At the time, Tasslehoff had thought it a wonderful idea, although he recalled Raistlin had not been impressed. He seemed to consider it a weakness, to be so heavily dependent upon another living being.
“Well, answer me?” the red-robed mage demanded, shaking Tasslehoff by the tail. Blood rushed to the kender’s head, making him dizzy, plus being held by the tail was quite painful, to say nothing of the indignity! All he could do, for a moment, was to give thanks that Flint couldn’t see him.
I suppose, he thought bleakly, that familiars can talk. I hope they speak Common, not something strange—like Mouse, for example.
“I’m—I—uh—belong to”—what was a good name for a mage?—“Fa—Faikus,” Tas squeaked, remembering hearing Raistlin use this name in connection with a fellow student long ago.
“Ah,” the red-robed mage said with a frown, “I might have known. Were you out upon some errand for your master or simply roaming around loose?”
Fortunately for Tas, the mage changed his hold upon the kender, releasing his tail to grasp him firmly in his hand. The kender’s front paws rested quivering on the red-robed mage’s thumb, his now beady, bright-red eyes stared into the mage’s cool, dark ones.
What shall I answer? Tas wondered frantically. Neither choice sounded very good.
“It—it’s my n-night off,” Tas said in what he hoped was an indignant tone of squeak.
“Humpf!” The mage sniffed. “You’ve been around that lazy Faikus too long, that’s for certain. I’ll have a talk with that young man in the morning. As for you, no, you needn’t start squirming! Have you forgotten that Sudora’s familiar prowls the halls at night? You could have been Marigold’s desert! Come along with me. After I’m finished with this evening’s business, I’ll return you to your master.”
Tas, who had just been ready to sink his sharp little teeth into the mage’s thumb, suddenly thought better of the idea. “Finished with this evening’s business!” Of course, that had to be Caramon! This was better than being invisible! He would just go along for the ride!
The kender hung his head in what he imagined was a mousy expression of meekness and contrition. It seemed to satisfy the red-robed mage, for he smiled in a preoccupied manner and began to search the pocket of his robes for something.
“What is it, Justarius?” There was Caramon, looking befuddled and still half asleep, He peered vaguely up and down the hallway. “You find Tas?”
“The kender? No.” The mage smiled again, this time rather ruefully. “It may be a while before we find him, I’m afraid—kender being very adept at hiding.”
“You won’t hurt him?” Caramon asked anxiously, so anxiously Tas felt sorry for the big man and longed to reassure him.
“No, of course not,” Justarius replied soothingly, still searching through his robes. “Though,” he added as an afterthought, “he might inadvertently hurt himself. There are objects lying around here it wouldn’t be advisable to play with. Well, now, are you ready?”
“I really don’t want to go until Tas is back and I know he’s all right,” Caramon said stubbornly.
“I’m afraid you haven’t any choice,” the mage said, and Tas heard the man’s voice grow cool. “Your brother travels in the morning. You must be prepared to go then as well. It takes hours for Par-Salian to memorize and cast this complex spell. Already he has started. I have stayed too long searching for the kender, in fact. We are late. Come along.”
“Wait... my things...” Caramon said pathetically. “My sword...”
“You need not worry about any of that,” Justarius answered. Apparently finding what he had been searching for, he drew a silken bag out of the pocket of his robes. “You may not go back in time with any weapon or any device from this time period. Part of the spell will see to it that you are suitably dressed for the period you journey within.”
Caramon looked down at his body, bewildered. “Y-you mean, I’ll have to change clothes? I won’t have a sword? What—”
And you’re sending this man back in time by himself! Tas thought indignantly. He’ll last five minutes. Five minutes, if that long! No, by all the gods, I’m—
Just exactly what the kender was going to do was lost as he suddenly found himself popped headfirst into the silken bag!
Everything went inky black. He tumbled down to the bottom of the bag, feet over tail, landing on his head. From somewhere inside of him came a horrifying fear of being on his back in a vulnerable position. Frantically, he fought to right himself, scrabbling wildly at the slick sides of the bag with his clawed feet. Finally he was right side up, and the terrible feeling subsided. So that’s what it’s like to be panic-stricken, Tas thought with a sigh. I don’t think much of it, that’s certain. And I’m very glad kender don’t get that way, as a general rule. Now what?
Forcing himself to calm down and his little heart to stop racing, Tas crouched in the bottom of the silken bag and tried to think what to do next. He appeared to have lost track of what was going on in his wild scrambling, for—by listening—he could hear two pairs of footsteps walking down a stone hall; Caramon’s heavy, booted feet and the mage’s shuffling tread.
He also experienced a slight swaying motion, and he could hear the soft sounds of cloth rubbing against cloth. It suddenly occurred to him that the red-robed mage had undoubtedly suspended the sack he was in from his belt!
“What am I supposed to do back there? How’m I supposed to get back here afterwards—”
That was Caramon’s voice, muffled a bit by the cloth bag but still fairly clear.
“All that will be explained to you.” The mage’s voice sounded overly patient. “I wonder—Are you having doubts, second thoughts perhaps. If so, you should tell us now—”
“No,” Caramon’s voice sounded firm, firmer than it had in a long time. “No, I’m not having doubts. I’ll go. I’ll take Lady Crysania back. It’s my fault she’s hurt, no matter what that old man says. I’ll see that she gets the help she needs and I’ll take care of this Fistandantilus for you.”
“M-m-m-m.”
Tas heard that “m-m-m-m,” though he doubted Caramon could. The big man was rambling on about what he would do to Fistandantilus when he caught up with him. But Tas felt chilled, as he had when Par-Salian gave Caramon that strange, sad look in the Hall. The kender, forgetting where he was, squeaked in frustration.
“Shhhh,” Justarius murmured absently, patting the bag with his hand. “This is only for a short while, then you’ll be back in your cage, eating corn.”
“Huh?” Caramon said. Tas could almost see the big man’s startled look. The kender gnashed his small teeth. The word “cage” called up a dreadful picture in his mind and a truly alarming thought occurred to him—what if I can’t get back to being myself?
“Oh, not you!” the mage said hastily. “I was talking to my little furry friend here. He’s getting restless. If we weren’t late, I’d take him back right now.” Tas froze. “There, he seems to have settled down. Now, what were you saying’?”
Tas didn’t pay any more attention. Miserably, he clung to the bag with his small feet as it swayed back and forth, bumping gently against the mage’s thigh as he limped along. Surely the spell could be reversed by simply taking off the ring?
Tas’s fingers itched to try it and see. The last magic ring he’d put on he hadn’t been able to get off! What if this was the same? Was he doomed to a life of white fur and pink feet forever? At the thought, Tas wrapped one foot around the ring that was still stuck to a toe (or whatever) and almost pulled it off, just to make sure.
But the thought of suddenly bursting out of a silk bag, a full-grown kender, and landing at the mage’s feet came to his mind. He forced his quivering little paw to stop. No. At least this way he was being taken to wherever Caramon was being taken. If nothing else, maybe he could go back with him in mouse shape. There might be worse things...