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!”
Raistlin raised his head. That was the third time he’d heard the name Hidden Light mentioned. Hook Nose had brought it up the previous day with Iolanthe, saying that he feared they would be suspected of being part of Hidden Light. The sivak had spoken of Hidden Light as well.
Raistlin had meant to ask Iolanthe about it, but with all his other worries, he’d forgotten. He left the library and walked across the hall to where the Black Robes were gathered in the living room, drinking warm ale and trying to figure out who else they could blame for their troubles.
“What are you doing here, Majere?” Hook Nose demanded angrily, spotting Raistlin. “You’re supposed to be cleaning up the kitchen.”
“I’ll get right to it, sir,” said Raistlin. “But I couldn’t help wondering, what is this ‘Hidden Light’ you were talking about?”
“A band of traitors, assassins, and thieves,” said Hook Nose, “who are working to bring about the destruction of our glorious Queen.”
A resistance movement, Raistlin realized with amazement. Operating in Neraka, under Takhisis’s very nose.
He asked for more details, but none of the old men were inclined to discuss the movement, except to be loud in their denunciation. Since they were all eyeing each other suspiciously, he guessed that each feared the others were informants and would hand him over to the Nightlord at the first opportunity.