He wondered what crime they had committed that was vile enough to be sent into exile, a punishment worse than death to elves. He had the feeling he was about to find out.
The elf who had spoken to Raistlin was the spokesman for the group. The other two rarely opened their mouths. Perhaps they didn't speak Common. Many elves did not, scorned to learn a human language.
"I am Liam." The elf made introductions. "This is Micah and Renet. And your name would be?."
"Of little interest to you, sir," Raistlin replied.
"I like to know the name of any man with whom I'm
"Oh, but I assure you, it is, sir," Liam returned. drinking."
"Majere," Raistlin said.
"Majere?" Liam frowned. "One of the ancient gods was called by that name, I believe."
"And so am I." Raistlin sipped at his wine. "Though I do not claim godhood. Please explain the nature of this job, sir. I don't find the company of dark elves so appealing that I want to prolong this interview."
An angry glint came into the eye of one of the other elves, the one called Renet. His fist clenched, he started to stand. Liam snapped words in elven, shoved his friend back down in his seat. Raistlin's question was answered, however. At least one of the other elves understood Common.
Raistlin himself spoke a smattering of Qualinesti, having learned the language from Tanis. He did not let on that he understood what was being said, however, thinking he might pick up useful information if the elves imagined they could speak freely among themselves in their own tongue.
"This is no time to be thin-skinned, Cousin. We need this human," Liam said in elven.
Shifting to Common, he added, "You must forgive my cousin, sir. He's a bit hot-tempered. I think you might be a little friendlier toward us, Majere. We're doing you a big favor."
"If you are looking for friends, I suggest you talk to the barmaid," Raistlin said. "She looks as if she could accommodate you. If you want to hire a mage, then you should explain the job."
"You are a mage, then," Liam asked with a sly grin.
Raistlin nodded.
Liam eyed him. "You look very young."
Raistlin was growing irritated. "You are the one who approached me, sir. You knew what I looked like when you invited me to join you." He started to rise. "It seems I have wasted my time."
"All right! All right! I don't suppose it matters how young you are, so long as you can do the work." Liam leaned forward, lowered his voice. "Here is the proposal. There's a mage living in Haven who owns a mageware shop. He's human, like yourself. His name is Lemuel. You know him?"
Raistlin did in fact know Lemuel, having had dealings with him in the past. He considered Lemuel a friend, hoped to find out what these unsavory elves wanted, with a view toward warning him.
Raistlin shrugged. "Whom I know is my own affair and none of yours."
Micah, jerking a thumb at Raistlin, muttered in elven, "I don't much like this mage of yours, Cousin."
"Nobody's asking you to like him," Liam returned in elven, scowling. "Drink your wine and keep your mouth shut. I do the talking."
Raistlin watched blandly, with the vacant expression of one who has no idea what is being said.
Liam shifted back to Common. "Now then, our plan is this: We enter the mage's house in the night, steal the valuables from his shop, turn them into good, hard steel. That's where you come in. You'll know what's worth the taking and what isn't, plus you'll know where to sell the goods and get us a fair price. You will receive your share, of course."
Raistlin was scornful. "As it happens, sir, I have frequented the shop of this Lemuel, and I can tell you right now that you are wasting your time. He has nothing of value. His entire collection is worth twenty steel at most, hardly fit payment for your trouble."
Raistlin assumed that this would end the conversation, that he had discouraged the thieves from pursuing their nefarious scheme. At all events, he would warn Lemuel to take suitable precautions.
"If you gentlemen will excuse me."
Liam reached out, grabbed hold of Raistlin's wrist. Feeling the mage stiffen, Liam let go, though his strong, thin-fingered hand hovered near. He exchanged glances with his cousins, as if asking their agreement to proceed. Reluctantly both nodded.
"You are right about the shop, sir," Liam admitted. "But perhaps you are not familiar with what the mage has hidden in his cellar below the kitchen."
As far as Raistlin knew, Lemuel had nothing hidden in the cellar. "What does he have hidden?" "Spellbooks," Liam answered.
"Lemuel once had a few spellbooks in his possession, but I know for a fact that he sold them."
"Not all of them!" Liam sunk his voice to beneath a whisper. "He has more. Many more. Ancient spellbooks from back before the Cataclysm! Spellbooks that many thought were lost to this world! That is the true prize!"
Lemuel had never mentioned such books to Raistlin. He had, in fact, pretended that Raistlin had acquired all the books in the older mage's possession. Raistlin felt betrayed.
"How do you know this?" he asked sharply.
Liam smiled unpleasantly. "You are not the only one with secrets, sir." "Then, once more, I bid you good night."
"Oh, for the love of the Queen, tell him!" said one of the cousins in Qualinesti. "We are wasting time! Dracart wants those spellbooks delivered within the fortnight!"
"Dracart forbade us-"
"Tell him part of the truth, then."
Liam turned back to Raistlin. "Micah visited the shop on the pretext of buying herbs. If you know this Lemuel, you know that he is stupid and naive, even by human standards. He left Micah alone in the shop while he went to his garden. Micah made a wax impression of the key to the front door."
"How do you know of the existence of the spellbooks?" Raistlin persisted.
"I tell you again, that must be our secret," Liam said, a hard and dangerous edge to his voice.
Guessing that this Dracart, whoever he was, had knowledge of the books, Raistlin tried another question, asking as innocently as he could, "And what do you intend to do with these spellbooks?"
"Sell them, of course. What possible use could they be to us?" Liam smiled. His cousins smiled. The elf's tone was persuasive, he did not blink an almond eye.
Raistlin considered. He was angered that Lemuel had lied about the existence of such valuable spellbooks. But he wanted no harm to come to the mage, for all that.
"I will not be party to murder," Raistlin said.
"Nor will we!" Liam stated emphatically. "This Lemuel has many friends in the elven lands, guest friends who would feel obligated to avenge his death. The mage is not at home. He has left to visit these friends of his in Qualinost. The house is empty. An hour's work and we will be rich men! As for you, you can either take your share in magic artifacts or we will pay you in hard steel."
Raistlin wasn't thinking of money. He wasn't thinking of the fact that the elves were lying to him, that they were undoubtedly intending to use him and then find a way to conveniently get rid of him. He was thinking of spellbooks-ancient spellbooks, perhaps spellbooks that had been stolen from the besieged Tower of High Sorcery in Daltigoth, or rescued from the drowned Tower of Istar. What wealth of magic lay within their covers? And why was Lemuel keeping them secret, hidden away?
Raistlin had the answer immediately. These must be books of black magic. That was the only logical explanation. Lemuel's father had been a war wizard of the White Robes. He could not destroy the books. By strictest law, no member of one order could willfully destroy any magical artifact or spellbook belonging to another. Magical knowledge, no matter from whence it came, who produced it, or whom it might benefit, was precious and deserved protection. But he might have been tempted to conceal those spellbooks he considered evil. By hiding such books away, he could both preserve them and keep them from falling into the hands of his enemies.