Dragonlance 09 - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage (19 page)

Raistlin scrambled to his feet. He had been fingering the rose petals. The words of the sleep spell were in his mind, and in a split second the words were on his tongue.

“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi!”

He flung the rose petals into the faces of the two dark pilgrims, and they slumped to the pavement, one rolling into the gutter, the other landing at Raistlin’s feet. One of the lanterns fell to the ground and broke. Its light went out. Unfortunately, the other lantern continued to shine. Raistlin would have liked to have taken time to douse the light, but he didn’t dare. He could hear whistles and shouts, and he recalled what Iolanthe had told him about how seriously Nerakan guards took the murder of any dark pilgrim. At the murder of the Adjudicator, they would turn out the entire garrison.

Raistlin hesitated a moment, thinking what to do. He could whisk himself into the corridors of magic and travel safely back to his rooms. He glanced into the heavens and seemed to see Lunitari’s red eye wink at him. The goddess had always taken a liking to him. This might be the break he had been seeking. Though he was putting himself at risk, he could not spurn the opportunity.

Raistlin recalled the black-clad figure running down the street, and he took the same route. Solinari’s silver gleam mingled with Lunitari’s red glow, and Raistlin saw immediately that the assassin had made a mistake. In his haste, he had rushed into a cul-de-sac. The end of the alley was blocked by a high, stone wall. The assassin must still be here. Unless he had wings, he could not have escaped.

Raistlin slowed his pace, moving cautiously, peering into the shadows, listening for the slightest sound. The assassin might be carrying more than one knife, and Raistlin did not want to feel the blade between his ribs. Hearing a scraping noise, he saw the assassin, dressed all in black, attempting to scale the stone wall. The wall was too high; the stones were smooth and offered no foot or handhold. The assassin slid back down to the ground with a thud and crouched there, swearing.

Half seen in the moonlight and shadows, the assassin was short and slender, and Raistlin thought at first that the killer was a child. He moved nearer and, by Lunitari’s light, Raistlin was astounded to recognize the female kender Talent Orren had thrown out of the Broken Shield. She was no longer wearing a kender’s usual bright clothing, but was dressed all in black: black blouse, black trousers. She had stuffed her yellow braids into a black cap.

Steel glinted in her hand. Her eyes gleamed. Her face bore a most unkender-like expression: grim, determined, cold, and resolved.

“Yell for the guards, and I’ll slit your throat for you,” she told him. “I can do it too. I’m fast with a knife. Maybe you saw just
how
fast.”

“I’m not going to yell,” said Raistlin. “I can help you get over that wall.”

“A weakling like you?” The kender sneered. “You couldn’t heft a kitten.”

Behind them, the guards were shouting and blowing their whistles. The kender did not look at all nervous or frightened—in that, she was acting like any normal kender.

“I can use my magic,” said Raistlin. “Though it will cost you.”

“How much?” asked the kender, scowling.

“You’re hardly in a position to bargain,” he said coldly, and he held out his hand to her. “Take it or leave it.”

The kender hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. The sound of more whistles and feet pounding on the pavement helped her make up her mind. She took hold of his hand. He spoke the words to the spell and the two of them rose up and floated over the wall. They landed on the street on the other side, dropping down lightly as feathers.

Tasslehoff would have oohed and ahhed and wanted to discuss the magic and insist that Raistlin float him off again. This kender kept her mouth shut. The moment they hit the ground, she was off like an arrow sped from a bow.

Or rather, she tried to take off. Raistlin had a firm hold of her hand and, familiar with a kender’s tricks, he managed to retain his grip, even when she twisted her arm, nearly breaking her wrist and almost dislocating her shoulder.

Judging by the sounds rising up from behind them, more guards
were gathering at the crime scene and starting to expand the search for the killer.

“You owe me,” he said, maintaining a firm grip on the kender. “I don’t have any steel,” said the kender. “Not steel. Information.”

“I don’t have any of that either,” the kender said, and she tried again to break free of him.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “None of your business.”

“My name is Raistlin Majere,” he told her. “There, you know mine. Tell me yours. That can’t hurt, can it?”

The kender thought it over. “I guess not. I’m Marigold Featherwinkle.”

Raistlin thought that in all the long history of Krynn, there had probably never been a more improbable name for a cold-blooded killer.

“They call me Mari,” the kender added. “Do they call you Raist?”

“No,” said Raistlin. Only one person had ever called him that. “You are a member of Hidden Light, aren’t you, Mari,” he went on, making it a statement, not a question.

“Hidden Light? Never heard of it,” said Mari.

“I don’t believe you. I know something of kender, and I know you did not conceive of this daring plan all by yourself.”

“I did so too!” Mari cried indignantly.

Raistlin shrugged. “I can always magic you back over the wall.” They could both hear the guards swarming into the alley. Mari pouted and stubbornly said nothing. “I can help,” said Raistlin. “As you’ve seen just now.” “You’re wearing the Black Robes,” she said. “And you’re a merry-hearted kender,” said Raistlin, “with blood on your face.”

“Do I?” Mari lifted a handkerchief and scrubbed her cheeks.

“I believe that is mine,” said Raistlin, eyeing the handkerchief, which he recognized.

“I guess you must have dropped it.” Mari looked at him with wide eyes. “Do you want it back?”

Raistlin smiled. At least some things in the world never changed. He felt strangely comforted. “Tell me how to contact Hidden Light, Mari, and I will let you go.”

Mari studied him, seemed to be trying to make up her mind about him. On the other side of the wall, the guards could be heard poking around in trash heaps and knocking on back doors.

“We don’t have much time,” Raistlin said. “Someone will eventually think to search this street. And I’m not going to let go until you tell me what I want to know.”

“All right, I may have heard of this Hidden Light bunch,” said Mari grudgingly. “From what I recollect, you should go to a tavern called Hair of the Troll and order a drink and say, ‘I escaped the Maelstrom,’ and then wait.”

“Escaped the Maelstrom!” Raistlin repeated, shocked and alarmed. He gripped her more tightly. “How did you know about that?”

“About what? Stop that! You’re hurting me,” said Mari.

Raistlin relaxed his grip. He was being foolish. There was no way she could have known about the Maelstrom, the ship sinking, the Blood Sea. Maelstrom was a code word, nothing more. He released his hold on the kender and was about to add his thanks, but Mari was already running down the street. She vanished into the darkness.

Raistlin sagged back against the wall. Once the excitement and danger were over, he felt drained, exhausted. And he had a long walk back to the Broken Shield. In the buildings around him, lights were flaring as people heard the shouts of the guards and woke up and leaned out their windows, demanding to know what was going on. Adding to the confusion, the guards were issuing orders that the city gates should be closed, no one allowed in or out.

Raistlin had strength enough for one last spell. He clasped his hand over the dragon orb, spoke the words, and entered the corridors of magic. He stepped out into his room in the Broken Shield. He removed his pouches and placed them under his pillow, then stripped off his robes and collapsed upon the bed and was soon asleep.

He dreamed, as usual, about Caramon. Only Caramon was in company with a kender who kept poking Raistlin in the ribs with a butcher knife.

aistlin was awakened by knocking on his door. Jolted out of a deep sleep, he sat bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding. He glanced out the window. Night still shrouded the city. He had been asleep only a short time.

“Open the damn door!” Iolanthe hissed through the keyhole.

One of his neighbors yelled for quiet. Raistlin took one more moment to consider his situation; then, grasping the Staff of Magius, he spoke the word,
“Shirak,”
and the crystal on top of the staff began to glow with a soft light.

“Let me get dressed,” he called out.

“I’m sure you don’t have anything I haven’t seen on a man before,” Iolanthe said impatiently. “Except maybe it’s gold.”

Raistlin was not amused. He dressed himself hurriedly, then opened the door.

Iolanthe, enveloped in a voluminous, night-blue cloak, hurried past him into his room.

“Shut the door,” she said, “and lock it.”

Raistlin did so and stood blinking at her sleepily.

“I brought you a cup of tarbean tea.” She handed him a steaming mug. “I need you to be alert.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Near morning.”

He took hold of the mug without thinking and burned his hand. He set the mug down on the floor. Iolanthe took the room’s only chair, forcing Raistlin to sit on the edge of his bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Iolanthe clasped her hands on her lap and leaned forward. “Have they been here yet?” she asked tensely. “Has who been here?”

“The temple guards. So they haven’t. They don’t know where you live. That’s good. That gives us time.” She eyed him. “Where have you been tonight?”

Raistlin blinked at her groggily. “In bed? Why?”

“You weren’t in bed
all
night. Just answer my question,” she said, her tone sharp.

Raistlin ran his hand through his hair. “I was kept late at the Tower cleaning up after the draconians, who came to search for some artifact—”

“I know all about that,” Iolanthe snapped. “Where did you go after you left the Tower?”

Raistlin stood up. “I’m tired. I think you should leave.”

“And I think you should answer me!” said Iolanthe, her violet eyes flaring. “Unless you want the Black Ghost after
you.”

Raistlin regarded her intently, then sat back down.

“I paid a visit to your friend, Snaggle. One of the lizardmen had confiscated my dagger—”

“Commander Slith. I know about that too. Did you see Snaggle?”

“Yes, we made a deal. I’m going to trade him potions—”

“To the Abyss with your potions! What happened then?”

“I was tired. I came home and went to bed,” said Raistlin.

“You didn’t hear the uproar, see the commotion in the streets?”

“I wasn’t
on
the streets,” said Raistlin. “When I left the mageware
shop, I was so exhausted, I did not feel up to walking. I traveled the corridors of magic.”

Iolanthe stared at him. He met her eyes and held them.

“Well, well,” she said, relaxing, giving him a slight smile. “That is good to hear. I was afraid you might have been involved.”

“Involved in what?” Raistlin asked impatiently. “Why all the mystery? “

Iolanthe left the chair and came to sit beside him on the bed. She lowered her voice, speaking barely above a whisper. “The Adjudicator was assassinated during the night. He was walking down the sidewalk near the temple, not far from Wizard’s Row, when he was accosted by a wizard wearing black robes. As this Black Robe held the Adjudicator in conversation, the assassin sneaked up behind him and stabbed him in the back. Both the assassin and the wizard fled.”

“The Adjudicator …” said Raistlin, frowning as if trying to remember.

“That lump of muscle who does the Nightlord’s dirty work,” said Iolanthe. “The Nightlord was furious. He is turning the city upside down looking for black-robed wizards.”

Iolanthe stood up and began to pace the room, restlessly beating a clenched hand into an open palm.

“This could not have happened at a worse time! Wizards were already suspect and now this! The guards came seeking me first. Fortunately I had an alibi. I was in Ariakas’s bed.”

“So you believe they will come after me,” said Raistlin, trying to sound nonchalant and all the while thinking that he was in serious trouble. He had forgotten how few Black Robes there were in the city.

Iolanthe halted in her pacing and turned to face him. “I told them who they sought.”

“You did?” Raistlin asked, rising in alarm.

“Yes. The guilty are now all dead,” said Iolanthe with equanimity. “I’ve just returned from the Tower. I saw the bodies.”

“Dead?” Raistlin repeated, bewildered. “Bodies? Who—”

“The Black Robes in the Tower,” said Iolanthe. She sighed and added, “Who knew those old men could be so dangerous? Here they were, working for Hidden Light, right under my nose. I must have been blind not to see it.”

Raistlin stared at her; then he asked slowly, “How did they die?”