Dragonlance 09 - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage (23 page)

“Was that the kender?” Lute said, scowling. “You didn’t let the little thief inside, did you?”

Talent smiled. “No, you’re safe. She came to report that the goods have been delivered.”

“Fine. You deal with it. I’m going to bed.”

Lute began the task of maneuvering his bulk off his high stool. Talent, accompanied by the two mastiffs, navigated the convoluted trails that led through the maze of junk and arrived at last at the counter.

“Any word on the Berem fellow?” he asked.

“Nothing so far,” said Lute. “Two men, both name of Berem,
entered the city this week. Our boys were waiting at the gates and managed to get hold of them before the Nerakan guards did. Maelstrom took them to the Hairy Troll and questioned them.”

“Neither had a green gemstone embedded in his chest, I take it,” said Talent, “or ‘an old-looking face with young eyes.’ “

“One had an old face with a shifty eye, and the other a young face with a young eye. Though that wouldn’t have stopped the Nightlord from torturing them, just to make sure. Remember the Berem guy they caught last fall? The Nightlord sliced open his chest and cracked his breastbone just to make sure he wasn’t hiding an emerald in his craw.”

“What happened to the two latest Berems?”

“One was a pickpocket. Maelstrom warned him that if he was planning on staying in Neraka, he should stay out of the Hairy Troll and he might want to change his name. The other Berem was a fourteen-year-old kid—some farmer’s son who had run away from home and came here to make his fortune. No need to warn the kid. After what he’d seen of our fair city, the poor kid was half dead with fright. Maelstrom gave him a steel piece and sent him home to his mama.”

“I wonder what is so special about this Berem,” Talent mused, not for the first time.

Lute grunted. “Other than the fact that he sports a green gemstone among his chest hairs?”

“Only a goblin would be gullible enough to believe such a ridiculous tale. More likely he wears a green gemstone necklace or some such thing. A jewel embedded in his chest, my ass!”

“I dunno,” said Lute quietly. “You and I’ve seen stranger things, my friend. What are you going to do with the newly arrived goods?”

“Have a talk with him. Maybe give him a job if I like his looks.”

Lute frowned, causing what little could be seen of his face to vanish between his hair and his beard. “What the deuce do you want to give him a job for? To start with, he’s a wizard, and they’re all scum—”

“Except the lovely Iolanthe,” said Talent slyly.

Lute may have blushed. It was hard to tell underneath all the hair. At any rate, he pointedly ignored Talent’s insinuation. “Ten-to-one he’s an agent of the Nightlord.”

“Then why would he save Mari’s life?”

“What better way to be accepted into our ranks? Discover our secrets?”

Talent shook his head. “The Nightlord’s agents generally aren’t that smart. But if he is, I’ll soon find out. He’ll turn down the job I’m offering him because it will mean he will have to leave Neraka, and he won’t want to do that if he’s been sent to spy on us for the Nightlord. If he takes it, he may be the real deal.”

“What job is that?”

“You know, the one we were discussing the other night. He’s
her
brother.”

“And you trust him?” Lute glowered. “You’re cracked in the head, Orren. I’ve often said so.”

“I don’t trust him as far as I can see his black robes on a moonless night,” said Talent. “Mari likes him, though, and kender have good instincts about people. She likes you, after all.”

Lute gave an explosive snort that nearly toppled him. Recovering his balance, he leaned on his cane and, taking his tea and his crossbow with him, started off to bed. Halfway there, he turned around. “What happens if your wizard turns down the job?”

Talent ran a finger over his mustache. “Have you fed the mastiffs tonight?”

“No,” said Lute.

“Then don’t,” said Talent.

Lute nodded and went to his bedroom and shut the door.

Talent whistled to the two dogs, who came trotting obediently after him. He headed toward the back of the shop, dodging around and sometimes forced to climb over boxes and crates and barrels, piles of rags, bundles of clothes, tools of all sorts, a broken-down plow, and a large variety of wooden wagon wheels.

Lute had constructed a kennel of sorts for the dogs in the back corner. The dogs, thinking it was time for bed, went obediently into two large crates, where they curled up on blankets and began chewing on bones.

“Not so fast, friends,” said Talent. “We still have work to do tonight.”

He whistled and the dogs left their crates and their bones and
came bounding to his side. Talent went over to Hiddukel’s crate. The dog trotted after him, keeping a jealous eye on his treat.

“Easy, friend. I’ve had my dinner,” said Talent, petting the dog’s head.

Hiddukel apparently didn’t believe him, for he ducked past Talent and snatched up the bone. Clamping his teeth over it, Hiddukel growled a warning at Shinare to keep her distance.

Talent shoved the crate to one side. Beneath the crate was a trapdoor. Talent pulled open the trapdoor, grinning to think what the mastiff would do to a stranger who dared encroach upon the dog’s “lair.” Crudely built stairs led down into semidarkness. Somewhere in the distance, a dim lamp burned, giving a faint yellow light.

Talent pulled the trapdoor shut and descended the stairs. The mastiffs came along behind him, sniffing the air, noses twitching and ears pricked. Hiddukel dropped his bone, and both dogs barked, their tails wagging. They had spotted a friend.

Maelstrom was standing guard over “the goods,” a man slumped in a chair. Talent could not get a look at him, for the man’s head was bowed. His arms were bound behind his back, his feet tied to the chair. He wore black robes and carried several pouches on his belt.

“Hello, Maelstrom,” said Talent, walking over to greet his friend.

The man’s large hand engulfed Talent’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze that caused Talent to wince.

“Ah, careful there. I might need my fingers some day,” said Talent. He looked down with frowning interest at the man in the chair. “So this is Mari’s wizard. He’s a tenant of mine, you know. I was surprised when she said it was him.”

“He’s a sickly lot,” Maelstrom sniffed. “Almost puked at the smell of good dwarf spirits. Still, he’s talented at what he does, seemingly. Old Snaggle says his potions are the best he’s ever used.”

“So where’s he been keeping himself? He hasn’t slept in his room for several nights.”

“He’s been at the Red Mansion,” said Maelstrom.

Talent frowned. “With Ariakas?”

“More likely with the witch. Iolanthe seems to have made this fellow her pet. She’s trying to get Ariakas to hire him. The Emperor
has other things on his mind these days, however, and Raist here didn’t get the job. He left in a huff. Since then, he’s been working in the Tower, making up glop and bartering it to old Snaggle.”

“So he tried selling himself to Ariakas, and when that didn’t work, he thought he’d hire on with us.”

“Either that or he
did
sell himself to Ariakas,” Maelstrom growled, “and he’s here to spy on us.”

Talent regarded Raistlin in thoughtful silence. The dogs lay down at the wizard’s feet. Maelstrom stood over him, arms folded across his chest.

“Wake him up,” said Talent abruptly.

Maelstrom grabbed hold of Raistlin by the hair, jerked his head back, and smacked him a couple of times.

Raistlin gasped. His eyelids flared opened. He grimaced at the pain and blinked in the flickering light. Then his gaze focused on Talent, and a look of astonishment crossed his face. He raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod, as if thinking it all made sense.

“You still owe me for the damage to your room, Majere,” said Talent.

Drawing over a chair, he spun it around and seated himself on it, resting his arms on the chair’s back.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Raistlin. “If that’s what this is about, I have the steel …”

“Forget it,” said Talent. “You saved Mari’s life. We’ll call it even. I hear you might be interested in working for Hidden Light.”

“Hidden Light?” Raistlin shook his head. “I never heard of it.” “Then why did you go to the Hair of the Troll tonight?” “I went for a drink—”

Talent laughed. “No one goes to the Hair of a Troll for a drink unless you’re unusually fond of horse piss.” He frowned. “Cut the crap, Majere. Mari gave you the code word. For some reason she’s taken a fancy to you.”

“No accounting for taste,” said Maelstrom, and he gave Raistlin a cuff on the head that knocked him sideways. “Answer the boss’s questions. He don’t take kindly to prevaricators.”

Talent waited for Raistlin’s ears to quit ringing from the blow; then he said, “Want to try again? Why did you go to the Hair of the Troll?”

“I admit, I
am
interested in working for Hidden Light,” said Raistlin, licking blood from a split lip.

“A wizard who wears the black robes wants to help in the fight against Takhisis. Why should we trust you?”

“Because I wear the black robes,” said Raistlin.

Talent regarded him thoughtfully. “You might want to explain yourself.”

“If Takhisis wins this war and frees herself from the Abyss, she will be the master and I will be her slave. I will not be a slave. I much prefer to be the master.”

“At least you are honest,” said Talent.

“I see no reason to lie,” Raistlin said, shrugging as well as his bound arms would permit. “I am not ashamed of wearing the black robes. Nor am I ashamed of my ambition. You and I fight the battle against Takhisis for different reasons, sir, or at least so I presume. You fight for the good of mankind. I fight for the good of myself. The point is: we both fight.”

Talent shook his head in wonderment. “I’ve met all manner of men and women, Majere, but never anyone quite like you. I’m not certain whether I should embrace you or slit your throat.”

“I know what I’d do,” muttered Maelstrom, fingering a large knife he wore on his belt.

“I’m sure you will understand if we ask you to prove yourself,” said Talent, briskly getting down to business. “I have a job for you, one for which you are uniquely qualified. I hear that Kitiara uth Matar, known as the Blue Lady, is your sister.”

“She is my
half
sister,” said Raistlin. “Why?”

“Because the Blue Lady is plotting something, and I need to know what,” said Talent.

“It has been years since I have seen Kitiara, but from what I hear, she is commander of the Blue Dragonarmy, an army that is currently ravaging Solamnia, making hash of the Solamnic Knights. What she is plotting is undoubtedly the demise of the Knighthood.”

“You might want to speak of the Solamnic Knights with more respect,” Talent said.

Raistlin gave a half smile. “I thought I detected a faint Solamnic accent. Don’t tell me, sir. I can guess your story. You were an
impoverished knight, reduced to selling his sword. You sold it to the wrong people, briefly walked the side of Darkness, had a change of heart, and now you’re on the side of Light. Am I right?”

“I didn’t have a change of heart,” said Talent quietly. “I had a good friend who changed it for me. He saved me from myself. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about a job. As it happens, Kitiara is
not
busy pursuing the war in Solamnia. She has left the war to her commanders. No one has seen her on the battlefield in weeks.”

“Perhaps she was wounded,” Raistlin suggested. “Perhaps she is dead.”

“We would have heard. What we do hear is that she is working on some secret project. We want to know what this project is and, if possible, prevent its completion.”

“And since I am her brother, you expect her to tell me everything. Unfortunately, I do not know where Kit is.”

“Most fortunately, we do,” said Talent. “You’ve heard of the death knight Lord Soth?”

“Yes,” said Raistlin warily.

“Soth is alive—so to speak. The death knight resides in an accursed castle known as Dargaard Keep. And your sister, Kitiara, is with him.”

Raistlin stared, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have never been more so. The entry of the dragons of Light into the war caught Takhisis unprepared. She now fears she might lose. Kitiara is in Dargaard Keep with Lord Soth, and we believe they are plotting something to crush out this spark of hope. I want to know what they are plotting. I want you to find out and come back to tell me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I don’t recall giving you a choice,” said Talent, smoothing his mustache. “You came to
me
, Majere. And now you know too much about us. Either you agree to travel to Dargaard Keep, or your bones will be Hiddukel’s dinner this night. Hiddukel the dog,” Talent added by way of clarification, petting the mastiff’s head, “not the god.”

Raistlin looked at the mastiff. He glanced back over his shoulder at Maelstrom. Then he gave a slight shrug. “I will need a day or two to put my affairs in order and devise some excuse for my absence. There
are those who would find my sudden disappearance suspicious.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” said Talent. He stood up from the chair. The dogs, who had been lying at his side, jumped to their feet. “Maelstrom will see to it you get home safely. You won’t mind being blindfolded, I hope.”

“It will be better than being drugged,” said Raistlin wryly.

Maelstrom drew his knife and cut the ropes that bound Raistlin’s hands and feet.

“One thing I meant to ask,” said Talent. “The gate guards have been told to watch for a man named Berem who has a green gemstone embedded in his chest. Sounds like the kind of man a wizard might know. You don’t happen to, do you? Or know anything about him?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Raistlin, his face a blank mask.

He stood up stiffly, rubbing his wrists. His lip was starting to swell, a bruise was turning the golden skin of his face an unsightly green color.

Maelstrom brought out a strip of black cloth. Talent held up his hand, indicating he should wait.

“Then there’s this magical artifact the guards are searching for. A dragon globe or some such thing.”