She rested her head on her hand, and the look on her face was one of confusion and perplexity.
But that was not what made the kender open his eyes wide. Crysania had changed! Gone were the plain, unadorned white robes, the severe hair style. She was dressed as the other female clerics in white robes, but these were decorated with fine embroidery. Her arms were bare, though a slender golden band adorned one, enhancing the pure whiteness of her skin. Her hair fell from a central part to sweep down around her shoulders with feathery softness. There was a flush of color in her cheeks, her eyes were warm and their gaze lingered on the black-robed figure that sat across from her, his back to Tas.
“Humpf,” said the kender with interest. “Tika was right.”
“I don’t know why I come here,” Tas heard Crysania say after a moment’s pause.
I do, the kender thought gleefully, quickly moving his ear back to the keyhole so he could hear better.
Her voice continued. “I am filled with such hope when I come to visit you, but I always leave depressed and unhappy. I plan to show you the ways of righteousness and truth, to prove to you that only by following those ways can we hope to bring peace to our world. But you always turn my words upside down and inside out.”
“Your questions are your own,” Tas heard Raistlin say, and there was another rustling sound, as if the mage moved closer to the woman. “I simply open your heart so that you may hear them. Surely Elistan counsels against blind faith...”
Tas heard a sarcastic note in the mage’s voice, but apparently Crysania did not detect it, for she answered quickly and sincerely, “Of course. He encourages us to question and often telclass="underline" us of Goldmoon’s example—how her questioning led to the return of the true gods. But questions should lead one to better understanding, and your questions only make me confused and miserable!”
“How well I know that feeling,” Raistlin murmured so softly that Tas almost didn’t hear him. The kender heard Crysania move in her chair and risked a quick peep. The mage was near her, one hand resting on her arm. As he spoke those words, Crysania moved nearer him, impulsively placing her hand over his. When she spoke, there was such hope and love and joy in her voice that Tas felt warm all over.
“Do you mean that?” Crysania asked the mage. “Are my poor words touching some part of you? No, don’t look away! I can see by your expression that you have thought of them and pondered them. We are so alike! I knew that the first time I met you. Ah, you smile again, mocking me. Go ahead. I know the truth. You told me the same thing, in the Tower. You said I was as ambitious as you were. I’ve thought about it, and you’re right. Our ambitions take different forms, but perhaps they are not as dissimilar as I once believed. We both live lonely lives, dedicated to our studies. We open our hearts to no one, not even those who would be closest to us. You surround yourself with darkness, but, Raistlin, I have seen beyond that. The warmth, the light...”
Tas quickly put his eye back to the keyhole. He’s going to kiss her! he thought, wildly excited. This is wonderful! Wait until I tell Caramon.
“Come on, fool!” he instructed Raistlin impatiently as the mage sat there, his hands on Crysania’s arms. “How can he resist?” the kender muttered, looking at the woman’s parted lips, her shining eyes.
Suddenly Raistlin let loose of Crysania and turned away from her, abruptly rising out of his chair. “You had better go,” he said in a husky voice. Tas sighed and drew away from the door in disgust. Leaning against the wall, he shook his head.
There was the sound of coughing, deep and harsh, and Crysania’s voice, gentle and filled with concern.
“It is nothing,” Raistlin said as he opened the door. “I have felt unwell for several days. Can you not guess the reason?” he asked, pausing with the door half ajar. Tas pressed back against the wall so they wouldn’t see him, not wanting to interrupt (or miss) anything. “Haven’t you felt it?”
“I have felt something,” Crysania murmured breathlessly. “What do you mean?”
“The anger of the gods,” Raistlin answered, and it was obvious to Tas that this wasn’t the answer Crysania had hoped for. She seemed to droop. Raistlin did not notice, but continued on. “Their fury beats upon me, as if the sun were drawing nearer and nearer to this wretched planet. Perhaps that is why you are feeling depressed and unhappy.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Crysania.
“Tomorrow is Yule,” Raistlin continued softly. “Thirteen days after that, the Kingpriest will make his demand. Already, he and his ministers plan for it. The gods know. They have sent him a warning—the vanishing of the clerics. But he did not heed it. Every day, from Yule on, the warning signs will grow stronger, clearer. Have you ever read Astinus’s Chronicles of the Last Thirteen Days? They are not pleasant reading, and they will be less pleasant to live through.”
Crysania looked at him, her face brightening. “Come back with us before then,” she said eagerly. “Par-Salian gave Caramon a magical device that will take us back to our own time. The kender told me—”
“What magical device?” Raistlin demanded suddenly, and the strange tone of his voice sent a thrill through the kender and startled Crysania. “What does it look like? How does it work?” His eyes burned feverishly.
“I-I don’t know,” Crysania faltered.
“Oh, I’ll tell you,” Tas offered, stepping out from against the wall. “Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I couldn’t help overhearing. Merry Yule to you both, by the way,” Tas extended his small hand, which no one took.
Both Raistlin and Crysania were staring at him with the same expressions worn on the faces of those who suddenly see a spider drop into their soup at dinner. Unabashed, Tas continued prattling cheerfully, putting his hand in his pocket. “What were we talking about? Oh, the magical device. Yes, well,” Tas continued more hurriedly, seeing Raistlin’s eyes narrow in an alarming fashion, “when it’s unfolded, it’s shaped like a... a sceptre and it has a... a ball at one end, all glittering with jewels. It’s about this big.” The kender spread his hands about an arm’s length apart. “That’s when it’s stretched out. Then, Par-Salian did something to it and it—”
“Collapsed in upon itself,” Raistlin finished, “until you could carry it in your pocket.”
“Why, yes!” Tas said excitedly. “That’s right! How did you know?”
“I am familiar with the object,” Raistlin replied, and Tas noticed again a strange sound to the mage’s voice, a quivering, a tenseness—fear? Or elation? The kender couldn’t tell. Crysania noticed it, too.
“What is it?” she asked.
Raistlin didn’t answer immediately, his face was suddenly a mask, unreadable, impassive, cold. “I hesitate to say,” he told her. “I must study on this matter.” Flicking a glance at the kender—“What is it you want? Or are you simply listening at keyholes?”
“Certainly not!” Tas said, insulted. “I came to talk to you, if you and Lady Crysania are finished, that is,” he amended hastily, his glance going to Crysania.
She regarded him with quite an unfriendly expression, the kender thought, then turned away from him to Raistlin. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“I think not,” he said. “I will not, of course, be attending the Yule party.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to go either—” Crysania began.
“You will be expected,” Raistlin said abruptly. “Besides, I have too long neglected my studies in the pleasure of your com pany.”
“I see,” Crysania said. Her own voice was cool and distant and, Tasslehoff could tell, hurt and disappointed.