"I will! A great idea!" Caramon rushed off to his bedroom, only to run back a moment later. "I don't have a whetstone."
"Go borrow one from Flint. Or better still, take your sword to Flint's and work on it there," Raistlin said, mopping up spilled cream. "Anything to get you out from underfoot."
"I wonder if Flint would like to come along. And Kit and Tanis and Tasslehoff! I'll go see."
His brother gone and the house quiet, Raistlin picked up the pieces of the broken pitcher and threw them away. He was as excited over the prospect of a journey to new and distant lands as his brother, though he had more sense than to smash the crockery over it. He was considering which of his herbs to pack, which he might find along the roadside, when there came a knock at the door.
Thinking it might be Sturm, Raistlin called out, "Caramon has gone to Flint's."
The knock was repeated, this time with the sharp rapping of an impatient visitor.
Raistlin opened the door, regarded his guest in amazement and surprise and not a little concern.
"Master Theobald!"
The mage stood upon the boardwalk outside the house. He wore a cloak over his white robes and carried a stout staff, indications that he had been traveling.
"May I come in?" Theobald asked gruffly.
"Certainly. Of course. Forgive me, Master." Raistlin stood aside, ushered his guest across the threshold. "I was not expecting you."
That was quite true. In all the years that Raistlin had attended the master's school, Theobald had never once paid a visit to Raistlin's home, nor evinced the slightest inclination to do so.
Bemused and somewhat apprehensive-his exploits in Haven had been widely reported throughout Solace-Raistlin invited his master to be seated in the only good chair in the house, the chair that happened to be his mother's rocking chair. Theobald declined all offers of food and wine.
"I do not have time to linger. I have been gone for a week, and I have not yet been home. I came here immediately. I have just returned from the Tower at Wayreth, from a meeting of the conclave."
Raistlin's uneasiness increased. "Isn't a meeting of the conclave at this early time of year somewhat unusual, Master? I thought they were always held in the summer."
"It is indeed unusual. We wizards had matters of great import to discuss. I was specially sent for," Theobald added, stroking his beard.
Raistlin made suitable comments, all the while wishing impatiently and with increasing nervousness that the provoking old fart would come to the point.
"Your doings in Haven were among the topics of discussion, Majere," Theobald said, glowering at Raistlin, brows bristling. "You broke many rules, not the least of which was casting a spell far above your capability."
Raistlin would have pointed out that the spell was obviously not above his capability to cast, since he had cast it, but he knew that this would be lost on Theobald.
"I did what I thought was right under the circumstances, Master," Raistlin said, as meekly and contritely as he could.
"Rubbish!" Theobald snorted. "You know what was right under the circumstances. You should have reported the wizardess to us as a renegade. We would have dealt with the matter in time."
"In time, Master," Raistlin emphasized. "Meanwhile, innocent people were being bilked out of what little they had, others were being driven from their homes. The charlatan priestess and her followers were causing irreparable harm. I sought to end it."
"You ended it, all right," Theobald said with dark implications.
"I was exonerated from her murder, Master," Raistlin returned, his tone sharp. "I have a writ from the High Sheriff of Haven himself proclaiming my innocence."
"So who did kill her?" Theobald asked.
"I have no idea, Master," Raistlin replied.
"Hunh," Theobald grunted. "Well, you handled the matter badly, but, still, you handled it. Damn near got yourself killed in the process, I understand. As I said, the conclave discussed the matter."
Raistlin kept silent, waited to hear his punishment. He had already determined that if they forbade him to practice magic, he would defy them, become a renegade himself.
Theobald withdrew a scroll case. He opened the lid, taking an unconscionable length of time about it, fussing and fumbling clumsily until Raistlin was tempted to leap across the room and wrest the case from the man's hand. Finally the lid came off. Theobald removed a scroll, handed it across to Raistlin.
"Here, pupil. You might as well see this for yourself."
Now that the scroll was in his hands, Raistlin wondered if he had the courage to read it. He hesitated a moment to insure that his hands did not tremble and betray him, then, with outward nonchalance masking inward apprehension, he unrolled the scroll.
He tried to read it, but his nervousness impaired his eyesight. The words would not come into focus. When they did, he did not comprehend them.
Then he could not believe them.
Amazed and aghast, he stared at his master. "This, this can't be right. I am too young."
"That is what I said," Theobald stated in nasty tones. "But I was overruled."
Raistlin read the words again, words that, though they were not in the least magical, began to glow with the radiance of a thousand suns.
The aspiring magus, Raistlin Majere, is hereby summoned to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth to appear before the Conclave of Wizards on the seventh day of the seventh month at the seventh minute of the seventh hour. At this time, in this place, you will be tested by your superiors for inclusion into the ranks of those gifted by the three gods, Solinari, Lunitari, Nuitari.
To be invited to take the Test is a great honor, an honor accorded to few, and should be taken seriously. You may impart knowledge of this honor to members of your immediate family, but to no others. Failure to accede to this injunction could mean the forfeiture of the right to take the Test.
You will bring with you your spellbook and spell components. You will wear robes representing the alliance of your sponsor. The color of the robes you will wear, if and when you are apprenticed- i.e., your allegiance to one of the three gods-will be determined during the Test. You will carry no weapons, nor any magical artifacts. Magical artifacts will be provided during the Test itself in order to judge your skill in the handling of said artifacts.
In the unfortunate event of your demise during the Test, all personal effects will be returned to your family.
You may be provided with an escort to the Tower, but your escort should be aware that he or she will not be permitted to enter the Guardian Forest. Any attempt by the escort to force entry will result in most grievous harm to the escort. We will not be held responsible.
That last sentence had been written, then crossed out, as if the writer had experienced second thoughts. An addendum had been inserted.
An exception to this rule is made in regard to Caramon Majere, twin brother to the aforementioned contestant. Caramon Majere is expressly desired to attend his brother's testing. He will be admitted into the Guardian Forest. His safety will be guaranteed, at least during the time he is inside the forest.
Raistlin lowered the scroll, let it roll back upon itself. His hands lacked the strength to hold it up, keep it open. To be invited to take the Test so young, to be even considered capable of taking the Test at his novitiate stage, was an honor of incredible magnitude. He was overcome with joy, joy and pride.
Of course, there was that cautionary phrase, In the event of your demise. Later, in the small hours of the night, when he would lie awake, unable to sleep for his excitement, that sentence would rise up before him, a skeletal hand reaching out to grasp him, drag him down. But now, filled with confidence in himself, proud of his achievements and the fact that these achievements had evidently impressed the members of the conclave, Raistlin had no fear, no qualms.