One of the acolytes came up, rattled the collection basket in front of Raistlin hopefully. "I trust we will see you at tomorrow night's ceremony, brother." "You can count on it," said Raistlin.
Chapter 13
Raistlin returned to the fairgrounds, mulling over his plan in his mind. The forge-fire in his soul had burned very hot but the flames died quickly when exposed to the cool night air. Plagued with self- doubt, he regretted having made his promise to the bereaved mother. If he failed, he would be laughed out of Haven.
Shame and derision were far more difficult for Raistlin to contemplate than any physical punishment. He pictured the crowd hooting with mirth, the High Priest hiding his smugly pitying smile, the High Priestess Judith regarding his downfall in triumph, and he writhed at the thought. He began to think of excuses. He would not go to the temple tomorrow. He wasn't feeling well. The young mother would be disappointed, left bitterly unhappy, but she would be no worse off than she was now.
The right and proper thing to do would be to make a report to the Conclave of Wizards. They were the people most capable of dealing with the matter. He was too young, too inexperienced.
Yet, he said to himself, think of the triumph if I succeed!
Not only would he ease the suffering of the mother, but he would also distinguish himself. How fine it would be to report not only the problem to the conclave, but to add modestly that he had solved it. The great Par-Salian, who had undoubtedly never heard of Raistlin Majere before, would take notice. A thrill came over Raistlin. Perhaps he would be invited to attend a meeting of the conclave! By this act, he would prove to others and to himself that he was capable of using powerful magicks in a crisis situation. Surely they would reward him. Surely the prize was worth the risk.
"In addition, I will be fulfilling my promise to the three gods who once took an interest in me. If I cannot prove their existence to others, at least I can shatter the image of this false god who is attempting to usurp them. In that way, I will draw their favorable attention as well."
He went over his plan in his mind again, this time eagerly, excitedly, searching for flaws. The only flaw that he could see lay within himself. Was he strong enough, skilled enough, brave enough? Unfortunately none of those questions would be answered until the time came.
Would his friends back him up? Would Tanis, who was nominally their leader, permit Raistlin to even try his scheme?
"Yes, if I approach them the right way."
He found the others gathered around a campfire they had built in back of Flint's stall.
Tanis and Kit sat side by side. Evidently the half-elf had not yet discovered Kit's deception. Caramon sat on a log, his head in his hands. Flint had returned from the tavern a bit tipsy, having fallen in with some hill dwarves from the Kharolis Mountains, who, though not of his clan, had traveled near his old homeland and were happy to share gossip and ale. Tasslehoff squatted by the campfire, roasting chestnuts in a skillet.
"You're back," said Kit as Raistlin appeared. "We were getting worried. I was just about to send Tanis to find you. He's already been out rescuing the kender."
Kit winked when Tanis wasn't looking. Raistlin understood. Caramon did, too, apparently. Lifting his head, his brow puckered, he looked at his twin, sighed, and lowered his head to his hands again.
"My head aches," he mumbled.
Tanis explained that he had found Tasslehoff, along with twenty other kender, incarcerated in the Haven jail. Tanis paid the fine levied on those who "knowingly and willingly associate with kender," extricated Tas from prison, and brought him forcibly back to the fairgrounds. Tanis trusted that tomorrow the distractions of the fair would keep the kender occupied and out of the town proper.
Tasslehoff was sorry to have missed the evening's adventure, especially the giant snake and the intoxicating smoke. The Haven jail had been a disappointment.
"It was dirty, Raistlin, and it had rats! Can you believe it? Rats! For rats I missed a giant snake and intoxicating smoke. Life is so unfair!"
Tas could never stay unhappy for long, however. Upon re-fleeting that he couldn't possibly be two places at the same time (except Uncle Trapspringer, who had done it once), the kender cheered up. Forgetting the chestnuts (which soon burned past eating), Tas sorted through all his newfound possessions, then, worn out by the day's excitement, he fell asleep, his head pillowed on one of his own pouches.
Flint shook his head at the story of Belzor. He stroked his long beard and said it didn't surprise him in the least. He expected nothing better of humans, present company excepted.
Kit considered it a fine joke.
"You should have seen Caramon," she told them, laughing. "Staggering about like a great drunken bear."
Caramon groaned and rose unsteadily to his feet. Mumbling something about feeling sick, he staggered off in the direction of the men's privies.
Sturm frowned. He did not approve of Kit's levity on serious subjects. "I do not like these followers of Belzor, but you must admit that we did see a miracle performed in that arena. What other explanation can there be, except that Belzor is a god and his priests have miraculous powers?"
"I'll give you an explanation," Raistlin said. "Magic."
"Magic?"
Kit laughed again. Sturm was disapproving. Flint said, "I knew it," though no one could figure out how.
"Are you certain, Raistlin?" Tanis asked.
"I am," Raistlin answered. "I am familiar with the spell she cast."
Tanis appeared dubious. "Forgive me, Raistlin. I'm not casting doubt on your knowledge, but you are only a novice."
"And as such I am fit for nothing except washing out my master's chamber pot. Is that what you are saying, Tanis?"
"I didn't mean-"
Raistlin dismissed the apology with an irritated wave of his hand. "I know what you meant. And what you think of me or my abilities makes no difference to me. I have further evidence that what I say is true, but it is obvious that Tanis does not care to hear it."
"I want to hear it," said Caramon stoutly. He had returned from his short jaunt, seemed to be feeling better.
"Tell us," said Kit, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight.
"Yes, lad, let us hear your evidence," said Flint. "Mind you, I knew it was magic all along."
"Bring me a blanket, my brother," Raistlin ordered. "I will catch my death, sitting on this damp ground." When he was comfortable, seated on a blanket near the fire and sipping at a glass of mulled cider, which Kit brought him, he explained his reasoning.
"My first indication that something might be wrong was when I heard that the priests were forbidding users of magic to enter the temple. Not only that, but they are actively persecuting the one wizard who lives in Haven, a Red Robe named Lemuel. Caramon and I met him this afternoon. The priests forced him to close his mageware shop. They have frightened him into fleeing his home, the house where he was born. In addition to this, the priests have prohibited all mages from entering their temple when the 'miracle' is performed. Why? Because any magic-user, even a novice such as myself," Raistlin added in acid tones, "would recognize the spell Judith casts."
"Why did they force that friend of yours, that Lemuel, to close down his mageware shop?" Caramon asked. "How could a shop hurt them?"
"Shutting down Lemuel's mageware shop insures that the wizards who frequented that shop- wizards who might expose Judith-will no longer have a reason to come to Haven. When Lemuel leaves town, the priests will consider themselves safe."
"But then why did that priest invite you to the temple, little brother?" Kit asked.
"In order to make certain I would not be a nuisance," Raistlin replied. "Remember, he said that I would not be allowed inside to witness the 'miracle.' Undoubtedly, had I gone, they would have urged me to renounce magic and embrace Belzor."