Finally Tanis had to cope with his own inner turmoil, physically manifested by the elf sitting in the comer of the cage.
Every time he looked at Gilthanas, Tanis's memories of his home in Qualinesti haunted him. As they neared his homeland, the memories he had thought long buried and forgotten crept into his mind, their touch every bit as chilling as the touch of the undead in Darken Wood.
Gilthanas, childhood friend-more than friend, brother.
Raised in the same household and close to the same age, the two had played and fought and laughed together. When Gilthanas's little sister grew old enough, the boys allowed the captivating blonde child to join them. One of the threesome's greatest delights was teasing the older brother, Porthios, a strong and serious youth who took on the responsibilities and sorrows of his people at an early age. Gilthanas, Laurana, and Porthios were the children of the Speaker of the Suns, the ruler of the elves of Qualinesti, a position Porthios would inherit at his father's death.
Some in the elven kingdom thought it odd that the Speaker would take into his house the bastard son of his dead brother's wife after she had been raped by a human warrior. She had died of grief only months after the birth of her half-breed child. But the Speaker, who had strong views on responsibility, took in the child without hesitation. It was only in later years, as he watched with growing unease the developing relationship between his beloved daughter and the bastard half-elf, that he began to regret his decision. The situation confused Tanis as well. Being half-human, the young man acquired a maturity the slower developing elf maid could not understand. Tanis saw the unhappiness their union must bring down upon the family he loved. He also was beset by the inner turmoil that would torment him in later life: the constant battle between the elvish and the human within him. At the age of eighty-about twenty in human years-Tanis left Qualinost. The Speaker was not sorry to see Tanis leave. He tried to hide his feelings from the young half-elf, but both of them knew it.
Gilthanas had not been so tactful. He and Tanis had exchanged bitter words over Laurana. It was years before the sting of those words faded, and Tanis wondered if he had ever truly forgotten or forgiven. Clearly, Gilthanas had done neither.
The journey for these two was very long. Tanis made a few attempts at desultory conversation and became immediately aware that Gilthanas had changed. The young elflord had always been open and honest, fun-loving and light-hearted. He did not envy his older brother the responsibilities inherent in his role as heir to the throne. Gilthanas was a scholar, a dabbler in the magic arts, though he never took them as seriously as Raistlin. He was an excellent warrior, though he disliked fighting, as do all elves. He was deeply devoted to his family, especially his sister. But now he sat silent and moody, an unusual characteristic in elves. The only time he showed any interest in anything was when Caramon had begun plotting an escape. Gilthanas told him sharply to forget it, he would ruin everything. When pressed to elaborate, the elf fell silent, muttering only something about "overwhelming odds."
By sunrise of the third day, the draconian army was flagging from the night's long march and looking forward to a rest. The companions had spent another sleepless night and looked forward to nothing but another chill and dismal day. But the cages suddenly rolled to a stop. Tanis glanced up, puzzled at the change in routine. The other prisoners roused themselves and looked out the cage bars. They saw an old man, dressed in long robes that once might have been white and a battered, pointed hat. He appeared to be talking to a tree.
"I say, did you hear me?" The old man shook a worn walking stick at the oak. "I said move and I meant it! I was sitting on that rock"-he pointed to a boulder-"enjoying the rising sun on my old bones when you had the nerve to cast a shadow over it and chill me! Move this instant, I say!"
The tree did not respond. It also did not move.
"I won't take any more of your insolence!" The old man began to beat on the tree with his stick. "Move or I'll-I'll-"
"Someone shut that looney in a cage!" Fewmaster Toede shouted, galloping back from the front of the caravan.
"Get your hands off me!" the old man shrieked at the draconians who ran up and accosted him. He beat on them feebly with his staff until they took it away from him. "Arrest the tree!" he insisted. "Obstructing sunlight! That's the charge!"
The draconians threw the old man roughly into the companions' cage. Tripping over his robes, he fell to the floor.
"Are you all right. Old One?" Riverwind asked as he assisted the old man to a seat.
Goldmoon left Theros's side. "Yes, Old One," she said softly. "Are you hurt? I am a cleric of-"
"Mishakal!" he said, peering at the amulet around her neck. "How very interesting. My, my." He stared at her in astonishment. "You don't look three hundred years old!"
Goldmoon blinked, uncertain how to react. "How did you know? Did you recognize-? I'm not three hundred-" She was growing confused.
"Of course, you're not. I'm sorry, my dear." The old man patted her hand. "Never bring up a lady's age in public. Forgive me. It won't happen again. Our little secret," he said in a piercing whisper. Tas and Tika started to giggle. The old man looked around. "Kind of you to stop and offer me a lift. The road to Qualinost is long."
"We're not going to Qualinost," Gilthanas said sharply. "We're prisoners, going to the slave mines of Pax Tharkas."
"Oh?" the old man glanced around vaguely. "Is there another group due by here soon, then? I could have sworn this was the one."
"What is your name. Old One," Tika asked.
"My name?" The old man hesitated, frowning. "Fizban? Yes, that's it. Fizban."
"Fizban!" Tasslehoff repeated as the cage lurched to a start again. "That's not a name!"
"Isn't it?" the old man asked wistfully. "That's too bad. I was rather fond of it."
"I think it's a splendid name," Tika said, glaring at Tas. The kender subsided into a corner, his eyes on the pouches slung over the old man's shoulder.
Suddenly Raistlin began to cough and they all turned their attention to him. His coughing spasms had been growing worse and worse. He was exhausted and in obvious pain; his skin burned to the touch. Goldmoon was unable to help him. Whatever was burning the mage up inside, the cleric could not heal. Caramon knelt beside him, wiping away the bloody saliva that flecked his brother's lips.
"He's got to have that stuff he drinks!" Caramon looked up in anguish. "I've never seen him this bad. If they won't listen to reason"- the big man scowled-"I'll break their heads! I don't care how many there are!"
"We'll talk to them when we stop for the night," Tanis promised, though he could guess the Fewmaster's answer.
"Excuse me," the old man said. "May I?" Fizban sat down beside Raistlin. He laid his hand on the mage's head and sternly spoke a few words. Caramon, listening closely, heard "Fistandan…" and "not the time…" Certainly it wasn't a healing prayer, such as Goldmoon had tried, but the big man saw that his brother responded! The response was astonishing, however. Raistlin's eyes fluttered and opened. He looked up at the old man with a wild expression of terror and grasped Fizban's wrist in his thin, frail hand. For an instant it seemed Raistlin knew the old man, then Fizban passed his hand over the mage's eyes. The look of terror subsided, replaced by confusion.
"Hullo," Fizban beamed at him. "Name's-uh-Fizban." He shot a stern glance at Tasslehoff, daring the kender to laugh.
"You are… magi!" Raistlin whispered. His cough was gone.
"Why, yes, I suppose I am."
"I am magi!" Raistlin said, struggling to sit up.
"No kidding!" Fizban seemed immensely tickled. "Small world, Krynn. I'll have to teach you a few of my spells. I have one… a fireball… let's see, how did that go?"