“He is better,” she said. “He will not die. But dark shadows hover around him, preventing Paladine’s healing light from restoring him fully. They are the shadows of these feverish ramblings. Can you make anything from them?” Her feathery brows came together. “Whatever it is seems very real to him. It must have been something dreadful to have unnerved a kender like this.”
“Perhaps, lady, if you left, he would feel more comfortable talking to me,” Raistlin suggested mildly. “We are such old friends.”
“True,” Crysania smiled, starting to rise to her feet. To her amazement, Tas grabbed her hands.
“Don’t leave me with him, lady!” He gasped. “He killed Gnimsh! Poor Gnimsh. I saw him di—die!” Tas began to weep. “Burning lightning...”
“There, there, Tas,” Crysania said soothingly, gently but firmly forcing the kender to lie back down. “No one’s going to hurt you. Whoever killed this—uh—Gnimsh can’t harm you now. You’re with your friends. Isn’t he, Raistlin?”
“My magic is powerful,” Raistlin said softly. “Remember that, Tasslehoff. Remember the power of my magic.”
“Yes, Raistlin,” Tas replied, lying quite still, pinned by the mage’s fixed and staring gaze.
“I think it would be wise if you remained behind to talk to him,” Crysania said in an undertone. “These dark fears will prey on him and hinder the healing process. I will return to my room on my own, with Paladine’s help.”
“So we agree not to tell Caramon?” Raistlin glanced at Crysania out of the corner of his eye.
“Yes,” Crysania said firmly. “This would only worry him unnecessarily.” She looked back at her patient. “I will return in the morning, Tasslehoff. Talk to Raistlin. Unburden your soul. Then sleep.” Laying her cool hand upon Tas’s sweat-covered forehead, she added, “May Paladine be with you.”
“Caramon?” Tas said hopefully. “Did you say Caramon? Is he here?”
“Yes, and when you’ve slept and eaten and rested, I’ll take you to him.”
“Couldn’t I see him now!” Tas cried eagerly, then he cast a fearful sideways glance at Raistlin. “If—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, that is... .”
“He’s very busy.” Raistlin said coldly. “He is a general now, Tasslehoff. He has armies to command, a war to fight. He has no time for kenders.”
“No, I-I suppose not,” Tas said with a small sigh, lying back on his pillow, his eyes still on Raistlin.
With a final, soft pat on his head, Crysania stood up. Holding the medallion of Paladine in her hand, she whispered a prayer and was gone, vanishing into the night.
“And now, Tasslehoff,” Raistlin said in a soft voice that made Tas tremble, “we are alone.” With his strong hands, the mage pulled the blankets up over the kender’s body and straightened the pillow beneath his head. “There, are you comfortable?”
Tas couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the archmage in growing horror.
Raistlin sat down on the bed beside him. Putting one slender hand upon Tas’s forehead, he idly caressed the kender’s skin and smoothed back his damp hair.
“Do you remember Dalamar, my apprentice, Tas?” Raistlin asked conversationally. “You saw him, I believe at the Tower of High Sorcery, am I correct?” Raistlin’s fingers were light as the feet of spiders upon Tas’s face. “Do you recall, at one point, Dalamar tore open his black robes, exhibiting five wounds upon his chest? Yes, I see you recall that. It was his punishment, Tas. Punishment for hiding things from me.” Raistlin’s fingers stopped crawling about the kender’s skin and remained in one place, exerting a slight pressure on Tas’s forehead.
Tas shivered, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. “I-I remember, Raistlin.”
“An interesting experience, don’t you think?” Raistlin said offhandedly. “I can burn through your flesh with a touch, as I might burn through, say”—he shrugged—“butter with a hot knife. Kender are fond of interesting experiences, I believe.”
“Not—not quite that interesting,” Tas whispered miserably. “I’ll tell you, Raistlin! I’ll tell you everything that—that happened.,” He closed his eyes a moment, then began to talk, his entire body quivering with the remembered terror. “We—we seemed not to rise up out of t he Abyss so much as... as the Abyss dropped away beneath us! And then, like I said, I saw it wasn’t empty. I could see shadows and I thought... I thought they were valleys and mountains... .”
Tas’s eyes flared open. He stared at the mage in awe. “It wasn’t! Those shadows were her eyes, Raistlin! And the hills and valleys were her nose and mouth. We were rising up out of her face! She looked at me with eyes that were bright and gleamed with fire, and she opened her mouth and I-I thought she was going to swallow us! But we only rose higher and higher and she fell away beneath us, swirling, and then she looked at me and she said... she said... .”
“What did she say?” Raistlin demanded. “The message was to me! It must have been! That was why she sent you! What did the Queen say?”
Tas’s voice grew hushed. “She said, ‘Come home...’”
13
The effect of his words upon Raistlin startled Tasslehoff just about as much as anything had ever startled him in his entire life. Tas had seen Raistlin angry before. He had seen him pleased, he had seen him commit murder, he had seen the mage’s face when Kharas, the dwarven hero, drove his sword blade into the mage’s flesh.
But he had never seen an expression on it like this.
Raistlin’s face went ashen, so white Tas thought for a wild moment that the mage had died, perhaps been struck dead on the spot. The mirrorlike eyes seemed to shatter; Tas saw himself reflected in tiny, splintered shards of the mage’s vision. Then he saw the eyes lose all recognition, go completely blank, staring ahead sightlessly.
The hand that rested upon Tas’s head began to tremble violently. And, as the kender watched in astonishment, he saw Raistlin seem to shrivel up before him. His face aged perceptively. When he rose to his feet, still staring unseeing around him, the mage’s entire body shook.
“Raistlin?” Tas asked nervously, glad to have the mage’s attention off him but bewildered by his strange appearance. The kender sat up weakly. The terrible dizziness had gone, along with the weird, unfamiliar feeling of fear. He felt almost like himself again.
“Raistlin... I didn’t mean anything. Are you going to be sick now? You look awfully queer—”
But the archmage didn’t answer. Staggering backward, Raistlin fell against the stone wall and just stood there, his breathing rapid and shallow. Covering his face with his hand, he fought desperately to regain control of himself, a fight with some unseen opponent that was yet as visible to Tas as if the mage had been fighting a spectre.
Then, with a low, hollow cry of rage and anguish, Raistlin lurched forward. Gripping the Staff of Magius, his black robes whipping around him, he fled through the open door.
Staring after Raistlin in astonishment, Tas saw him hurtle past the dark dwarf standing guard in the doorway. The dwarf took one look at the mage’s cadaverous face as Raistlin ran blindly past him, and, with a wild shriek, whirled around and dashed off in the opposite direction.
So amazing was all this that it took Tas a few moments to realize he wasn’t a prisoner anymore.
“You know,” the kender said to himself, putting his hand on his forehead, “Crysania was right. I do feel better now that I’ve gotten that off my mind. It didn’t do much for Raistlin, unfortunately, but then I don’t care about that. Well, much.” Tas sighed. “I’ll never understand why he killed poor Gnimsh. Maybe I’ll have a chance to ask him someday.
“But, now”—the kender glanced around—“the first thing to do is find Caramon and tell him I’ve got the magical device and we can go home. I never thought I’d say this,” Tas said wistfully, swinging his feet to the floor, “but home sounds awfully nice right now!”