“Flint?” he murmured through parched, cracked lips. “No! Arack!” He tried to run, but the tentacles in the water were reaching out for his feet.
“Raistlin!” he screamed, frantically trying to scramble backward. But his feet wouldn’t move. Something grabbed hold of him! The tentacles! Tas fought, shrieking in panic.
“Shut up, you bastard. Drink this.” The tentacles gripped him by the topknot and shoved a cup to his lips. “Drink, or I’ll pull your hair out by the roots!”
Choking, staring at the figure wildly, Tas took a sip. The liquid was bitter but cool and soothing. He was thirsty, so thirsty! Sobbing, Tas grabbed the cup away from the dwarf and gulped it down. Then he lay back on his pillow. Within moments, the tentacles slipped away, the pain in his limbs left him, and the clear, sweet waters of Crystalmir closed over his head.
Crysania came out of a dream with the distinct impression that someone had called her name. Though she could not remember hearing a sound, the feeling was so strong and intense that she was immediately wide awake, sitting up in bed, before she was truly aware of what it was that had awakened her. Had it been a part of the dream? No. The impression remained and grew stronger.
Someone was in the room with her! She glanced about swiftly. Solinari’s light, coming through a small corner at the far end of the room, did little to illuminate it. She could see nothing, but she heard movement. Crysania opened her mouth to call the guard...
And felt a hand upon her lips. Then Raistlin materialized out of night’s darkness, sitting on her bed.
“Forgive me for frightening you, Revered Daughter,” he said in a soft whisper, barely above a breath. “I need your help and I do not wish to attract the attention of the guards.” Slowly, he removed his hand.
“I wasn’t frightened,” Crysania protested. He smiled, and she flushed. He was so near her that he could feel her trembling. “You just... startled me, that’s all. I was dreaming. You seemed a part of the dream.”
“To be sure,” Raistlin replied quietly. “The Portal is here, and thus we are very near the gods.”
It isn’t the nearness of the gods that is making me tremble, Crysania thought with a quivering sigh, feeling the burning warmth of the body beside hers, smelling his mysterious, intoxicating fragrance. Angrily, she moved away from him, firmly suppressing her desires and longings. He is above such things. Would she show herself weaker?
She returned to the subject abruptly. “You said you needed my help. Why?” Sudden fear gripped her. Reaching out impulsively, she grasped his hand. “You are well, aren’t you? Your wound—?”
A swift spasm of pain crossed Raistlin’s face, then his expression grew bitter and hard. “No, I am well,” he said curtly.
“Thanks be to Paladine,” Crysania said, smiling, letting her hand linger in his.
Raistlin’s eyes grew narrow. “The god has no thanks of mine!” he muttered. The hand holding hers clenched, hurting her.
Crysania shivered. It seemed for an instant as if the burning heat of the mage’s body so near hers was drawing out her own, leaving her chilled. She tried to remove her hand from his, but Raistlin, brought out of his bitter reverie by her movement, turned to look at her.
“Forgive me, Revered Daughter,” he said, releasing her. “The pain was unendurable. I prayed for death. It was denied me.”
“You know the reason,” Crysania said, her fear lost in her compassion. Her hand hesitated a moment, then dropped to the coverlet near his trembling hand, yet not touching him.
“Yes, and I accept it. Still, I cannot forgive him. But that is between your god and myself,” Raistlin said reprovingly.
Crysania bit her lip. “I accept my rebuke. It was deserved.” She was silent a moment. Raistlin, too, was not inclined to speak, the lines in his face deepening.
“You told Caramon that the gods were with us. So, then, you have communed with my god… with Paladine?” Crysania ventured to ask hesitantly.
“Of course,” Raistlin smiled his twisted smile. “Does that surprise you?”
Crysania sighed. Her head drooped, the dark hair falling around her shoulders.—The faint moonlight in the room made her black hair glimmer with a soft, blue radiance, made her skin gleam purest white. Her perfume filled the room, filled the night. She felt a touch upon her hair. Lifting her head, she saw Raistlin s eyes burn with a passion that came from a source deep within, a source that had nothing to do with magic. Crysania caught her breath, but at that moment Raistlin stood up and walked away.
Crysania sighed. “So, you have communed with both the gods, then?” she asked wistfully.
Raistlin half-turned. “I have communed with all three,” he replied offhandedly.
“Three?” She was startled. “Gilean?”
“Who is Astinus but Gilean’s mouthpiece?” Raistlin said scornfully. “If, indeed, he is not Gilean himself, as some have speculated. But, this must be nothing new to you—”
“I have never talked to the Dark Queen,” Crysania said.
“Haven’t you?” Raistlin asked with a penetrating look that shook the cleric to the core of her soul. “Does she not know of your heart’s desire? Hasn’t she offered it to you?”
Looking into his eyes, aware of his nearness, feeling desire sweep over her, Crysania could not reply. Then, as he continued to watch her, she swallowed and shook her head. “If she has,” she answered in almost inaudible tones, “she has given it with one hand and denied it to me with the other.”
Crysania heard the black robes rustle as if the mage had started. His face, visible in the moonlight, was, for an instant, worried and thoughtful. Then it smoothed.
“I did not come here to discuss theology,” Raistlin said with a slight sneer. “I have another, more immediate worry.”
“Of course.” Crysania flushed, nervously brushing her tangled hair out of her face. “Once again, I apologize. You needed me, you said—”
“Tasslehoff is here.”
“Tasslehoff?” Crysania repeated in blank amazement.
“Yes, and he is very ill. Near death, in fact. I need your healing skills.”
“But, I don’t understand. Why—How did he come to be here?” Crysania stammered, bewildered. “You said he had returned to our own time.”
“So I believed,” Raistlin replied gravely. “But, apparently, I was mistaken. The magical device brought him here, to this time. He has been wandering the world in the manner of kender, enjoying himself thoroughly. Eventually, hearing of the war, he arrived here to share in the adventure. Unfortunately, he has, in his wanderings, contracted the plague:”
“This is terrible! Of course I’ll come.” Catching up her fur cloak from the end of her bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders, noticing, as she did so, that Raistlin turned away from her. Staring out the window, into the silver moonlight, she saw the muscles of his jaw tighten, as if with some inner struggle.
“I am ready,” Crysania said in smooth, businesslike tones, fastening her cloak. Raistlin turned back and extended his hand to her. Crysania looked at him, puzzled.
“We must travel the pathways of the night,” he said quietly. “As I told you, I do not want to alert the guards.”
“But why not?” she said. “What difference—”
“What will I tell my brother?”
Crysania paused. “I see...”
“You understand my dilemma?” Raistlin asked, regarding her intently. “If I tell him, it will be a worry to him, at a time he can ill afford to add burdens to those he already carries. Tas has broken the magical device. That will upset Caramon, too, even though he is aware I plan to send him home. But—I should tell him the kender is here.”
“Caramon has looked worried and unhappy these past few days,” Crysania said thoughtfully, concern in her voice.
“The war is not going well,” Raistlin informed her bluntly. “The army is crumbling around him. The Plainsmen talk every day of leaving. They may be gone now, for all we know. The dwarves under Fireforge are an untrustworthy lot, pressuring Caramon into striking before he is ready. The supply wagons have vanished, no one knows what has become of them. His own army is restless, upset. On top of all this, to have a kender roaming about, chattering aimlessly, distracting him...”