Part 33 (1/2)

”Don't worry. Mum's the word,” Fizban said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper that carried clearly through the crowded room. ”You'll love Palanthas. Beautiful city. Give Sturm my regards. Oh, and Ta.s.slehoff”-the old magician looked at him shrewdly-”you did the right thing, my boy!”

”I did?” Tas said hopefully. ”I'm glad.” He hesitated. ”I wondered...about what you said-the dark path. Did I-?”

Fizban's face grew grave as he gripped Tas firmly on the shoulder ”I'm afraid so. But you have the courage to walk it.”

”I hope so,” Tas said with a small sigh. ”Well, good-bye. I'll be back. Just as soon as the war's over.”

”Oh, I probably won't be here,” Fizban said, shaking his head so violently his hat slid off. ”Soon as the new weapon's perfected, I'll be leaving for-” he paused. ”Where was that I was supposed to go? I can't seem to recall. But don't worry. We'll meet again. At least you're not leaving me buried under a pile of chicken feathers!” he muttered, searching for his hat.

Tas picked it up and handed it to him.

”Good-bye,” the kender said, a choke in his voice.

”Good-bye, good-bye!” Fizban waved cheerfully. Then-giving the gnomes a hunted glance-he pulled Tas over to him. ”Uh, I seem to have forgotten something. What was my name again?”

Someone else said good-bye to the old magician, too, although not under quite the same circ.u.mstances.

Elistan was pacing the sh.o.r.e of Sancrist, waiting for the boat that would take him back to Southern Ergoth. The young man, Douglas, walked along beside him. The two were deep in conversation, Elistan explaining the ways of the ancient G.o.ds to a rapt and attentive listener.

Suddenly Elistan looked up to see the old, befuddled magician he had seen at the Council meeting. Elistan had tried for days to meet the old mage, but Fizban always avoided him. Thus it was with astonishment Elistan saw the old man come walking toward them now along the sh.o.r.eline. His head was bowed, he was muttering to himself. For a moment, Elistan thought he would pa.s.s by without noticing them, when suddenly the old mage raised his head.

”Oh, I say! Haven't we met?” he asked, blinking.

For a moment Elistan could not speak. The cleric's face turned deathly white beneath its weathered tan. He was finally able to answer the old mage, his voice was husky. ”Indeed we have, sir. I did not realize it before now. And though we were but lately introduced, I feel that I have known you a long, long time.”

”Indeed?” The old man scowled suspiciously. ”You're not making some sort of comment on my age, are you?”

”No, certainly not!” Elistan smiled.

The old man's face cleared.

”Well, have a pleasant journey. And a safe one. Farewell.”

Leaning on a bent and battered staff, the old man toddled on past them. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. ”Oh, by the way, the name's Fizban.”

”I'll remember,” Elistan said gravely, bowing. ”Fizban.”

Pleased, the old magician nodded and continued on his way along the sh.o.r.eline while Elistan, suddenly thoughtful and quiet, resumed his walk with a sigh.

8.

The Perechon.

Memories of long ago.

This is crazy, I hope you realize that!” Caramon hissed.

”We wouldn't be here if we were sane, would we?”

Tanis responded, gritting his teeth.

”No,” Caramon muttered. ”I suppose you're right.”

The two men stood in the shadows of a dark alleyway, in a town where generally the only things ever found in alleyways were rats, drunks, and dead bodies.

The name of the wretched town was Flotsam, and it was well named, for it lay upon the sh.o.r.es of the Blood Sea of Istar like the wreckage of a broken vessel tossed upon the rocks. Peopled by the dregs of most of the races of Krynn, Flotsam was, in addition, an occupied town now, overrun with draconians, goblins, and mercenaries of all races, attracted to the Highlords by high wages and the spoils of war.

And so, ”like the other sc.u.m,” as Raistlin observed, the companions floated along upon the tides of war and were deposited in Flotsam. Here they hoped to find a s.h.i.+p that would take them on the long, treacherous journey around the northern part of Ansalon to Sancrist-or wherever- Where they were going was a point that had been much in contention lately-ever since Raistlin's recovery from his illness. The companions had anxiously watched him following his use of the dragon orb, their concern not completely centered on his health. What had happened when he used the orb? What harm might he have brought upon them?

”You need not fear,” Raistlin told them in his whispering voice. ”I am not weak and foolish like the elven king. I gained control of the orb. It did not gain control of me.”

”Then what does it do? How can we use it?” Tanis asked, alarmed by the frozen expression on the mage's metallic face.

”It took all my strength to gain control of the orb,” Raistlin replied, his eyes on the ceiling above his bed. ”It will require much more study before I learn how to use it.”

”Study...” Tanis repeated. ”Study of the orb?”

Raistlin flicked him a glance, then resumed staring at the ceiling. ”No,” he replied. ”The study of books, written by the ancient ones who created the orb. We must go to Palanthas, to the library of one Astinus, who resides there.”

Tanis was silent for a moment. He could hear the mage's breath rattle in his lungs as he struggled to draw breath.

What keeps him clinging to this life? Tanis wondered silently.

It had snowed that morning, but now the snow had changed to rain. Tanis could hear it drumming on the wooden roof of the wagon. Heavy clouds drifted across the sky. Perhaps it was the gloom of the day, but as he looked at Raistlin, Tanis felt a chill creep through his body until the cold seemed to freeze his heart.

”Was this what you meant, when you spoke of ancient spells?” Tanis asked.

”Of course. What else?” Raistlin paused, coughing, then asked, ”When did I speak of...ancient spells?”

”When we first found you,” Tanis answered, watching the mage closely. He noticed a crease in Raistlin's forehead and heard tension in his shattered voice.

”What did I say?”

”Nothing much,” Tanis replied warily. ”Just something about ancient spells, spells that would soon be yours.”

”That was all?”

Tanis did not reply immediately. Raistlin's strange, hourgla.s.s eyes focused on him coldly. The half-elf s.h.i.+vered and nodded. Raistlin turned his head away. His eyes closed. ”I will sleep now,” he said softly. ”Remember, Tanis. Palanthas.”

Tanis was forced to admit he wanted to go to Sancrist for purely selfish reasons. He hoped against hope that Laurana and Sturm and the others would be there. And it was where he had promised he would take the dragon orb. But against this, he had to weigh Raistlin's steady insistence that they must go to the library of this Astinus to discover how to use the orb.

His mind was still in a quandary when they reached Flotsam. Finally, he decided they would set about getting pa.s.sage on a s.h.i.+p going north first and decide where to land later.

But when they reached Flotsam, they had a nasty shock. There were more draconians in that city than they had seen on their entire journey from Port Balifor north. The streets were crawling with heavily armed patrols, taking an intense interest in strangers. Fortunately, the companions had sold their wagon before entering the town, so they were able to mingle with the crowds on the streets. But they hadn't been inside the city gates five minutes before they saw a draconian patrol arrest a human for ”questioning.”

This alarmed them, so they took rooms in the first inn they came to-a run-down place at the edge of town.