Kit drew close, nibbled at his ear. "Is Tanis still mad at Kitiara?" she asked in a playful tone.
He gently shoved Kit away. "Not here," he said, adding in a low voice, "We have a lot of things to talk over, Kit."
"Oh, for the love of- Talk! That's all you ever want to do!" Kit flared. "All last night, talk, talk, talk. So I told you a harmless little lie! It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last. I'm sure you've lied to me plenty!"
Tanis paled. "You don't mean that," he said quietly.
"No, of course I don't. I say things I don't mean all the time. I'm a liar. Just ask anyone."
Kit strode angrily around the counter, giving Caramon a kick when he didn't move out of her way fast enough to suit her. "Are the rest of you coming?" "Untie the kender," Raistlin ordered. "Sturm, you're in charge of Tas. And you, Tas"-he fixed the kender with a stem eye-"you must do exactly as I say. If you don't, you might be the one fed to the vipers."
"Ooh, how excit-" Tas saw by Raistlin's swiftly contracting brows that this was not the right response. The kender was suddenly extremely solemn. "I mean, yes, Raistlin. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. I won't even look at a snake unless you say to," he added with what he considered truly heroic self-sacrifice.
Raistlin suppressed a sigh. He could see great gaps opening in his plan, envision any number of things going wrong. For one, he was counting on a kender, which anyone in Krynn would tell him was sheer madness. Two, he was trusting in a would-be knight, who put honor and honesty over every other consideration, including common sense. Three, he had no idea what Kitiara was plotting on her own, and that was perhaps the most dangerous gap of all-a veritable chasm, into which they all might tumble.
"I'm ready, Raist," said Caramon stoutly. His loyalty was comforting to his brother, but then Caramon spoiled it by tugging proudly on his collar and adding, "I won't breathe the smoke. I wore this big shirt specially, so that I could pull it up over my head."
Presented with a vision of Caramon entering the temple with his shirt hiked up over his head, Raistlin shut his eyes and silently prayed to the gods-the gods of magic, and all true gods everywhere-to walk with him.
Chapter 16
They arrived at the temple in time to mingle with the throng surging inside. The crowd was far larger tonight, word of Judith's "miracle" having circulated among the fairgoers, and included hill dwarves, several of the barbaric, feather-decorated Plainsmen, and a number of noble families, clad in fine clothes, accompanied by their servants.
Raistlin also saw, much to his dismay, several of their neighbors from Solace. He drew his shapeless felt hat low over his face, huddled into the thick black cloak he wore over his robes. He was actually glad to see that Caramon had his shirt pulled up to his ears, making him resemble a gigantic tortoise. Raistlin hoped none of their neighbors would recognize them and make some reference to their fellow villager's magic.
Raistlin was somewhat daunted by the turnout. People from all parts of Abanasinia would be witness to his performance. It had not occurred to him until now that he would be performing before a large audience. The thought was not a comfortable one. At that moment, if someone had appeared before him and offered him a bent penny to flee, he would have grabbed the coin and run.
Pride goaded him on. After his confrontation with Tanis, his fine talk before his siblings and friends, Raistlin could not back down now. Not without forfeiting their respect and losing any hold he might once again wield over them.
Crowding close behind Caramon, Raistlin used his brother's large body as a shield as they made their way through the crowd. Sturm kept near them, shepherding Tasslehoff with one hand on the kender's shoulder and the other plucking Tas's wandering fingers out of the worshipers' pouches and bags.
"I have to go down in front with the priests. It's a great seat! Good luck," Kit called and waved her hand.
"Wait!" Raistlin struggled out from behind Caramon to try to reach his sister, but they were caught in a press of people and it was too late. Kitiara had seized hold of one of the priests and was now being led by him through the crowd.
What was she going to do?
Raistlin cursed his sister for her distrustful, secretive nature, but even as he muttered the words, he was forced to bite them off. Blood to blood, as the dwarves say. He might as well curse himself. He had said nothing of his plans to Kitiara.
"You can put your shirt down now!" he snapped at Caramon, nervousness making him irritable. "Where do you want us?" Sturm asked.
"You and the kender go to the very back wall," Raistlin said, pointing to the upper tiers of seats in the arena. He gave them their final instructions. "Tas, when I shout 'Behold,' you start walking down the aisle. Walk slowly and keep your mind on what you're doing. Don't allow yourself to get distracted by anything, do you understand? If you obey me, you will see such wonderful magic as you've never seen in your entire life."
"I will, Raistlin," Tas promised. " 'Behold.' " He repeated the word several times, in order not to forget it. " 'Behold, behold, behold.' I saw a beholder once. Did I ever tell you-"
"No kender allowed," said a blue-robed priest, descending on them.
Unable and unwilling to lie, Sturm stood with his hand on the kender's shoulder. Raistlin's breath caught in his throat. He dared not intervene, dared not draw attention to himself. Fortunately for all of them, Tasslehoff was accustomed to being thrown out of places.
"Oh, he's just escorting me off now, sir," the kender said with a beaming smile.
"Is that true?"
Sturm, his mustaches bristling, inclined his head the merest fraction, the closest he had come in his entire life to telling a falsehood. Perhaps the Measure sanctioned lies in a good cause.
"Then I'm sorry for interfering with you, sir," said the priest in mollifying tones. "Please don't let me keep you from your task. The doors are in that direction." He waved his hand.
Sturm bowed coldly and dragged Tasslehoff away, shushing the kender's remarks with a stern "Silence!" and a shake of the small shoulder to emphasize the point.
Raistlin drew breath again.
"Where to?" Caramon asked, peering over the heads of the crowd.
"Somewhere near the front."
"Keep close behind me," Caramon advised.
Thrusting out with his elbows, he shouldered and jostled and eventually cleared a path through the throng. People scowled, but on noting his size, they kept any angry remarks they had been about to make to themselves.
The lower seats near the arena were filled. There was perhaps room for one person-and that a small person-at the end of the aisle. "Watch this," Caramon said to his brother with a wink.
Caramon plunked himself down on the empty seat, shifting and bumping his body against that of his neighbor, a wealthy woman, finely dressed, who glared at him. Coldly and pointedly, she moved away from his touch. Raistlin was wondering what this was going to accomplish, for there was still no room for him, when Caramon suddenly let out a great belch and then noisily passed gas.
People in the vicinity grimaced, regarded Caramon with disgust. The woman beside him clapped her hand over her nose and glared at Caramon, who gave a shamefaced grin.
"Beans for dinner," he said.
The woman rose to her feet. Sweeping her silk skirts, she favored him with a scathing glance and the comment, "Clod! I can't think why they permit your kind in here! I shall certainly protest!" She flounced off up the stairs, searching for one of the priests.