Dragonlance 12 - Raistlin Chronicles - Soulforge (46 page)

Haven's citizens, though sorry to see that the wizard wasn't going to go up in flames, were diverted and entertained by the daring rescue. The fickle mob turned against the priests, cheered the heroes.

The High Priest fled for the safety of the temple. His cohorts—those who remained standing, at least—followed in haste. The mob hurled rocks and made plans to storm the temple.

Relief and the realization that he was safe, that he was not going to die in the fire, flooded through Raistlin in a tidal surge that left him faint and dazed. He sagged against his bonds.

Caramon snatched the ropes from around Raistlin's body and caught hold of his fainting brother.

Lifting Raistlin in his arms, Caramon carried him away from the stake and laid him on the ground.

People crowded around, eager to help save the young man whom they had been just as eager to see burn to death only moments earlier.

"Clear off, you buggers!" Flint roared, waving his arms and glowering. "Give him air."

Someone handed the dwarf a bottle of fine brandy "to give to the brave young man."

"Thankee," Flint said and took a long pull to fortify himself, then handed over the bottle.

Caramon touched the brandy to Raistlin's lips. The sting of the liquor on his cut lip and the fiery liquid biting into his throat brought him to consciousness. He gagged, choked, and thrust the brandy bottle away.

"I have narrowly escaped being burned to death, Caramon! Would you now poison me?" Raistlin coughed and wretched.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring Caramon's protestations that he should rest. The mob had surrounded the temple, shouting that the priests of Belzor should all be burned.

"Was the young man hurt?" came a worried voice. "I have an ointment for burns."

"It's all right, Caramon," Raistlin said, halting his brother, who was attempting to shoo away the curious. "This is a friend of mine."

Lemuel gazed at Raistlin anxiously. "Did they hurt you?"

"No, sir. I have taken no hurt, thank you. I am only a little dazed by it all."

"This ointment"—Lemuel held up a small jar—"I made it myself. It comes from the aloe—"

"Thank you," said Raistlin, accepting the jar. "I don't need it, but I believe that my brother could use it."

He cast a glance at Caramon's hands, which were burned and blistered. Caramon flushed and grinned self-consciously, thrust his hands behind his back.

"Thank you for the knife," Raistlin added, offering to return it. "Fortunately I had no need to use it."

"Keep it! It's the least I can do. Thanks to you, young man, I won't have to leave my home."

"But you have given me your books," Raistlin argued, holding out the knife.

Lemuel waved the knife away. "It belonged to my father. He would have wanted a magus like you to have it. It certainly does me no good, although I did find it useful to aerate the soil around my gardenias. There's a quaint sort of leather thong that goes with it. He used to wear the knife concealed on his arm. A wizard's last defense, he called it."

The knife was a very fine one, made of sharp steel. By the slight tingle he experienced holding it, Raistlin guessed that it had been imbued with magic. He thrust the knife into his belt and shook hands most warmly with Lemuel.

"We'll be stopping by later for those books," Raistlin said.

"I should be very pleased if you and your friends would take tea with me," Lemuel replied, with a polite bow.

After more bows and further introductions and promises to drop by on their way out of town, Lemuel departed, eager to put his uprooted plants back in the ground.

This left the companions alone. The citizens who had surrounded the temple were dispersing.

Rumor had it that the priests of Belzor had escaped by way of certain underground passages and were fleeing for their lives into the mountains. There was talk of forming a hunting party to go after them. It was now almost dawn. The morning was raw and chill. The drunks were dull-headed and sleepy. Men recalled that they had to work in the fields, women suddenly remembered their children left home alone. The citizens of Haven straggled off, left the priests to the goblins and ogres in the mountains.

The companions turned their steps back to the fairgrounds. The fair lasted for one more day, but Flint had already announced his intention of leaving.

"I'll not spend one minute longer than need be in this foul city. The people here are daft. Just plain daft. First snakes, then hangings, now burnings. Daft," he muttered into his beard.

"Just plain daft."

"You'll miss a day's sales," Tanis observed.

"I don't want their money," the dwarf said flatly. "Likely it's cursed. I'm seriously considering giving away what I've already taken."

He didn't, of course. The strongbox containing the money would be the first object the dwarf packed, stowing it securely and secretly underneath the wagon's seat.

"I want to thank you all," Raistlin said as they walked along the empty streets. "And I want to apologize for putting you at risk. You were right, Tanis. I underestimated these people. I didn't realize how truly dangerous they were. I will know better next time."

"Let's hope there isn't a next time," Tanis said, smiling.

"And I want to thank you, Kitiara," Raistlin said.

"For what?" Kit smiled her crooked smile. "For rescuing you?"

"Yes," said Raistlin dryly. "For rescuing me."

"Anytime!" Kit said, laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. "Anytime."

Caramon looked upset at this, and solemn. He turned his head away.

Battle suited Kitiara. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittered, her lips were red, as if she had drunk the blood she spilled. Kit, still laughing, took hold of Tanis's arm, hugged him close. "You are a very fine swordsman, my friend. You could earn a good living with that blade of yours. I'm surprised you haven't considered something in the mercenary line."

"I earn a good living now. A safe living," he added, but he was smiling at her, pleased by her admiration.

"Bah!" Kit said scornfully. "Safety's for fat old men! We fight well together, side by side. I've been thinking…"

She drew Tanis away, lowered her voice. Apparently the quarrel between the two was forgotten.

"Aren't you going to thank me, too, Raistlin?" Tasslehoff cried, dancing around Raistlin. "Look at this." The kender sadly twitched his topknot over his shoulder. The smell of burnt hair was very strong. "I got a bit singed, but the fight was worth it, even if I didn't get to see you being burned at the stake. I'm pretty disappointed about that, but I know you couldn't help it." Tas gave Raistlin an conciliatory hug.

"Yes, Tas, I do thank you," Raistlin said and removed his new knife from the kender's hand. "And I want to thank you, Sturm.

What you did was extremely brave. Foolhardy, but brave."

"They had no right to try to execute you without first giving you a fair trial. They were wrong, and it was my duty to stop them. However…"

Sturm came to a halt in the road. Standing stiffly, his hand pressed against his injured ribs, he faced Raistlin. "I have given the matter serious thought as we've been walking, and I must insist that you turn yourself over to the High Sheriff of Haven."

"Why should I? I've done nothing wrong."

"For the murder of the priestess," Sturm said, frowning, thinking Raistlin was being flippant.

"He didn't kill the Widow Judith, Sturm," Caramon said quietly, calmly. "She was dead when we entered that room."

Troubled, Sturm looked from one twin to the other. "I have never known you to lie, Caramon. But I think you might if your brother's life depended on it."

"I might," Caramon agreed, "but I'm not lying now. I swear to you on the grave of my father that Raistlin is innocent of this murder."

Sturm gazed long at Caramon, then nodded once, convinced. They resumed walking.

"Do you know who did kill her?" Sturm asked.

The brothers exchanged glances.

"No," Caramon said and stared down at his boots, kicking up dust in the road.

* * * * *

It was daylight by the time they reached the fairgrounds. The vendors were opening their stalls, preparing for the morning's business. They received Raistlin as a hero, lauded his exploits, applauded as the companions walked to Flint's shop. But no one spoke to them directly.

Flint did not open his stall. Leaving the shutters closed, he began to move his wares to the wagon.

When several of the other vendors, overcome by curiosity, did finally drop by to hear the tale, they were gruffly repulsed by the dwarf and went away, offended.

There was one more visitor, one more scare. The High Sheriff himself appeared, looking for Raistlin. Kit drew her sword, told her brother to make himself scarce, and it seemed as if there was going to be yet another fight. Raistlin told her to put away her weapon.

"I'm innocent," he said, with a significant look for his sister.

"You were nearly a crispy innocent," Kit returned angrily, sheathing her sword with an impatient thrust. "Go on, then. And don't expect me to save you this time."

But the sheriff had come to apologize. He did so, grudgingly and awkwardly. The young priestess had come forth to admit that she had seen Raistlin in company with his twin at the time the murder was committed. She had not told the truth before, she said, because she hated the wizard for what he had done to instigate Belzor's downfall. She was horrified by the High Priest's actions, wanted nothing more to do with any of them.

"What will happen to her?" Caramon asked worriedly.

"Nothing." The sheriff shrugged. "The young ones were like the rest of us—fooled completely by the murdered woman and her husband. They'll get over it. We all will, I suppose."

He fell silent, squinted into the sun that was just topping the trees, then said, not looking at them,

"We don't take kindly to mages in Haven. Lemuel, now—he's different. He's harmless. We don't mind him. But we don't need any more."

"He should have thanked you," Caramon said, puzzled and hurt.

"For what?" Raistlin asked with a bitter smile. "Destroying his career? If the sheriff didn't know that Judith and the rest of Belzor's followers were frauds, then he's one of the biggest fools in Abanasinia. If he did know, then he was undoubtedly being paid well to leave them alone. Either way, he's finished. You had better let me put some ointment on those burns, my brother. You are obviously in pain."

Once he had treated Caramon, cleaning the burns and covering them with the healing salve, Raistlin left the others to finish the packing, went to lie down in the wagon. He was completely and utterly exhausted, so tired he was almost sick, He was just about to climb inside when a stranger clad in brown robes approached him.

Raistlin turned his back on him, hoping the man would take the hint and leave. The man had the look of a cleric, and Raistlin had seen clerics enough to last him a lifetime.

"I want just a moment, young man," the stranger said, plucking at Raistlin's sleeve. "I know you have had a trying day. I want to thank you for bringing down the false god Belzor. My followers and I are eternally in your debt."

Raistlin grunted, pulled his arm away, and climbed into the wagon. The man hung on to the wagon's sides, peered over them.

"I am Hederick, the High Theocrat," he announced with a self-important air. "I represent a new religious order. We hope to gain a foothold here in Haven now that the rogues of Belzor have been driven away. We are known as the Seekers, for we seek the true gods."

"Then I hope very much that you find them, sir," Raistlin said.

"We are certain of it!" The man had missed the sarcasm. "Perhaps you'd be interested—"

Raistlin wasn't. The tents and bedrolls had been stacked in one corner of the wagon. Unfolding a blanket, he spread it out over the pile of tenting, lay down.

The cleric hung about, yammering about his god. Raistlin covered his head with the hood of his robe and, eventually, the cleric departed. Raistlin thought no more of him, soon forgot the man entirely.

Lying in the wagon, Raistlin tried to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flames, felt the heat, smelled the smoke, and he was wide awake, awake and shivering.

He recalled with terrifying clarity his feeling of helplessness. Resting his hand on the hilt of his new knife, he wrapped his fingers around the weapon, felt the blade, cold, sharp, reassuring. From now on, he would never be without it. His last measure of defense, even if it meant his life was his to take and not his enemy's.

His thoughts went from this knife to the other knife, the bloody knife he'd found lying beside the murdered woman. The knife he had recognized as belonging to Kitiara.

Raistlin sighed deeply, and at last he was able to close his eyes, relax into slumber.

Rosamun's children had taken their revenge.

The aspiring magus, Raistlin Majere, is hereby summoned to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth
to appear before the Conclave of Wizards on the seventh day of the seventh month at the seventh
minute of the seventh hour. At this time, in this place, you will be tested by your superiors for
inclusion into the ranks of those gifted by the three gods, Solinari, Lunitari, Nuitari.

—The Conclave of Wizards

That winter was one of the mildest Solace had known, with rain and fog in place of snow and frost.

The residents packed away their Yule decorations for another year, took down the pine boughs and the mistletoe, and congratulated themselves on having escaped the inconveniences of a hard winter.

People were already talking of an early spring when a terrifying and most unwelcome visitor came to Solace. The visitor was Plague, and accompanying him was his ghastly mate, Death.

No one was certain who invited this dread guest. The number of travelers had increased during the mild winter, any one of them might have been a carrier. Blame was also ascribed to the standing bogs around Crystalmir Lake, bogs that had not frozen as they should have during the winter. The symptoms were the same in all cases, beginning with a high fever and extreme lethargy, followed by headache, vomiting, and diarrhea. The disease ran its course in a week or two; the strong and healthy survived it. The very young, the very old, or those in weak health did not.