Raistlin lifted his head.
One of the cloaked men who had been so interested in Raistlin stood at his table.
"Greetings, stranger," the man said, speaking Common with a slight accent, an accent that reminded Raistlin of Tanis.
Raistlin was not surprised to see an elf, though he was extremely surprised to hear the elf add, "My friends and I noticed how much you enjoyed the wine. It comes from Qualinesti, as do we. My friends and I would like to share this pitcher of our fine wine with you, sir."
No respectable elf would be found drinking in a human-owned tavern. No respectable elf would initiate a conversation with a human. No respectable elf would buy a human a pitcher of wine. This gave Raistlin a pretty good idea of the status of his new acquaintances.
They must be dark elves-those who have been "cast from the light" or exiled from the elven homelands, the worst possible fate that can befall an elf.
"What you drink and with whom you drink is your prerogative, sir," Raistlin said warily. "It's not prerogative," the elf returned. "It's wine."
He smiled, thinking himself clever. "And it's yours, if you want it. Do you mind if I sit down?" "Forgive me for seeming rude, sir. I am not in the mood for company." "Thank you. I accept the invitation." The elf slid into the seat opposite.
Raistlin rose to his feet. This had gone far enough. "I bid you good evening, sir. I am in need of rest. If you will excuse me "You're a magic-user, aren't you?" the elf asked. He had not removed the hood that covered his head, but his eyes were visible. Almond-shaped, they gleamed hard and clear, as if the liquid orbs had frozen.
Raistlin saw no need to answer such an impertinent and perhaps dangerous question. He turned away, intending to bargain with the innkeeper for a patch of floor near the fire in the common room.
"Pity," said the elf. "It would be your good fortune if you were-a magic-user, I mean. My friends and I"-he nodded his head in the direction of his two hooded companions-"have in mind a little job where a wizard might come in handy."
Raistlin said nothing. He did not leave the table, however, but remained standing, regarded the elf with more interest.
"There's money to be had," the elf said, smiling. Raistlin shrugged.
The elf was puzzled at his reaction. "Odd. I thought humans were always interested in money. It seems I was wrong. What might tempt you? Ah, I know. Magic! Of course. Artifacts, enchanted rings. Spellbooks."
The elf rose gracefully to his feet. "Come meet my brethren. Hear what we've got in mind. Then if you happen to run across a mage"-the elf winked-"you could let him know he could make his fortune by joining up with us."
"Bring the wine," Raistlin said. Walking through the inn, he joined the other two elves at their table. The elf, smiling, picked up the pitcher and brought it along.
Raistlin knew something about the Qualinesti from Tanis, probably knew more than most humans, for he had questioned the half-elf extensively on elven ways and practices. The three were tall and slender, as are all elves, and though most elves look alike to humans, Raistlin thought he detected a certain resemblance between them. All three had green eyes and peculiarly jutting, pointed chins. They were young, probably around two hundred. They wore short swords beneath their cloaks-he
could hear the metal strike the chairs occasionally-and probably carried knives. He could hear the creak of leather armor.
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.