Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [121]
Raistlin sat down on a stone bench not far from the Great Library. Winter’s long night was drawing to a close. The dawn of spring was near. The bright sun was warm. Raistlin closed his eyes. His head fell forward onto his chest. He sat dozing in the sun.
“… Using my magic. And the magic of the dragon orb. It is quite simple, though probably beyond your weak mind. I now have the power to harness the energy of my corporeal body and the energy of my spirit into one. I will become pure energy—light, if you want to think of it that way. And, becoming light, I can travel through the heavens like the rays of the sun, returning to this physical world whenever and wherever I choose …”
“Can the orb do this for all of us?” Tanis asked.
“… I will not chance it … I know I can escape. The others are not my concern. You led them into this blood-red death, Half-Elf. You get them out.…”
“… You won’t harm your brother. Caramon, stop him …”
“Tell him, Caramon.… The last test in the Tower of High Sorcery was against myself. And I failed. I killed him … I killed my brother …”
“Ah, ha! I thought I’d find you here, you doorknob of a kender!”
Raistlin stirred uneasily in his sleep. Flint’s voice. This is all wrong. Flint isn’t here. I haven’t seen Flint in a long time, ever since the fall of Tarsis. Don’t try to stop me, Tanis. I killed Caramon once, you see. Or rather, it was an illusion meant to teach me to fight against the darkness within. But they were too late. I had already given myself to the darkness …
“I tell you, I saw him!”
Raistlin woke with a start.
The kender stood quite close to him. Raistlin had only to rise up from the bench and walk a few paces and he could reach out his hand and touch him. The dwarf was standing beside the kender and though they both had their backs to Raistlin, he could picture the exasperated look on the old dwarf’s face.
It isn’t! Raistlin thought, astonished. It can’t be. Tasslehoff was in my mind and now I have conjured him up whole. Raistlin pulled down the cowl of the gray robe, making sure they covered his face. He thrust his gold-skinned hands inside the sleeves of his robes.
The kender looked like Tas from the back, but then all kender look alike either from the front or the back: them short in stature, dressed in the brightest clothing they could find, their long hair done up in top-knots, their small, slender bodies festooned in pouches. The dwarf looked the same as any dwarf, short and stocky, clad in armor, wearing a helm decorated with horse hair … or the mane of a griffin.
“I saw Raistlin yesterday, I tell you!” the kender was saying insistently. He pointed. “He was lying on those very stairs. The monks were all gathered around him. That staff of his—the staff of Maggots—”
“Magius,” the dwarf muttered.
“—was lying on the stairs beside him.”
“So what if it was Raistlin?” the dwarf demanded.
“He looked like he was dying, Flint,” said the kender.
Raistlin shut his eyes. There was no doubt. Tasslehoff Burrfoot and Flint Fireforge. His old friends. The two had watched him grow up, him and Caramon. Raistlin had wondered frequently if they were still alive, Flint and Tas and Sturm … He was surprised to find that he was glad to see them.
Raistlin drew back his cowl and rose from the bench with the intention of making himself known to them. He would ask about Sturm, about Laurana, the golden-haired Laurana …
“If he’s dead, good riddance,” Flint stated grimly. “He made my skin crawl.”
“You don’t mean that—” Tas began.
“I do so, too, mean it!” Flint roared. “How do you know what I mean and don’t mean! Raistlin treated us like pond scum and poor Caramon worse than that. Wherever Raistlin is, you can be sure he’s up to no good.”
Raistlin sat back down. He pulled the cowl over his face.
“Now where do you think you’re going?” Flint demanded, seizing hold of Tasslehoff, who was about to cross the street.
“I thought I’d go up to the Library and knock on the door and