“How do I get to the tunnel?” Raistlin asked.
“You’re so smart, you figure it out,” Lute said. He was still rubbing his chin.
Raistlin cast a swift glance around the cluttered shop. “Ah, of course, the trapdoor is beneath the dog kennel. Not terribly original. Is it locked? Is there a key?”
Lute muttered something.
“I can always blast a hole in your floor,” said Raistlin.
“No key,” Lute said. “Just lift up the damn door and go down the damn stairs. Watch your step. The stairs are steep. It would be a pity if you fell and broke your neck.”
Raistlin went over to the dog crate and shoved aside the bedding to find the trap door beneath. The spell he’d cast on himself was starting to wear off, but fortunately he had just strength enough to be able to pull open the heavy wooden door. It was at times such as this that he missed Caramon.
Raistlin peered down into the darkness that would be even darker once he shut the trap door.
“Shirak,” he said, and the crystal on top of his staff began to glow.
He gathered up the hem of his robes and carefully navigated the stairs as the trapdoor fell shut behind him. The subterranean chamber was silent and smelled of loam. He could hear the drip of water in the distance. He flashed the light around and, after a few moments, found the chair to which he’d been chained and the chair Talent had straddled.
Raistlin took Talent’s chair and sat down to wait.
Talent was not long in coming. Raistlin had not even had time to grow impatient before he heard the sound of booted feet thudding on the dirt floor and saw the light of a lantern shining in the darkness. Raistlin had his rose petals in his hand and the words to a sleep spell on his lips, just in case Talent had decided to send someone else to the meeting; someone such as Maelstrom.
But it was Talent himself who appeared in the circle of light cast by the staff.
“Sit down,” said Raistlin, and he shoved out a chair with his foot.
Talent remained standing. He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m here, but not because I want to be. You could have put us all in danger—”
“You are already in danger,” said Raistlin. “I have been to Dargaard Keep. I have spoken to my sister. Please sit down. I don’t like to have to crane my neck to look up at you.”
Talent hesitated, then sat down. His sword hung from his side. The tip brushed the dirt floor.
“Well?” he said tersely. “What did the Blue Lady have to say?”
“A great many things, but most do not concern you. One does. You have been betrayed. Takhisis knows everything. She has ordered Ariakas to kill you and Mari and all the rest of your gang.”
Talent frowned. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Majere, but if Ariakas knows, why haven’t I been arrested?”
“Because you are far more popular in Neraka than the Emperor,” said Raistlin. “There would be rioting in the streets if you were arrested and the Broken Shield was closed down. The same with your hairy friend upstairs. His business is crucial to most of the people in this city, especially now that many of the troops aren’t being paid. And then there are the clerics in the temple, half of whom are in your pocket. They’d have to give up all the black market luxuries they’ve come to enjoy.”
Talent gave a sardonic smile. “I suppose that’s all true enough. So Ariakas doesn’t plan to have us arrested—”
“No. He’s simply going to have you killed,” said Raistlin. “When is all this supposed to happen?” “Tonight,” said Raistlin. “Tonight?” Talent stood up in alarm.
“The Night of the Eye. Iolanthe tells me that you and your friend at the Hairy Troll always throw a street party where you set bonfires. Tonight the bonfires will flare out of control. The flames will spread to both the Hairy Troll and the Broken Shield. As you fight the flames, there will be a terrible accident. You and Mari and Maelstrom and other members of Hidden Light will be trapped inside the blazing building. You will burn to death.”
“What about Lute?” Talent asked harshly. “He won’t be at these celebrations. He never leaves this shop.”
“His body will be found in the morning. By a strange mischance, his own dogs will turn on him and rip him apart.”
“I see,” said Talent grimly. “Who is the traitor? Who betrayed us?”
Raistlin stood up. “I do not know. Nor do I care. I have my own troubles, and they are far greater than yours. Which brings me to my final request. There are two others who are marked for death this night. One is Iolanthe—”
“Iolanthe? Ariakas’s Witch?” Talent said, amazed. “Why would he want to kill her?”
“He does not, but the Blue Lady does. The second is Snaggle, the owner of the mageware shop on Wizard’s Row. He will not want to leave his shop. He’ll have to be ‘persuaded’.”
“What in the Abyss is going on?” Talent demanded, aghast.
“I can’t tell you the entire plot. What I can tell you is that this night, Queen Takhisis will seize control of magic. By her command, the Blue Lady is sending out death squads to kill as many wizards as possible. Snaggle and Iolanthe are both on her list.”
Talent stared at him, silent and appalled. Then he said, “Why tell me? Why not tell Iolanthe?”
“Because I cannot trust her,” said Raistlin. “I am not certain even now whose side she is on.”
Talent shook his head. “Iolanthe is a threat to you, and yet you want to protect her. I thought your type would be more likely to laugh as you watched her go up in flames. I don’t understand you, Majere.”
“I imagine there is a great deal in this world you do not understand,” said Raistlin caustically. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to explain it to you. Suffice it to say I owe both Iolanthe and Snaggle a debt. And I always pay my debts.”
He picked up his staff with the glowing light and started to leave.
“Hey!” said Talent. “Where are you going?”
“I am taking the back way out,” said Raistlin. “Your friend Lute would not be pleased to see me again.”
“You’re probably right. I heard about the broken door,” said Talent, falling into step beside Raistlin. “But you’ll get lost. I’ll have to show you.”
“Do not bother. I remember the route from when I was here the last time.”
“You remember it? But you couldn’t. You were—” Talent stopped. He stared at the mage. “You only pretended to be drugged. But how did you know the drink was spiked—?”
“I have an excellent sense of smell,” said Raistlin.
The two walked together. The only sounds were the gentle thump of the staff on the dirt floor, the slight swishing of the black robes, and the thudding of Talent’s boots. Talent walked with his head down, his hands behind his back, lost in thought. Raistlin cast keen glances around him, noting the many tunnels branching off from the one they were using. He pictured a map of the city in his head and used it to try to calculate where each might lead.
“This system is quite extensive,” Raistlin remarked. “I would guess, for example, that this tunnel”—he pointed with his staff—“leads to the Dark Queen’s temple. And this.” He pointed out another tunnel. “This one leads to the Broken Shield.”
“And this,” said Talent grimly, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, “leads to the death of people who do too much damn guessing.”
Raistlin smiled and inclined his head.
“Something I’m wondering,” said Talent abruptly. “You don’t trust Iolanthe, a fellow wizard. The gods know I don’t trust you. Yet you trust me. You must since you told me all this. Why is that?”
“You remind me of someone,” said Raistlin after a moment’s pause. “Like you, he was a Solamnic. Est Sularus oth Mithas. He lived that motto. His honor was his life.”
“Mine isn’t,” said Talent.
“Which is why you are still alive and Sturm is not. And why I trust you.”