Raistlin was forced to admit that he had underestimated Ariakas and he had very nearly paid for it. He didn’t like to be reminded and wished irritably that she would go away and let him think. He tried to slide his arm from her hold, but she clung to him more tightly.
“Are you going to Dargaard Keep?”
“I’m being paid one hundred steel to do so,” he said.
“You will need my help to get there—dragon orb or no dragon orb.”
Raistlin glanced at her sharply, wondering if she was teasing. With her, he could never tell. “Thank you,” he said, “but I am perfectly capable of going on my own.”
“Are you? Lord Soth is a death knight,” she said. “Do you know what that is?
“Of course,” said Raistlin, not wanting to talk or even think about it.
She told him anyway. “A fearsome and powerful undead who can freeze you with his touch or kill you with a single word. He does not like visitors. Do you know his story?”
Raistlin said he had read about Soth’s downfall and tried to change the subject, but Iolanthe appeared obsessively intent on relating the dark and hellish tale. Forced to listen, Raistlin tried to think of Kitiara living in the same dread castle with the murderous fiend. A fiend he might soon be forced to encounter. He thought bitterly that Ariakas could have found easier ways of having him killed.
“Before the Cataclysm, Soth was a Solamnic Knight, respected and revered. He was a man of strong and violent passion, and he had the misfortune to fall in love with an elf woman—some say at the elves’ connivance, for they were loyal to the Kingpriest of Istar and Soth was opposed to his dictatorial rule.
“Soth was married, but he broke his vows and seduced the elf maid and she became pregnant with his child. His wife happened to conveniently disappear at about this time, freeing Soth to marry his elf mistress. When she came to Dargaard Keep, the elf maid discovered his terrible secret, that he’d murdered his first wife. Horrified, she confronted him with his crime. His better nature came to the fore, and he begged her forgiveness and asked the gods to grant him the chance to redeem himself. The gods heard his prayer, and they gave Soth the power to stop the Cataclysm, though it would be at the cost of his own life.
“Soth was on his way to Istar when he was waylaid by a group of elf women. They told him that his wife had been unfaithful; the child she carried was not his. His passions overcame him. Soth flew into a rage. Abandoning his quest, he rode back to his keep. He denounced his wife just as the Cataclysm struck. The ceiling collapsed, or maybe it was a chandelier fell down; I can’t recall. Soth could have saved his wife and child, but he was too angry, too proud. He watched them both die in the flames that swept through his castle.
“His wife’s last words were a curse upon him, that he should live forever with the knowledge of his guilt. His knights were transformed into skeletal warriors. The elf women who were the cause of his downfall were cursed and became banshees, who sing to him of his crimes every night.”
He felt Iolanthe shudder. “I have met Lord Soth. I have looked into his eyes. I wish to the gods I had not.”
A shiver ran up Raistlin’s spine. “How does Kitiara live in the same castle with him?”
“Your sister is a remarkable woman,” said Iolanthe. “She fears nothing this side of the grave or beyond.”
“You have been to Dargaard Keep. You have visited my sister there. Do you know what she is doing? Why Ariakas mistrusts her? You told me only a few days ago that they had met and all was well between them.”
Iolanthe shook her head. “I thought it was.”
“Ariakas knows you’ve been to see Kit. He said you were to take me. Why didn’t he send you on this mission?”
“He doesn’t trust me,” said Iolanthe. “He suspects me of being too friendly to Kit. He views her as a rival.”
“Yet he sends me, and Kitiara is kin to me. Why does he think I would betray my sister?”
“Perhaps because he knows you betrayed your brother,” said Iolanthe.
Raistlin stopped to stare at her. He knew he should deny it, but the words wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t make himself say them.
“I tell you that as a warning, Raistlin,” said Iolanthe. “Do not underestimate Lord Ariakas. He knows every secret you have. I think sometimes the wind itself acts as his spy. I have been ordered to escort you to Dargaard Keep. When do you want to leave?”
“I must deliver my potions and make certain preparations,” said Raistlin, adding dourly, “But why am I telling you this? Undoubtedly you and Ariakas know what I’m going to be doing before I do it.”
“You can be angry all you want, my friend, but what else did you expect when you chose to serve the Dark Queen? That she would give you rich reward and ask nothing in return? Far from it, my dear,” Iolanthe said, her voice a purr. “Takhisis demands you serve her with body and soul.”
Iolanthe knows I have the dragon orb, Raistlin thought. Ariakas knows and so does Takhisis.
“She bides her time,” said Iolanthe, speaking to his thoughts, as though she could see them flickering in his eyes. “She waits for her opportunity to strike. One stumble, one mistake …”
Iolanthe removed her hand from his arm.
“I will meet you back in the Tower early tomorrow morning. Bring the Staff of Magius, for you will need its light in Dargaard Keep.”
She paused a moment, then added somberly, “Though no light, magical or otherwise, can banish that awful endless night.”
One stumble. One mistake. They are sending me to Dargaard Keep to confront a death knight. I am a fool, Raistlin thought. A bloody fool …
13
Changing the darkness.
That evening, as the sun was setting, Raistlin wrapped his potion jars carefully in cotton wool to prevent them from breaking, then packed them in a crate to carry them to Snaggle’s. He was glad for the chance to walk, to think as he walked, trying to decide what to do. Life had seemed so simple back in Palanthas. The path that led to the fulfillment of his ambitions had been smooth and straight. Except that somewhere along the way he’d veered off it, taken a wrong turn, and found himself floundering in a deadly swamp of lies and intrigue. The slightest misstep would plunge him to his death. He would sink beneath the foul water as …
As I sank beneath the Blood Sea, said a voice.
“Caramon?” Raistlin stopped, startled. He looked around. That had been Caramon’s voice. He was certain of it.
“I know you are here, Caramon,” Raistlin called. “Come out of hiding. I am in no mood for your silly games.”
He was in Wizard’s Row and the place, as usual, was empty. The wind blew down the street, rustling autumn’s dead leaves, picking up trash, moving it along, and dropping it back down. No one was around. Raistlin broke into a chill sweat. His hands shook so he nearly dropped the crate, and he was forced to set it down.
“Caramon is dead,” he said aloud, needing to hear himself say the words.
“Who is Caramon?”
Raistlin turned, a spell on his lips, to see Mari sitting on a front stoop. Raistlin let go of the spell with a sigh. At least that voice had been real, not in his head … or his heart.
“Never mind,” he said. “What do you want?”
“What’s in the crate?” Mari asked, reaching out her hand to touch one of the jars.
Raistlin picked up the crate, holding it just out of her reach. He continued on his way to Snaggle’s shop.
“Want me to help carry that for you?” Mari offered, trotting along at his side.
“No, thank you,” Raistlin said.
Mari shoved her hands in her pockets. “I guess you know why I’m here.”
“Talent wants my answer,” said Raistlin.