Raistlin shrugged. “I bow to my Queen.”
Kitiara smiled that crooked smile. “I thought you might.”
3
Broken door. A question of trust.
It was long after Dark Watch. The new day had begun, the day that would change his life. Raistlin was back in his room in the Broken Shield without any memory of how he came to be there. He was appalled to realize he’d cast spells and traveled the corridors of magic, all without being consciously aware of what he was doing. He was glad to think that some part of his brain was working rationally when it seemed that the rest of his brain was running around, shrieking wildly, and flinging up its hands.
“Calm down!” he said to himself, pacing the length of the small room. “I have to be calm. I have to think this through.”
Someone banged on the floor from the room underneath. “It’s the godsdamned middle of the godsdamned night!” a voice shouted up through the floorboards. “Stop that godsdamned tromping around, or I’ll come up there and godsdamned stop it for you!”
Raistlin briefly considered hurling a fireball at the floor, but that would only burn down the inn and accomplish nothing. He flung himself on his bed. He was exhausted. He needed sleep. He tried closing his eyes, but when he did, he saw the tiny grain of sand blazing to life and falling into darkness. He saw the candle burning away the hours.
Tonight, the Night of the Eye.
Tonight, I must destroy the magic.
Tonight, I must destroy myself.
For that’s what it amounted to. The magic was his life. Without it, he was nothing, less than nothing. Oh yes, Takhisis had promised that he would receive his magic from her, as did Ariakas. Raistlin would have to pray to her, beg her. And she might choose to toss him a crumb or not.
And if he refused, if he went against her, where could he go in the wide world that the goddess could not find him?
Raistlin felt half suffocated. He rose from the bed and walked to the window and flung open the shutters to the cool night air. In the distance the dark outline of the temple dominated Neraka, seeming to obliterate the stars. The towers and spires writhed in his fevered vision, changed to a clawed hand that lunged at him, reaching for his throat …
Raistlin came to himself with a gasp. He had fallen asleep while standing on his feet. He staggered back to his bed and collapsed down on it. He closed his eyes, and sleep came, pouncing on him like a wild beast and dragging him down into dark depths.
But as he slept, the cold and logical part of his mind must have continued to work, for when he woke only a few hours later, he knew what he had to do.
Day was dawning, time for the changing of the watch. Soldiers coming off duty were in a good mood, heading for the taverns. Soldiers coming on duty grumbled and swore as they took up their posts. Gray mists like tentacles slid sullenly over the city. The clouds would blow away. The Night of the Eye would be clear. The Night of the Eye was always clear. The gods saw to that.
Raistlin walked swiftly, his hands in his sleeves, his head bowed, his cowl pulled low. He bumped into soldiers, who glared at him and shouted insults to which he paid no heed. The soldiers muttered, but went on their way, either late for duty or eager for pleasure.
Raistlin entered the Red District, passed through the gate, and stopped to get his bearings. He’d been here only once before, and that had been after dark and he’d been pretending to be unconscious.
He followed the route Maelstrom had taken and found what he thought was the entry point to the tunnels at the back of a large building. The entrance was well hidden, and Raistlin couldn’t be sure. He walked around to the front, glanced up at the sign—a lute suspended from a rope above the door. The wind had a trick of vibrating the strings, making them hum.
Raistlin banged on the door. Dogs barked.
“We’re not open yet!” a deep voice yelled from inside.
“You are now,” said Raistlin. He drew a bit of dung out of a pouch and began rolling it between his fingers as he spoke the words to the spell. “Daya laksana banteng!”
Strength filled his body. Raistlin kicked the heavy wooden door and shattered it to splinters. The iron lock dropped off and fell to the floor. Raistlin knocked aside some of the wooden shards with the end of his staff and entered the shop.
He was immediately set upon by two mastiffs. The dogs did not attack. They stood in front of him, their heads lowered, ears flat. The female curled her lip, showing yellowed fangs.
“Call off your dogs,” said Raistlin.
“Go to the Abyss!” howled a black-bearded man seated on a stool in the back of the cluttered room. “Look what you’ve done to my door!”
“Call off your dogs, Lute,” Raistlin repeated. “And do not even think of touching that crossbow. If you do, the only thing left on that stool will be a greasy, hairy glob of burnt dwarf.”
Lute slowly moved his hand from the crossbow.
“Shinare,” he said sullenly. “Hiddukel. Come to me.”
The dogs gave Raistlin a parting growl and slunk back to their master.
“Lock them in that room,” Raistlin ordered, indicating the half-dwarf’s bedroom.
Lute ordered the dogs into his room and, heaving himself, grumbling, off the stool, he locked the door on them. Raistlin made his way through the piles of junk to the back of the store.
“What do you want?” Lute asked, glaring at Raistlin.
“I need to speak to Talent.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place. He’s at the Broken Shield—”
Raistlin slammed his hand down on the counter. “I am in no mood for your lies. Tell Talent I must talk to him now!”
Lute sneered. “I’m not your bloody errand boy—”
Raistlin seized hold of Lute’s thick, full beard and gave it a twist that brought tears to the half-dwarf’s eyes.
Lute yelped and tried desperately to break Raistlin’s grip. The half-dwarf might as well have tried to break one of the oak beams holding up his ceiling. Raistlin was still under the empowering effects of the spell. He gave Lute’s beard a sharp yank, drawing blood, and making him moan with pain. Hearing their master’s cry, the dogs barked furiously and flung themselves against the door.
“I’ll tear your beard out by the roots,” said Raistlin, hissing the words through his teeth, “unless you do as I ask. You will send for Talent now. You will tell him to meet me in the same place we met last time: the tunnels beneath this building.”
Lute muttered a curse.
Raistlin yanked harder.
“I’ll do what you say!” Lute shrieked, pawing at Raistlin’s hand. “Let go of me! Let go!”
“You’ll talk to Talent?” Raistlin asked, retaining his hold on the beard.
Lute gave a nod. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Raistlin released his grip, flinging Lute backward. The half-dwarf massaged his burning chin. “I’ll have to send Mari. I can’t go myself. You broke down my door. I’ll be robbed blind.”
“Where is Mari?”
“She generally comes around about this time.” As if conjured up by his words, the kender appeared at the entrance.
“Hey, Lute, what happened to your door?” she asked. “Oh, hullo, Raist. I didn’t see you there.”
“Never you mind about anything,” Lute growled. “And don’t you set foot in here. Run and fetch Talent. Tell him to go to the tunnels.”
“Sure, Lute, I’ll go. But what happened to the door—?”
“Now, you lame-brain!” Lute bellowed.
“You must hurry, Mari,” said Raistlin. “It’s urgent.”
The kender looked from one to the other, then dashed off.
“And bring back a carpenter!” Lute shouted after her.