Judith asked that the farmer searching for his lost heritage come forward.
After a brief exchange between father and son concerning the ravages of the potato grub, an exchange which Belzor- speaking through Judith-appeared to find somewhat tedious, Judith brought the subject back to the hidden wealth.
"I have told Belzor where to find the money," said Judith, speaking for the late farmer. "I will not reveal this aloud, lest some dishonest person take advantage of the knowledge while you are away from home. Return tomorrow with an offering for the temple and the information will be imparted to you."
The farmer ducked his head several times, as grateful as if Belzor had handed him a chest of steel coins on the spot. Then it was the turn of the bereaved young mother.
Recalling the forbidding expression on Judith's face, Raistlin tensed. He could not imagine that Belzor would extract much of an offering from this poor woman. Her clothes were worn. Her shoes were clearly castoffs from someone else, for they did not fit. A ragged shawl covered her thin shoulders. But she was clean, her hair was neatly combed. She had once been pretty and would be pretty again, when time rounded off the sharp corners of her bitter loss.
Judith's head rolled and lolled. When she spoke, it was in the high-pitched voice of a little child, a terrified child.
"Mama! Mama! Where are you? Mama! I'm afraid! Help me, Mama! Why don't you come to me?"
The young woman shuddered and reached out her hands. "Mother is here, Mia, my pet! Mother is here! Don't be frightened!"
"Mama! Mama! I can't see you! Mama, there are terrible creatures coming to get me! Spiders, Mama, and rats! Mama! Help me!"
"Oh, my baby!" The young woman gave a heartrending cry and tried to rush forward into the arena. The priest restrained her.
"Let me go to her! What is happening to her? Where is she?" the mother cried. "Mama! Why don't you help me?" "I will!" The mother wrung her hands, then clasped them together. "Tell me how!"
"The child's father is an elf, is he not?" Judith asked, speaking in her own voice, no longer that of a child.
"He-he is only part elven," the young woman faltered, startled and wary. "His great-grandfather was an elf. Why? What does that matter?"
"Belzor does not look with favor upon the marriage of humans with persons of lesser races. Such marriages are contrived, a plot of the elves, intended to weaken humanity so that we will eventually fall to elven domination."
The audience murmured in approval. Many nodded their heads.
"Because of her elven blood," Judith continued remorselessly, "your child is cursed, and so she must live in eternal darkness and torment!"
The wretched mother moaned and seemed near to collapsing.
"What folly is this?" Sturm demanded in a low, angry voice.
Several of his neighbors, overhearing, cast him baleful glances.
"Dangerous folly," said Raistlin and clasped his thin fingers around his friend's wrist. "Hush, Sturm! Say nothing. Now is not the time."
"You and your husband are not wanted in Haven," Judith stated. "Leave at once, lest more harm befall you."
"But where will we go? What will we do? The land is all we have, and that is not much! And my child! What will become of my poor child?"
Judith's voice softened. "Belzor takes pity on you, sister. Make a gift of your land to the temple, and Belzor might be prevailed upon to bring your child from darkness into light."
Judith's head lowered to her chest. Her arms fell limp to her sides. Her eyes closed.
The shadowy form of the viper retreated until it blended in with the statue, then vanished.
Judith raised her head, looked around as if she had no idea where she was or what had happened. The High Priest took hold of her arm, supported her. She gazed out upon the audience with a beatific smile.
The High Priest stepped forward. "The audience with Belzor is concluded."
The priests and priestesses picked up the baskets containing the charmed vipers. Forming into a procession, they circled the arena three times, chanting the name of Belzor, then they left through the door in the statue. Acolytes circulated among the crowd, graciously accepting all offerings made in Belzor's name, with Belzor's blessing.
The High Priest led Judith to the door leading out of the temple. Here she greeted worshipers, who begged for her blessing. A large basket stood at the floor at Judith's feet. Blessings were granted as the steel coins clinked.
The young mother stood bereft and alone. Catching hold of one of the acolytes, she begged, "Take pity on my poor child! Her heritage is not her fault."
The acolyte coldly removed her hand from his sleeve. "You heard the will of Belzor, woman. You are fortunate our god is so merciful. What he asks is a very small price to pay to free your child from eternal torment."
The young mother covered her face with her hands.
"Where'd the snake go?" asked Caramon, weaving unsteadily on his feet.
Raistlin kept firm hold on his brother, dissuaded him from making a foray into the arena in search of the giant viper. "Kitiara, you and Sturm take Caramon back to the fairgrounds and put him to bed. I will meet you there."
"I do not want to believe in this miracle," Sturm said, gazing at the statue, "but neither can I explain it."
"I can, but I'm not going to," Raistlin said. "Not now."
"What will you do?" Kit asked, catching hold of the reeling Caramon by the shirttail.
"I'll join you later," Raistlin said and left them before Kit could insist on coming with him.
He pushed his way through the roving acolytes with their offering baskets to the arena, where the mother of the dead child stood alone. One man, passing her, gave her a shove, called out, "Elven whore." A woman came up to her to say loudly, "It is well your child died. She would have been nothing but a pointy-eared freak!" The mother shrank away from these cruel words as from a blow.
Anger burned in Raistlin, anger kindled from words shouted long ago, words the weak use against those weaker than themselves. An idea formed in hot forge-fire of his rage. It emerged from the flames as steel, heated and ready for slagging. In the space of three steps, he had forged the plan in his mind, the plan he would use to bring High Priestess Judith to ruin, discredit all the false priests of Belzor, bring about the downfall of the false god.
Drawing near the unfortunate mother, Raistlin put out a hand to detain her. His touch was gentle, he could be very gentle when he wanted, yet the woman still shivered beneath his grasp in fright. She turned fearful eyes upon him.
"Leave me alone!" she pleaded. "I beg of you. I have suffered enough."
"I am not one of your tormentors, madam," Raistlin said in the quiet, calming tones he used to soothe the sick. His hand clasped over the mother's, and he could feel her shaking. Stroking her hand reassuringly, he leaned near and whispered, "Belzor is a fraud, a sham. Your child is at peace. She sleeps soundly, as though you had rocked her to sleep yourself."
The woman's eyes filled with tears. "I did rock her. I held her, and at the end, she was at peace, as you have said. 'I feel better now, Mama,' she told me, and she closed her eyes." The woman clutched frantically at Raistlin. "I want to believe you! But how can I? What proof can you give me?"
"Come to the temple tomorrow night." "Come back here?" The mother shook her head.
"You must," said Raistlin firmly. "I will prove to you then that what I've told you is the truth."
"I believe you," she said and gave him a wan smile. "I trust you. I will come."
Raistlin looked back into the arena, at the long line of worshipers fawning over Judith. The coins in the basket gleamed in the light of the braziers, and more money continued to flow in. Belzor had done well for himself tonight.