Dragonlance 09 - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage (27 page)

“I do not understand,” he said, glancing from one woman to the other. “I thought—”

“You thought Ariakas hired you to spy on me,” said Kitiara.

“That is precisely what we wanted you to think,” said Iolanthe.

Raistlin shook his head, as though deeply puzzled, though in truth he had already suspected as much.

“I will explain later,” said Kit. “As I said, I was glad to hear from Iolanthe that you were still alive. I feared you and Caramon and the others would not escape the Maelstrom.”

“I escaped,” said Raistlin. “The others did not. They died in the Blood Sea.”

“Then you don’t know … ?” Kitiara began, then stopped. “Know what?” Raistlin asked sharply.

“Your brother did
not
die. Caramon survived, as did Tanis and that red-haired barmaid whose name I can never recall, as well as that woman with the blue crystal staff and her barbarian hulk of a husband.”

“That can’t be possible!” said Raistlin.

“I assure you it is,” Kit replied. “They were all in Kalaman yesterday. And there, according to my spies, they met up with Flint and Tas and that elf woman Laurana. You knew her too, I think.”

Kit continued to talk about Laurana, but Raistlin wasn’t listening. He was glad he had kept his hood covering his face, for his mind reeled and staggered around like a drunkard. He had been so certain that Caramon was dead. He had convinced himself of it, repeated it over and over, every morning, every night … He closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning and gripped the arms of the chair with his hands to try to regain control of himself.

What do I care whether Caramon is alive or dead? Raistlin asked himself, digging his fingers into the wood. It is all the same to me.

Except that it wasn’t. Somewhere deep, deep inside, some weak and much-despised part of him, a part he had long tried to excise, could have wept.

Kitiara was watching him, waiting for him to reply to some question he had not heard.

“I did not know my brother was alive,” Raistlin said, working to keep his emotions in check. “It’s odd that he would be in Kalaman. That city is half a world away from Flotsam. How did our brother come to be there?”

“I did not ask. It was neither the time nor place for a family reunion,” said Kitiara, laughing. “I was too busy telling the populace what they would have to do to ransom their so-called Golden General.”

“Who is that?” asked Raistlin.

“Laurana, the elf maid.”

“Oh, yes,” said Raistlin. “I heard the Knights selected her when I was in Palanthas. It seems the choice was inspired. She has been winning.”

“A fluke,” said Kitiara angrily. “I have put an end to her victories. She is now my prisoner.”

“And what do you intend to do with her?”

Kitiara paused, then said, “I intend to use her to gain the Crown of Power. I told the people of Kalaman that if they want her back, they must hand over Berem Everman.”

Raistlin was starting to understand. He recalled the man at the wheel of the ship. The man who had steered the ship into the Blood Sea. An old man with young eyes. “Berem is with Tanis, isn’t he?”

Kit stared at him, surprised. “How did you know?”

Raistlin shrugged. “A hunch, nothing more. You think Tanis will trade Berem for Laurana?”

“I know he will,” said Kitiara. “And I will trade Laurana for the crown.”

“So this is your secret plan. Where are Tanis and my brother now?” Raistlin asked.

“Trying to find some way to rescue the elf maid. My spies were on their trail, but they lost track of them, though they did come across someone who remembered a kender resembling Tasslehoff asking for directions to a place called Godshome.”

“Godshome …” Raistlin repeated thoughtfully.

“Have you heard of it?”

Raistlin shook his head. “I am afraid not.” Though of course he had heard of it. Godshome was a sacred, holy site dedicated to the gods. He wasn’t going to impart such information to his sister. Knowledge is power. He wondered why Tanis and his brother and the others would be traveling there.

“It is said to be located somewhere near Neraka in the Khalkist mountains,” Kit continued. “I have patrols out searching. They will soon find them, and Tanis will lead me to Berem.”

“What is so important about this man?” Raistlin asked. “Why is half the army looking for him? What makes him worth the Crown of Power?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“If you want my help, I do.”

“My baby brother is a self-serving bastard.” Kitiara grinned at him. “But that’s how I raised you. I will tell you a story.”

She drew up a chair and sat down. Since there were only two chairs in the room, Iolanthe sat cross-legged on the bed.

“You’ll find this story interesting,” said Kitiara, her lips parting in a crooked smile. “It’s about two siblings, one of whom kills the other.”

If she expected Raistlin to react, she was disappointed. He sat still, unmoved, and waited.

“According to the tale,” said Kit, “this man named Berem and his sister were out walking when they came across a broken column covered in rare and precious jewels. The two were poor, and the man, Berem, decided to steal an emerald. His sister opposed him and, to make a long story short, he bashed her head in.”

“She fell and hit her head on the stone,” said Iolanthe.

Kitiara waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Berem ended up cursed by the gods with the emerald stuck in his chest. He’s been wandering the world since, trying to escape his guilt. Meanwhile, his sister forgave him, and her good spirit entered the stone, and when Takhisis tried to get around her, she couldn’t. She was blocked from coming into the world.”

Raistlin would have been dubious of the remarkable story, except
he had seen for himself the emerald embedded in Berem’s chest.

I was right, he thought, Takhisis cannot enter the world in all her might. A good thing. Otherwise this war would have ended before it began.

“The broken column is the Foundation Stone from the Temple of Istar,” Iolanthe explained. “Takhisis found it and brought it to Neraka and built her temple around it. She seeks Berem in order to destroy him, for if he joins his sister, the door to the Abyss will slam shut.”

“And what am I to do?” Raistlin asked. “Why bring me into this? It seems you have thought of everything.”

Kitiara cast a glance from beneath her lashes at Iolanthe, a glance the witch was not meant to see. The glance told Raistlin,
You and I will discuss this in private
. She changed the subject. “Are you in such a hurry to leave? I haven’t seen you in years. Tell me, what do you think of this elf female?”

“Kitiara,” said Iolanthe in warning tones. “The walls have ears. Even burnt walls.”

Kit ignored her. “Everyone raves about her beauty. She’s so pale and all one color, like bread dipped in milk. But then, I saw her at the High Clerist’s Tower right after the battle. She was not looking her best.”

“Kitiara, we have more important matters—” Iolanthe began, but Kit silenced her.

“What did you think of her?” Kit insisted.

What did Raistlin think of Laurana? That she was the only beauty left for him in the world. Even his accursed vision, which saw all things age and wither and die, had not been able to sabotage her. Elves were long-lived, and age touched the elf maiden gently. The years made her, if possible, more beautiful still.

Laurana had been a little in awe of him, a little afraid of him. She had trusted him, however. He had not known why, except that she had seemed to see something in him others could not, something even he could not see. He had appreciated her trust, been touched by it. He had loved her … no, not loved her, cherished her, as a man parched with thirst and lost in the desert cherishes a sip of cool water.

“She is everything you are, my sister, and all that you are not,” Raistlin said softly.

His sister laughed, pleased. She took it as a compliment.

“Kitiara, I need to speak to you,” Iolanthe said, exasperated. “In private.”

“Perhaps I could finish writing that letter for you,” Raistlin suggested.

Kitiara waved him toward the desk and walked over to the window, where she and Iolanthe put their heads together to talk in hushed tones.

Raistlin sat down. He placed the Staff of Magius at his side, keeping it near his hand. His thoughts busy, he began mechanically to copy the words of the blotted and misspelled original onto a new sheet of paper. He wrote smoothly, swiftly, and far more legibly than Kit.

As Raistlin worked, he gently pushed his cowl behind his ear to try to hear what the two were discussing. He caught only a few words, enough to give him a general impression of what they were discussing.

“… Ariakas suspects you … That’s why he sent your brother … We have to think of something to tell him …”

Raistlin continued the letter. Absorbed in listening, he had been paying little attention to the words he was writing until a name seemed to catch fire, blaze a hole in the page.

Laurana
. The orders were about her.

Raistlin paid no more heed to Kit and Iolanthe. He gave all his attention to the letter, reading over what he had written. Kit was sending the missive to a subordinate, telling him that his orders had changed. He was no longer to bring the “captive” to Dargaard Keep. He was to take her directly to Neraka. The subordinate was to make certain Laurana was alive and unharmed—at least until the exchange for the Everman was complete. After that, when Kitiara had the crown, Laurana would be given in sacrifice to the Dark Queen.

Raistlin pondered. Kitiara was right. Tanis was certain to come to Neraka to try to save Laurana. Was there some way Raistlin could help? Kitiara wanted him here for some reason; he could not figure out why. She did not need him to capture Berem. That plot was well advanced, and there was nothing for him to do. Ariakas had sent him to betray Kit. Hidden Light had sent him to betray Kit
and Ariakas. Iolanthe had some scheming plot of her own. Everyone had a knife drawn, ready to plunge it into someone else’s back. He wondered if they would all end up stabbing each other.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls ringing hollowly on the stone floor. Iolanthe went deathly pale.

“I must take my leave,” she said hurriedly and flung her cloak around herself. “Raistlin, come see me when you return to Neraka. We have much to discuss.”

Before he could say a word, Iolanthe threw her magical clay against the wall, squeezed inside the portal before it was halfway open, and shut it swiftly behind her.

The footfalls drew closer, moving slowly, resolutely, purposefully. A chill like death flowed into the room.

“You are about to meet the master of Dargaard Keep, Baby brother,” said Kitiara, and she tried to smile the crooked smile, but Raistlin saw it slip.

eath’s chill flowed beneath the door, seeped through the cracks in the stone walls, sighed through the broken window panes. Raistlin shivered from the dreadful cold, and he laid down the quill pen and thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robes to try to warm them. He rose to his feet to be ready.

“Soth is very terrible,” said Kitiara, her gaze fixed on the door. “But he will not harm you, so long as you are under my protection.”

“I do not need your protection, my sister,” said Raistlin, angered at her patronizing tone.

“Just be careful, will you, Raistlin?” said Kitiara sharply. He was startled. She rarely, if ever, called him by name. Kitiara added softly, “Soth could kill us both with a single word.”

The door opened, and terror entered.

The death knight stood in the doorway, an imposing figure clad in the armor of a Solamnic Knight from the time of the rise of Istar. Beautifully crafted armor that had once shone silvery bright, but
was now blackened and stained with blood that only the waters of redemption could remove, and Soth was far from seeking forgiveness. A black cape, bloody and tattered, hung from his shoulders.

His eyes shone red in the eye slits of his helm; red with the passion that had been his doom and that he could not control. He raged at his fate; raged at the gods; raged, sometimes, at himself. Only at night, when the banshees sang to him the mournful song of his own downfall, was the blazing fire reduced to smoldering embers of remorse and bitter regret. When the song ceased with the coming of day, Soth’s rage blazed anew.

Raistlin had walked many dark places in his life, perhaps none darker than his own soul. He had taken the dread Test in the Tower. He had journeyed through Darken Wood. He had been trapped in the nightmare that was Silvanesti. He had been a prisoner in Takhisis’s dungeons. In all those places, he had known fear. But when he looked into the hellish fire that blazed in the eyes of the death knight, Raistlin knew fear so awful, so debilitating that he thought he would die of it.

He could clasp the dragon orb and speak the magic and be gone as swiftly as Iolanthe. He was fumbling for the orb with his shaking hands when he saw Kitiara watching him.