Chapter 3
The unlikely friendship between the young humans, the dwarf, and the kender flourished like weeds in the rainy season, according to Tasslehoff. Flint took exception to being called a "weed," but he conceded that Tas was right. Flint had always had a soft spot in his gruff heart for young people, particularly those who were friendless and alone. He had first become acquainted with Tanis Half- Elven when he met that young man living in Qualinesti, an orphan that neither race would claim. Tanis was too human for the elves, too elven for humans.
Tanis had been raised in the household of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, the leader of the Qualinesti, growing up with the Speaker's own children. One of those children, Porthios, hated Tanis for what he was. Another cousin, Laurana, loved Tanis too much. In that is another tale, however.
Suffice it to say that Tanis had left the elven kingdom some years ago. He'd gone for help to the first person-the only person-he knew outside of Qualinesti: Hint Fireforge. Tanis had no skill at all in working metal, but he did have a head for figures and a keen business sense. He soon discovered that Flint was selling his wares far below their true worth. He was cheating himself.
"People will be happy to pay more for quality workmanship," Tanis had pointed out to the dwarf, who was terrified that he would lose his clientele. "You'll see."
Tanis proved to be right, and Flint prospered, much to the dwarf's astonishment. The two became partners. Tanis began accompanying the dwarf on his summer travels. Tanis hired the wagon and the horses, put up the booths at the local fairs, made appointments to show Flint's wares privately to the well-to-do.
The two developed a friendship that was deep and abiding. Flint asked Tanis to move in with him, but Tanis pointed" out that the dwarf's house was a bit cramped for the tall half-elf. Tanis's dwelling place was nearby, however, built up in the tree branches. The only quarrel the two ever had-and it wasn't really a quarrel, more of a grumbling argument-was over Tanis's trips back to Qualinesti.
"You're not fit for anything when you come back from that place," Flint said bluntly. "You're in a dark mood for a week. They don't want you around; they've made that plain enough. You upset their lives and they upset yours. The best thing for you to do is wash the mud of Qualinesti off your boots and never go back."
"You're right, of course," said Tanis reflectively. "And every time I leave, I swear I will never return. But something draws me back. When I hear the music of the aspen trees in my dreams, I know it is time for me to return home. And Qualinesti is my home. They can't deny it to me, no matter how they'd like to try."
"Bah! That's the elf in you!" Flint scoffed. " 'Music of the aspen trees!' Horse droppings! I haven't been home in one hundred years. You don't hear me carrying on about the music of the walnuts, do you?"
"No, but I have heard you express a longing for proper dwarf spirits," Tanis teased.
"That's completely different," Flint returned sagaciously. "We're talking life's blood here. I do wonder that Otik can't seem to get the recipe right. I've given it to him often enough. It's these local mushrooms, or what humans think pass for mushrooms."
Despite Flint's urgings, Tanis left that fall for Qualinesti. He was gone during Yule. The heavy snows set in, and it began to look as if he wouldn't be back before spring.
Flint had always been a bit lonely when Tanis was gone, though the dwarf would have cut off his beard before he admitted it. The inadvertent addition of Tasslehoff eased the dwarf's loneliness some, though Flint would have cut off his head before he admitted that. The kender's lively chatter filled in the silence, though the dwarf always irritably put a stop to it when he found himself becoming too interested.
Teaching the young humans how to handle themselves in a fight gave Flint a true feeling of accomplishment. He showed them the little tricks and skillful maneuvers he had learned from a lifetime of encounters with ogres and goblins, thieves and footpads, and other hazards faced by those who travel the unchancy roads of Abanasinia. He likened this feeling of satisfaction to that of turning out an exceptional piece of metalwork.
In essence, he was doing much the same: shaping and crafting young lives as he shaped and crafted his metal. One of them, however, was not particularly malleable.
Raistlin continued to "shiver" Flint's skin.
The twins were nineteen that winter, and they were spending the winter together.
Early in the fall, a fire had burned down Master Theobald's mage school, forcing him to relocate. By this time, Theobald was well known and trusted in Solace. The authorities-once assured that the fire had been from natural causes and not supernatural-gave him permission to open his new school within the town limits.
Raistlin no longer needed to board at the school. He could spend the winters at home with Caramon. But neither he nor Caramon were home much of the time.
Raistlin enjoyed the company of the dwarf and the kender. He required knowledge of the world beyond the vallenwoods, knowledge of a world in which he would soon be taking his place. Since acquiring the ability to cast his magic, he had dared to dream of his future.
Raistlin was now an assistant teacher at the school. Master Theobald hoped that by providing some honorable way for the young man to earn money, Raistlin would quit performing in public. Raistlin was not a particularly good teacher; he had no patience for ignorance and tended to be extremely sarcastic. But he kept the boys quiet during Master Theobald's afternoon nap, which was all the master required. Master Theobald had once mentioned that Raistlin might like to open a mage school himself. Raistlin had laughed in the master's face.
Raistlin wanted power. Not power over a bunch of mewling brats, dully reciting their acts and ais. He wanted the power he held over people when they watched him cast even minor cantrips. Their expressions of awe, their wide-eyed respect were deeply gratifying. He saw himself gaining increasing power over others.
Power for good, of course.
He would give money to the impoverished, health to the sickly, justice to evildoers. He would be loved, admired, feared, and envied. If he was going to hold sway over vast numbers of people (such are the ambitious dreams of youth!), he would need to know as much as possible about those people -all of them, not just humans. The dwarf and the kender proved to be excellent character studies.
The first thing Raistlin learned was that a kender's fingers are into everything, and a kender's hands will carry it off. He had been enraged the first time Tasslehoff appropriated the small bag in which the young mage proudly kept his one and only spell component.
"Look what I found!" Tasslehoff announced. "A leather pouch with the letter R on it. Let's see what's inside."
Raistlin recognized the pouch, which only moments earlier had been hanging from his belt. "No! Wait! Don't-"
Too late. Tas had opened the pouch. "There's a bunch of dried-up flowers in here. I'll just empty those out." He dumped the rose petals on the floor, looked back inside. "Nope, nothing else. That's odd. Why would anyone-"
"Give me that!" Raistlin snatched the pouch. He was literally trembling with rage.
"Oh, is that yours?" Tas looked up at him, eyes bright. "I cleaned it out for you. Someone had stuck a bunch of dead flowers inside it."
Raistlin opened his mouth, but words were not only inadequate, they were nonexistent. He could only glare, make incoherent sounds, and at least satisfy some of his anger by casting a furious glance at his laughing brother.
After losing the pouch and the rose petals twice more, Raistlin realized that outrage, threats of violence and/or legal action did not work with kender. He could never catch the deft fingers that could untie any knot, no matter how tight and slide the bag away with the lightness of touch of a spider. Coping with Tasslehoff required subtlety.