"Tie Gilon to a stretcher," the Widow Judith said. "We'll carry him up the stairs. He will mend better in his own home."
A dwarf, a fellow townsman whom Raistlin knew by sight, glowered at her. "Are you daft, woman! Jouncing him around like that will kill him!"
"He shall not die!" said the Widow Judith loudly. "Belzor will save him!"
The townspeople standing around exchanged glances. Some rolled their eyes, but others looked interested and attentive.
"He better do it fast, then," muttered the dwarf, standing on tiptoe to peer into the wagon. Beside him, a kender was jumping up and down, clamoring, "Let me see, Flint! Let me see!"
Caramon had climbed into the wagon. Almost as pale as his father, Caramon crouched beside Gilon, anxious and helpless. At the sight of the terrible injuries-Gilon's cracked rib bones protruded through his flesh, and one leg was little more than a sodden mass of blood and bone-a low, animal-like moan escaped Caramon's lips.
Rosamun paid no attention to her stricken son. She stood at the side of the wagon, clutching Gilon's hand and whispering frantically about having faith.
"Raist!" Caramon cried in a hollow voice, looking around in panic.
"I am here, my brother," Raistlin said quietly. He climbed into the wagon beside Caramon.
Caramon grasped hold of his twin's hand thankfully, gave a shuddering sigh. "Raist! What can we do? We have to do something. Think of something to do, Raist!"
"There's nothing to do, son," said the dwarf kindly. "Nothing except wish your father well on his next journey."
Raistlin examined the injured man and knew immediately that the dwarf was right. How Gilon had managed to live this long was a mystery.
"Belzor is here!" the Widow Judith intoned shrilly. "Belzor will heal this man!" Belzor, Raistlin thought bitterly, is taking his own sweet time. "Father!" Caramon cried out.
At the sound of his son's voice, Gilon shifted his eyes-he could not move his head-and searched for his sons.
His gaze found them, rested on them. "Take care. your mother," he managed to whisper. A froth of blood coated his lips.
Caramon sobbed and covered his face with his hand. "We will, Father," Raistlin promised.
Gilon's gaze encompassed both his sons. He managed a fleeting smile, then looked over at Rosamun. He started to say something, but a tremor of pain shook him. He closed his eyes in agony, gave a great groan, and lay still.
The dwarf removed his hat, held it to his chest. "Reorx walk with him," he said softly.
"The poor man's dead. Oh, how sad!" said the kender, and a tear trickled down his cheek.
It was the first time death had come so close to Raistlin. He felt it as a physical presence, passing among them, dark wings spreading over them. He felt small and insignificant, naked and vulnerable.
So sudden. An hour ago Gilon had walked among the trees, thinking of nothing more important than what he might enjoy for dinner that night.
So dark. Endless darkness, eternal. It was not the absence of light that was as frightening as the absence of thought, of knowledge, of comprehension. Our lives, the lives of the living, will go on. The sun shines, the moons rise, we will laugh and talk, and he will know nothing, feel nothing. Nothing.
So final. It will come to us all. It will come to me.
Raistlin thought he should be grieved or sorrowful for his father, but all he felt was sorrow for himself, grief for his own mortality. He turned away from the broken corpse, only to find his mother still clinging to the lifeless hand, stroking the cooling flesh, urging Gilon to speak to her.
"Caramon, we have to see to Mother," Raistlin said urgently.
"We must take her home."
But on turning, he found that Caramon was in need of assistance himself. He had collapsed near the body of his father. Painful, choking sobs wrenched him. Raistlin rested his hand comfortingly on Caramon's arm.
Caramon's big hand closed convulsively around his twin's. Raistlin could not free himself, nor did he want to. He found comfort in his brother's touch. But he didn't like the fey look on his mother's face.
"Come, Mother. Let the Widow Judith take you home."
"No, no!" cried Rosamun frantically. "I must not leave your father. He needs me."
"Mother," Raistlin said, now starting to be frightened. "Father is dead. There is nothing more-"
"Dead!" Rosamun looked bewildered. "Dead! No! He can't be! I have faith."
Rosamun flung herself on her husband. Her hands grasped his blood-soaked shirt. "Gilon! Wake up!"
Gilon's head lolled. A trickle of blood flowed from his mouth.
"I have faith," Rosamun repeated with a heartbroken whimper. Her hands were bloody, she clung to the blood-soaked shirt.
"Mother, please, go home!" Raistlin pleaded helplessly.
Otik took hold of Rosamun's hands and gently freed her grip. Another neighbor hurriedly covered the body with a blanket.
"So much for Belzor the," said the dwarf in a grating undertone.
He had not meant his words to be overheard, but his voice was deep and had a good carrying quality to it. Everyone standing around heard him. A few looked shocked. Several shook their heads. One or two smiled grimly when they thought no one was watching.
The Widow Judith had done a good deal of proselytizing since her arrival in town, and she'd gained more than a few converts to her new faith. Some of those converts were regarding dead man with dismay.
"Who's Belzor?" the tender asked eagerly in shrill tones. "Flint, do you know Belzor? Was he supposed to heal this poor man? Why didn't he, do you suppose?"
"Hush your mouth, Tas, you doorknob!" the dwarf said in a harsh whisper.
But this was a question many of the faithful newcomers were asking themselves. They looked to the Widow Judith for an answer.
The Widow Judith had not lost her faith. Her face hardened. She glared at the dwarf, glared even more fiercely at the kender, who was now lifting the corner of the blanket for a curious peep at the corpse.
"Perhaps he's been healed and we just haven't noticed," the kender offered helpfully.
"He has not been healed!" The Widow Judith cried out in dolorous tones. "Gilon Majere has not been healed, nor will he be healed. Why not, do you ask? Because of the sinfulness of this woman!" The Widow Judith pointed at Rosamun. "Her daughter is a whore! Her son is a witch! It is her fault and the fault of her children that Gilon Majere died!"
The pointing finger might have been a spear ripping through Rosamun's body. She stared at Judith in shock, then screamed and sank to her knees, moaning.
Raistlin was on his feet, climbing over the body of his father. "How dare you?" he said softly, menacingly to the widow. Reaching the side of the wagon, he vaulted out. "Get out of here!" He came face-to-face with the widow. "Leave us alone!"
"You see!" The Widow Judith backed up precipitously. The pointing finger shifted to Raistlin. "He is evil! He does the bidding of evil gods!"
A fire blazed up within Raistlin, blazed up white hot, consumed sense, consumed reason. He could see nothing in the glare of the blaze. He didn't care if the fire destroyed him, just so long as it destroyed Judith.
"Raist!" A hand grabbed him. A hand, strong and firm, reached into the midst of the blaze and grasped hold of him. "Raist! Stop!"
The hand, his brother's hand, dragged Raistlin out of the fire. The terrible white-hot glare that had blinded him died, the fire died, leaving him cold and shivering, with a taste of ashes in his mouth. Caramon's strong arms wrapped around Raistlin's thin shoulders.
"Don't harm her, Raist," Caramon was saying. His voice came out a croak, his throat was raw from weeping. "Don't prove her right!"
The widow, white-faced and blenching, had backed up against a tree. She glanced about at her neighbors. "You saw, good people of Solace! He tried to kill me. He's a fiend in human clothing, I tell you! Send this mother and her demon spawn away! Cast them out of Solace! Show Belzor that you will not tolerate such evil!"