“Either that or he did sell himself to Ariakas,” Maelstrom growled, “and he’s here to spy on us.”
Talent regarded Raistlin in thoughtful silence. The dogs lay down at the wizard’s feet. Maelstrom stood over him, arms folded across his chest.
“Wake him up,” said Talent abruptly.
Maelstrom grabbed hold of Raistlin by the hair, jerked his head back, and smacked him a couple of times.
Raistlin gasped. His eyelids flared opened. He grimaced at the pain and blinked in the flickering light. Then his gaze focused on Talent, and a look of astonishment crossed his face. He raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod, as if thinking it all made sense.
“You still owe me for the damage to your room, Majere,” said Talent.
Drawing over a chair, he spun it around and seated himself on it, resting his arms on the chair’s back.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Raistlin. “If that’s what this is about, I have the steel …”
“Forget it,” said Talent. “You saved Mari’s life. We’ll call it even. I hear you might be interested in working for Hidden Light.”
“Hidden Light?” Raistlin shook his head. “I never heard of it.” “Then why did you go to the Hair of the Troll tonight?” “I went for a drink—”
Talent laughed. “No one goes to the Hair of a Troll for a drink unless you’re unusually fond of horse piss.” He frowned. “Cut the crap, Majere. Mari gave you the code word. For some reason she’s taken a fancy to you.”
“No accounting for taste,” said Maelstrom, and he gave Raistlin a cuff on the head that knocked him sideways. “Answer the boss’s questions. He don’t take kindly to prevaricators.”
Talent waited for Raistlin’s ears to quit ringing from the blow; then he said, “Want to try again? Why did you go to the Hair of the Troll?”
“I admit, I am interested in working for Hidden Light,” said Raistlin, licking blood from a split lip.
“A wizard who wears the black robes wants to help in the fight against Takhisis. Why should we trust you?”
“Because I wear the black robes,” said Raistlin.
Talent regarded him thoughtfully. “You might want to explain yourself.”
“If Takhisis wins this war and frees herself from the Abyss, she will be the master and I will be her slave. I will not be a slave. I much prefer to be the master.”
“At least you are honest,” said Talent.
“I see no reason to lie,” Raistlin said, shrugging as well as his bound arms would permit. “I am not ashamed of wearing the black robes. Nor am I ashamed of my ambition. You and I fight the battle against Takhisis for different reasons, sir, or at least so I presume. You fight for the good of mankind. I fight for the good of myself. The point is: we both fight.”
Talent shook his head in wonderment. “I’ve met all manner of men and women, Majere, but never anyone quite like you. I’m not certain whether I should embrace you or slit your throat.”
“I know what I’d do,” muttered Maelstrom, fingering a large knife he wore on his belt.
“I’m sure you will understand if we ask you to prove yourself,” said Talent, briskly getting down to business. “I have a job for you, one for which you are uniquely qualified. I hear that Kitiara uth Matar, known as the Blue Lady, is your sister.”
“She is my half sister,” said Raistlin. “Why?”
“Because the Blue Lady is plotting something, and I need to know what,” said Talent.
“It has been years since I have seen Kitiara, but from what I hear, she is commander of the Blue Dragonarmy, an army that is currently ravaging Solamnia, making hash of the Solamnic Knights. What she is plotting is undoubtedly the demise of the Knighthood.”
“You might want to speak of the Solamnic Knights with more respect,” Talent said.
Raistlin gave a half smile. “I thought I detected a faint Solamnic accent. Don’t tell me, sir. I can guess your story. You were an impoverished knight, reduced to selling his sword. You sold it to the wrong people, briefly walked the side of Darkness, had a change of heart, and now you’re on the side of Light. Am I right?”
“I didn’t have a change of heart,” said Talent quietly. “I had a good friend who changed it for me. He saved me from myself. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about a job. As it happens, Kitiara is not busy pursuing the war in Solamnia. She has left the war to her commanders. No one has seen her on the battlefield in weeks.”
“Perhaps she was wounded,” Raistlin suggested. “Perhaps she is dead.”
“We would have heard. What we do hear is that she is working on some secret project. We want to know what this project is and, if possible, prevent its completion.”
“And since I am her brother, you expect her to tell me everything. Unfortunately, I do not know where Kit is.”
“Most fortunately, we do,” said Talent. “You’ve heard of the death knight Lord Soth?”
“Yes,” said Raistlin warily.
“Soth is alive—so to speak. The death knight resides in an accursed castle known as Dargaard Keep. And your sister, Kitiara, is with him.”
Raistlin stared, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”
“I have never been more so. The entry of the dragons of Light into the war caught Takhisis unprepared. She now fears she might lose. Kitiara is in Dargaard Keep with Lord Soth, and we believe they are plotting something to crush out this spark of hope. I want to know what they are plotting. I want you to find out and come back to tell me.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I don’t recall giving you a choice,” said Talent, smoothing his mustache. “You came to me, Majere. And now you know too much about us. Either you agree to travel to Dargaard Keep, or your bones will be Hiddukel’s dinner this night. Hiddukel the dog,” Talent added by way of clarification, petting the mastiff’s head, “not the god.”
Raistlin looked at the mastiff. He glanced back over his shoulder at Maelstrom. Then he gave a slight shrug. “I will need a day or two to put my affairs in order and devise some excuse for my absence. There are those who would find my sudden disappearance suspicious.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” said Talent. He stood up from the chair. The dogs, who had been lying at his side, jumped to their feet. “Maelstrom will see to it you get home safely. You won’t mind being blindfolded, I hope.”
“It will be better than being drugged,” said Raistlin wryly.
Maelstrom drew his knife and cut the ropes that bound Raistlin’s hands and feet.
“One thing I meant to ask,” said Talent. “The gate guards have been told to watch for a man named Berem who has a green gemstone embedded in his chest. Sounds like the kind of man a wizard might know. You don’t happen to, do you? Or know anything about him?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Raistlin, his face a blank mask.
He stood up stiffly, rubbing his wrists. His lip was starting to swell, a bruise was turning the golden skin of his face an unsightly green color.
Maelstrom brought out a strip of black cloth. Talent held up his hand, indicating he should wait.
“Then there’s this magical artifact the guards are searching for. A dragon globe or some such thing.”
“Dragon orb,” said Raistlin.
“You have heard of it?” Talent affected surprise.
“I would be a poor excuse for a student of magic if I had not,” said Raistlin.
“You don’t know where it is, do you?”
The young wizard’s strange eyes glinted. “Believe me, sir, when I tell you that you would not want me to find it.” He wiped blood from his lip.
Talent eyed him, then shrugged. “Let Mari know when you’re leaving for Dargaard Keep,” he said. Whistling to the dogs, he turned to go.
“One moment,” said Raistlin. “I have a question for you. How did you corrupt the kender?”