"Just plain daft."
"You'll miss a day's sales," Tanis observed.
"Likely it's cursed. I'm seriously considering giving
"I don't want their money," the dwarf said flatly. away what I've already taken."
He didn't, of course. The strongbox containing the money would be the first object the dwarf packed, stowing it securely and secretly underneath the wagon's seat.
"I want to thank you all," Raistlin said as they walked along the empty streets. "And I want to apologize for putting you at risk. You were right, Tanis. I underestimated these people. I didn't realize how truly dangerous they were. I will know better next time."
"Let's hope there isn't a next time," Tanis said, smiling. "And I want to thank you, Kitiara," Raistlin said. "For what?" Kit smiled her crooked smile. "For rescuing you?" "Yes," said Raistlin dryly. "For rescuing me."
"Anytime!" Kit said, laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. "Anytime." Caramon looked upset at this, and solemn. He turned his head away.
Battle suited Kitiara. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittered, her lips were red, as if she had drunk the blood she spilled. Kit, still laughing, took hold of Tanis's arm, hugged him close. "You are a very fine swordsman, my friend. You could earn a good living with that blade of yours. I'm surprised you haven't considered something in the mercenary line."
"I earn a good living now. A safe living," he added, but he was smiling at her, pleased by her admiration.
"Bah!" Kit said scornfully. "Safety's for fat old men! We fight well together, side by side. I've been thinking."
She drew Tanis away, lowered her voice. Apparently the quarrel between the two was forgotten.
"Aren't you going to thank me, too, Raistlin?" Tasslehoff cried, dancing around Raistlin. "Look at this." The kender sadly twitched his topknot over his shoulder. The smell of burnt hair was very strong. "I got a bit singed, but the fight was worth it, even if I didn't get to see you being burned at the stake. I'm pretty disappointed about that, but I know you couldn't help it." Tas gave Raistlin an conciliatory hug.
"Yes, Tas, I do thank you," Raistlin said and removed his new knife from the kender's hand. "And I want to thank you, Sturm.
What you did was extremely brave. Foolhardy, but brave."
"They had no right to try to execute you without first giving you a fair trial. They were wrong, and it was my duty to stop them. However."
Sturm came to a halt in the road. Standing stiffly, his hand pressed against his injured ribs, he faced Raistlin. "I have given the matter serious thought as we've been walking, and I must insist that you turn yourself over to the High Sheriff of Haven."
"Why should I? I've done nothing wrong."
"For the murder of the priestess," Sturm said, frowning, thinking Raistlin was being flippant.
"He didn't kill the Widow Judith, Sturm," Caramon said quietly, calmly. "She was dead when we entered that room."
Troubled, Sturm looked from one twin to the other. "I have never known you to lie, Caramon. But I think you might if your brother's life depended on it."
"I might," Caramon agreed, "but I'm not lying now. I swear to you on the grave of my father that Raistlin is innocent of this murder."
Sturm gazed long at Caramon, then nodded once, convinced. They resumed walking. "Do you know who did kill her?" Sturm asked. The brothers exchanged glances.
"No," Caramon said and stared down at his boots, kicking up dust in the road.
*****
It was daylight by the time they reached the fairgrounds. The vendors were opening their stalls, preparing for the morning's business. They received Raistlin as a hero, lauded his exploits, applauded as the companions walked to Flint's shop. But no one spoke to them directly.
Flint did not open his stall. Leaving the shutters closed, he began to move his wares to the wagon. When several of the other vendors, overcome by curiosity, did finally drop by to hear the tale, they were gruffly repulsed by the dwarf and went away, offended.
There was one more visitor, one more scare. The High Sheriff himself appeared, looking for Raistlin. Kit drew her sword, told her brother to make himself scarce, and it seemed as if there was going to be yet another fight. Raistlin told her to put away her weapon.
"I'm innocent," he said, with a significant look for his sister.
"You were nearly a crispy innocent," Kit returned angrily, sheathing her sword with an impatient thrust. "Go on, then. And don't expect me to save you this time."
But the sheriff had come to apologize. He did so, grudgingly and awkwardly. The young priestess had come forth to admit that she had seen Raistlin in company with his twin at the time the murder was committed. She had not told the truth before, she said, because she hated the wizard for what he had done to instigate Belzor's downfall. She was horrified by the High Priest's actions, wanted nothing more to do with any of them.
"What will happen to her?" Caramon asked worriedly.
"Nothing." The sheriff shrugged. "The young ones were like the rest of us-fooled completely by the murdered woman and her husband. They'll get over it. We all will, I suppose."
He fell silent, squinted into the sun that was just topping the trees, then said, not looking at them, "We don't take kindly to mages in Haven. Lemuel, now-he's different. He's harmless. We don't mind him. But we don't need any more."
"He should have thanked you," Caramon said, puzzled and hurt.
"For what?" Raistlin asked with a bitter smile. "Destroying his career? If the sheriff didn't know that Judith and the rest of Belzor's followers were frauds, then he's one of the biggest fools in Abanasinia. If he did know, then he was undoubtedly being paid well to leave them alone. Either way, he's finished. You had better let me put some ointment on those burns, my brother. You are obviously in pain."
Once he had treated Caramon, cleaning the burns and covering them with the healing salve, Raistlin left the others to finish the packing, went to lie down in the wagon. He was completely and utterly exhausted, so tired he was almost sick, He was just about to climb inside when a stranger clad in brown robes approached him.
Raistlin turned his back on him, hoping the man would take the hint and leave. The man had the look of a cleric, and Raistlin had seen clerics enough to last him a lifetime.
"I want just a moment, young man," the stranger said, plucking at Raistlin's sleeve. "I know you have had a trying day. I want to thank you for bringing down the false god Belzor. My followers and I are eternally in your debt."
Raistlin grunted, pulled his arm away, and climbed into the wagon. The man hung on to the wagon's sides, peered over them.
"I am Hederick, the High Theocrat," he announced with a self-important air. "I represent a new religious order. We hope to gain a foothold here in Haven now that the rogues of Belzor have been driven away. We are known as the Seekers, for we seek the true gods."
"Then I hope very much that you find them, sir," Raistlin said.
"We are certain of it!" The man had missed the sarcasm. "Perhaps you'd be interested-"
Raistlin wasn't. The tents and bedrolls had been stacked in one corner of the wagon. Unfolding a blanket, he spread it out over the pile of tenting, lay down.
The cleric hung about, yammering about his god. Raistlin covered his head with the hood of his robe and, eventually, the cleric departed. Raistlin thought no more of him, soon forgot the man entirely.