“Well, that too. First he wants to know why you went to see Ariakas.”
Raistlin shook his head. “Is everyone in this city a spy?”
“Pretty much,” said Mari, shrugging. “A mouse doesn’t eat a crumb in Neraka without Talent knowing about it.”
Raistlin noticed that she was busy pulling off the stopper from one of his jars and was about to stick a dirty finger into the pristine potion. Raistlin set down the crate, took away the jar, and put the stopper back on it.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” asked Mari.
“Yes,” said Raistlin. He wondered what to do.
He could betray Hidden Light to Ariakas. Raistlin had known the dwarf spirits he’d been given were drugged; he had smelled the opiate when he brought the glass to his lips. He had pretended to drink and feigned unconsciousness. He could lead the Emperor’s guards to Lute’s Loot and the tunnels beneath. He would be handsomely rewarded.
Or he could betray Ariakas, join in Hidden Light’s battle to bring down the Emperor and the Dark Queen. From what Raistlin had heard and seen of the enemies arrayed against him, he considered that was the most dangerous choice with the highest odds against succeeding.
Both sides wanted him to spy on his sister. He wondered, suddenly, which side Kit was on.
She’s like me, he guessed. Kit’s on the side that favors Kit.
“Ariakas summoned me to ask if I knew anything about this man everyone is hunting for,” Raistlin said. “The one with the green gemstone.”
“You mean Berem? Say, do you know why everyone is looking for him?” Mari asked eagerly. “I mean, sure it’s not every day you come across a guy who has an emerald stuck in his chest, but what’s so special about him? Apart from the emerald, I mean. I wonder how it got stuck there. Do you know? And what would happen if someone tried to pull it out. Would he bleed to death? Do you know what I think? I think—”
“I don’t know anything about Berem,” said Raistlin, finally managing to get a word in. “All I know is that is why Ariakas wanted to see me.”
“That’s all?” said Mari, and she gave a whistle of relief. “Good. Now I won’t have to kill you.”
“That’s not funny,” said Raistlin.
“It wasn’t meant to be. So are you going to take the job for Talent? Can I come with you? We make a great team, you and me.”
“Talent didn’t tell you where he’s sending me, did he?” Raistlin asked in alarm. If a kender knew, so would half of Neraka.
“Naw, Talent never tells me anything, which is probably smart,” Mari said. “I’m not much good at keeping secrets. But, hey, wherever it is, you’ll need my help.”
He’d heard those words before, spoken by another kender. Raistlin recalled how many times Tasslehoff had been extremely unhelpful, rummaging through his spell components, spoiling half of them and stealing the other half, sneaking tastes of the potions (with sometimes disastrous results), walking off with various household items from spoons to soup kettles, and forever landing him and his friends in trouble.
Only the previous autumn, Tasslehoff had grabbed what he’d thought was a plain, ordinary staff, only to have it turn into blue crystal and perform a miracle …
Was that really only last autumn? Raistlin asked himself. It seems a lifetime.
“Hey, Raist, wherever you are, come back,” said Mari, twitching his sleeve and waving her hand at him. “Are you going to see old Snaggle? ‘Cause if you are, we’re here.”
Raistlin halted. He set down his crate on the doorstep and sat down beside it.
“You cannot come with me, Mari. In fact, you should leave Neraka,” he said to her. “Quit working for Talent. It is too dangerous.”
“Oh, Talent’s always telling me that,” said Mari. “And see, nothing’s happened to me yet!”
“Yes, it has,” said Raistlin gently. “Kenders belong to the Light, not the Darkness, Mari. If you stay here, the Darkness will destroy you. It is already starting to change you.”
“It is?” Mari’s eyes opened wide.
“You murdered a man. You have blood on your hands.”
“I have some of today’s lunch on my hands and a little glob of that yucky potion and some goblin slime from the tavern, but no blood. Look, you can see for yourself.” Mari held up her hands, palms out for his inspection.
Raistlin shook his head and sighed.
Mari patted him on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. I was only teasing. You mean I have the blood of the Adjudicator on my hands. But I don’t. I washed it off.”
Raistlin rose to his feet. He picked up his crate. “You had better run along, Mari. I have serious business here.”
“We all have serious business here,” said Mari.
“I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”
“Oh, but I do,” Mari said. “We kender don’t want to be serious, but we can if we have to. My people are fighting the Dark Queen all the world over. In Kendermore and Kenderhome and Flotsam and Solace and Palanthas and lots of other places I’ve never even heard of, kender are fighting, and sometimes we’re dying. And that’s sad, but we need to keep fighting because we have to win, because horrible things will happen if we don’t. Takhisis hates kender. She ranks us right up there with elves, which is awfully flattering to us kender, though maybe not to the elves. So you see, Raist, the Darkness isn’t changing us. We’re changing the Darkness.”
Mari’s eyes were bright. Her smile was cheerful. “What do I tell Talent?”
“Tell him I will take the job,” Raistlin said. Smiling, he reached out and took yet another jar from her hand just as she was about to slip it into a pocket. “I wouldn’t want you to have to kill me.”
BOOK III
1
Brother And Sister, And Brother And Sister.
Early that morning Raistlin and Iolanthe traveled the corridors of magic to Dargaard Keep. The two emerged from the rainbow ethers into the only room in the ruined keep that was fit for habitation—Kitiara’s bedchamber and sitting room. Even there, Raistlin noted black stains on the walls, evidence of the fire that had swept through the keep so long ago.
The glass in the lead-paned windows had been broken and never replaced. A chill wind hissed through what was left of the latticework, like breath through rotting teeth. Raistlin looked out that window onto a scene of desolation, destruction, and death. Ghostly warriors with visages of fire kept horrible vigil, walking the parapets that had been gloriously red for the color of the rose and were transformed to a hideous red with their own blood.
Dargaard Keep, so legend said, had once been one of the wonders of the world. The keep had been designed to resemble the symbol on the family crest, the rose. Petal-shaped stone walls had once glistened in the morning sun. Rose-red towers had proudly soared into the blue skies. But the rose had been afflicted by a canker, destroyed from within by the knight’s dark passions. The rose walls were blackened, stained with fire, death, dishonor. Broken towers were shrouded in storm clouds. Some said that Soth wrapped himself and his keep in a perpetual tempest, deliberately banishing the sun, so he might shield his eyes from the light that had become hateful to him.
Raistlin gazed on the ruin of a noble man, led to his downfall by his inability to control his passions, and Raistlin thanked whatever gods had blessed him at his birth that he was not afflicted by such weakness.
He turned his eyes from the dread sight outside the window to his sister. Kitiara was seated at a desk, writing orders that could not wait. She had asked her visitors to be patient until she finished.
Raistlin took the chance to study her. He had seen Kit briefly in Flotsam, but that hardly counted, for she had been riding her blue dragon and wearing the armor and helm of a Dragon Highlord. Five years had passed since they were together, when they had vowed to meet again in the Inn of the Last Home, a vow Kit had broken. Raistlin, who had changed beyond all measure in five years, was surprised to see that his sister had not.