. He was actually glad to see that Caramon had his shirt pulled up to his ears, making him resemble a gigantic tortoise. Raistlin hoped none of their neighbors would recognize them and make some reference to their fellow villager’s magic.
Raistlin was somewhat daunted by the turnout. People from all parts of Abanasinia would be witness to his performance. It had not occurred to him until now that he would be performing before a large audience. The thought was not a comfortable one. At that moment, if someone had appeared before him and offered him a bent penny to flee, he would have grabbed the coin and run.
Pride goaded him on. After his confrontation with Tanis, his fine talk before his siblings and friends, Raistlin could not back down now. Not without forfeiting their respect and losing any hold he might once again wield over them.
Crowding close behind Caramon, Raistlin used his brother’s large body as a shield as they made their way through the crowd. Sturm kept near them, shepherding Tasslehoff with one hand on the kender’s shoulder and the other plucking Tas’s wandering fingers out of the worshipers’ pouches and bags.
“I have to go down in front with the priests. It’s a great seat! Good luck,” Kit called and waved her hand.
“Wait!” Raistlin struggled out from behind Caramon to try to reach his sister, but they were caught in a press of people and it was too late. Kitiara had seized hold of one of the priests and was now being led by him through the crowd.
What was she going to do?
Raistlin cursed his sister for her distrustful, secretive nature, but even as he muttered the words, he was forced to bite them off. Blood to blood, as the dwarves say. He might as well curse himself. He had said nothing of his plans to Kitiara.
“You can put your shirt down now!” he snapped at Caramon, nervousness making him irritable.
“Where do you want us?” Sturm asked.
“You and the kender go to the very back wall,” Raistlin said, pointing to the upper tiers of seats in the arena. He gave them their final instructions. “Tas, when I shout ‘Behold,’ you start walking down the aisle. Walk slowly and keep your mind on what you’re doing. Don’t allow yourself to get distracted by anything, do you understand? If you obey me, you will see such wonderful magic as you’ve never seen in your entire life.”
“I will, Raistlin,” Tas promised. “ ‘Behold.’ ” He repeated the word several times, in order not to forget it. “ ‘Behold, behold, behold.’ I saw a beholder once. Did I ever tell you—”
“No kender allowed,” said a blue-robed priest, descending on them.
Unable and unwilling to lie, Sturm stood with his hand on the kender’s shoulder. Raistlin’s breath caught in his throat. He dared not intervene, dared not draw attention to himself. Fortunately for all of them, Tasslehoff was accustomed to being thrown out of places.
“Oh, he’s just escorting me off now, sir,” the kender said with a beaming smile.
“Is that true?”
Sturm, his mustaches bristling, inclined his head the merest fraction, the closest he had come in his entire life to telling a falsehood. Perhaps the Measure sanctioned lies in a good cause.
“Then I’m sorry for interfering with you, sir,” said the priest in mollifying tones. “Please don’t let me keep you from your task. The doors are in that direction.” He waved his hand.
Sturm bowed coldly and dragged Tasslehoff away, shushing the kender’s remarks with a stern “Silence!” and a shake of the small shoulder to emphasize the point.
Raistlin drew breath again.
“Where to?” Caramon asked, peering over the heads of the crowd.
“Somewhere near the front.”
“Keep close behind me,” Caramon advised.
Thrusting out with his elbows, he shouldered and jostled and eventually cleared a path through the throng. People scowled, but on noting his size, they kept any angry remarks they had been about to make to themselves.
The lower seats near the arena were filled. There was perhaps room for one person—and that a small person—at the end of the aisle. “Watch this,” Caramon said to his brother with a wink.
Caramon plunked himself down on the empty seat, shifting and bumping his body against that of his neighbor, a wealthy woman, finely dressed, who glared at him. Coldly and pointedly, she moved away from his touch. Raistlin was wondering what this was going to accomplish, for there was still no room for him, when Caramon suddenly let out a great belch and then noisily passed gas.
People in the vicinity grimaced, regarded Caramon with disgust. The woman beside him clapped her hand over her nose and glared at Caramon, who gave a shamefaced grin.
“Beans for dinner,” he said.
The woman rose to her feet. Sweeping her silk skirts, she favored him with a scathing glance and the comment, “Clod! I can’t think why they permit your kind in here! I shall certainly protest!” She flounced off up the stairs, searching for one of the priests.
Caramon waved his brother to come sit down in the empty place beside him. “I had not realized you could be so subtle, my brother,” Raistlin murmured as he took his seat.
“Yeah, that’s me! Subtle!” Caramon chuckled.
Raistlin searched the crowd and soon located Sturm, standing in the shadow of a pillar near an aisle. Tasslehoff was not visible, Sturm had probably stashed the kender in the shadows.
Sturm had been searching for Raistlin as well. Sighting him, Sturm gave a brief nod, jerked his thumb. A small hand shot out from behind Sturm’s back, waved. Kender and knight were in position.
Raistlin turned to face the arena. He had no difficulty at all finding his sister. Kitiara stood in the pen in front of the arena, alongside the others who had been invited to speak to their dead kin.
As if aware of his gaze upon her, Kit grinned her crooked grin. Raistlin realized with some bitterness that she was calm, relaxed, even having fun.
He was not.
When the last stragglers had been hurried to their seats, the doors shut. The Temple grew dark. Fire sprang up from the braziers on the arena floor. The chanting began. The priests and priestess entered, bearing the charmed vipers in the baskets. Soon Judith would make her entrance. Raistlin’s moment to act was fast approaching.
He was terrified. He knew very well what ailed him, recognized the symptoms—stage fright.
Raistlin had experienced stage fright before, but only very m
ildly, prior to his performances at the small fairs in Solace. The fear had always vanished the moment he began his act, and he had not worried about it.
He had never before performed to an audience of this size, an audience that must be considered hostile. He had never performed for stakes this large. His fear was a hundredfold greater than anything he’d previously experienced.
His hands were chilled to the bone, the fingers so stiff he did not think he could move them enough to draw the scroll from the case. His bowels gripped, and he thought for one horrible moment that he was going to be forced to leave to go find the privies. His mouth dried up. He could not speak a word. How was he to cast the spell if he couldn’t talk? His body was drenched in sweat, he shivered with chills. His stomach heaved.
His performance was going to end in ignominy and shame, with him being sick all over himself.
The High Priest began his introduction. Raistlin didn’t pay heed. He sat hunched over, miserable and deathly ill.
High Priestess Judith appeared in her blue robes. She was making her welcoming speech to the audience. Raistlin couldn’t hear the words for the roaring in his ears. The time was fast approaching. Caramon was looking at him expectantly. Somewhere in the darkness, Kit was watching him. Sturm was waiting for his signal, so was Tasslehoff. They were waiting for him, counting on him, depending on him. They would understand his failure. They would be kind, never reproach him. They would pity him.…
Judith had lowered her arms. The sleeves cascaded down around her hands. She was preparing to cast the spell.
Raistlin fumbled at the scroll case, forcing his numb fingers to unfasten the lid. He drew forth the scroll, his hand shaking so he nearly dropped it. Panicked, afraid he would lose it in the darkness and not be able to recover it, he clenched his fist over it.
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