"What", Tanis Half-Elven asked, "in the name of the Gods happened, Caramon?"
"I don't know, Tanis.", the big man said miserably. "We were out camping. He was...well, as fine as I ever hope him to be and then...it was all so sudden."
The young mage lay pale and unconscious in the house of Waylan the Magician. As soon as they heard what had happened, the twins' friends had rallied around them. Flint and Sturm stood nearby Caramon with Tanis, while Tasslehoff helped Waylan's young daughter Tika at the stricken man's bedside.
"Do you know what it is, Waylan?"
Their amiable host regarded them sadly. "I'm not a real mage, Tanis - just a worker of parlor tricks. You know that. This is far beyond me. I can say this much - this is no ordinary illness. It came on too fast, and it obviously isn't the plague. I have seen it before. Our young friend here has antagonized the wrong people."
"Black Robes" Tanis muttered. Or someone in league with them. Raistlin had been making quite a career out of gleefully exposing charlatans - the dangerous kind. There was little chance of finding the culprit all things considered.
"You mean, someone cast a spell on Raist?" Caramon asked.
"I fear the worst." Waylan answered gently.
"What do we do?" Tanis asked.
"This is not within the sphere of the Clerics. I would counsel you to race him to the White Robes, for they are the only ones who could check such a vicious curse. But I fear there is no time for that. Unless..."
"What?" Caramon asked, his face lighting with hope.
"It is not common," Waylan said cautiously, "But it has been done. Those races born within magic - Dwarves, Kender and Gnomes - have some resistance to such curses. It is dangerous - but not impossible - for them to draw the curse from a victim through a stone of amber, especially if they're young and strong."
Waylan gave a sideways glance toward the sickbed. Tasslehoff, though usually completely exasperating, could be magnificent in a crisis when he wanted to be. He was now singing softly in Kenderspeak to the mage, his small hand on Raistlin's forehead.
"No." Flint said flatly. "Absolutely not."
"Flint..."
"And what if it doesn't work?"
"It's an option, Flint." Tanis answered. "He has to be asked."
Flint promptly stormed outside. Waylan, with Caramon, walked towards the sickroom as Tasslehoff looked up expectantly.
"I'll come out and say it, Tanis." Sturm said. "He's not worth it."
Tanis sighed. Gods help them, the truth was that none of them really liked the mage, except perhaps for the Kender.
"Can you go in there and tell Caramon that?"
"Can you come out here and tell him" Sturm replied, nodding towards Flint, "that something went wrong?"
They sat in silence.
"I wish you would stop sulking." Tas nudged Flint. "It's really a mood spoiler."
"I'm not sulking." the Dwarf muttered.
"Are too."
"Am...by Reorx's beard, I have better things to do than argue with a doorknob of a Kender!" Flint exclaimed. "Let me be and go get yourself killed!"
Tas remained unfazed. In spite of the Dwarf's words, he fooled no one. His worry was written all over his old face.
"Flint, look at me" Tas said, turning the Dwarf's face towards him. "I have to do this. For both of them. I can't turn my back on them, I just can't. Just think good thoughts. Besides," he added with a crooked smile, "You don't think I'm that easy to get rid of, do you?"
"No," Flint muttered. "I suppose not."
The Kender looked at him with an odd expression, and then impulsively hugged the startled Dwarf.
"I won't leave yet, Flint. I promise. Now look, here comes Waylan."
"I don't know, Tanis.", the big man said miserably. "We were out camping. He was...well, as fine as I ever hope him to be and then...it was all so sudden."
The young mage lay pale and unconscious in the house of Waylan the Magician. As soon as they heard what had happened, the twins' friends had rallied around them. Flint and Sturm stood nearby Caramon with Tanis, while Tasslehoff helped Waylan's young daughter Tika at the stricken man's bedside.
"Do you know what it is, Waylan?"
Their amiable host regarded them sadly. "I'm not a real mage, Tanis - just a worker of parlor tricks. You know that. This is far beyond me. I can say this much - this is no ordinary illness. It came on too fast, and it obviously isn't the plague. I have seen it before. Our young friend here has antagonized the wrong people."
"Black Robes" Tanis muttered. Or someone in league with them. Raistlin had been making quite a career out of gleefully exposing charlatans - the dangerous kind. There was little chance of finding the culprit all things considered.
"You mean, someone cast a spell on Raist?" Caramon asked.
"I fear the worst." Waylan answered gently.
"What do we do?" Tanis asked.
"This is not within the sphere of the Clerics. I would counsel you to race him to the White Robes, for they are the only ones who could check such a vicious curse. But I fear there is no time for that. Unless..."
"What?" Caramon asked, his face lighting with hope.
"It is not common," Waylan said cautiously, "But it has been done. Those races born within magic - Dwarves, Kender and Gnomes - have some resistance to such curses. It is dangerous - but not impossible - for them to draw the curse from a victim through a stone of amber, especially if they're young and strong."
Waylan gave a sideways glance toward the sickbed. Tasslehoff, though usually completely exasperating, could be magnificent in a crisis when he wanted to be. He was now singing softly in Kenderspeak to the mage, his small hand on Raistlin's forehead.
"No." Flint said flatly. "Absolutely not."
"Flint..."
"And what if it doesn't work?"
"It's an option, Flint." Tanis answered. "He has to be asked."
Flint promptly stormed outside. Waylan, with Caramon, walked towards the sickroom as Tasslehoff looked up expectantly.
"I'll come out and say it, Tanis." Sturm said. "He's not worth it."
Tanis sighed. Gods help them, the truth was that none of them really liked the mage, except perhaps for the Kender.
"Can you go in there and tell Caramon that?"
"Can you come out here and tell him" Sturm replied, nodding towards Flint, "that something went wrong?"
They sat in silence.
"I wish you would stop sulking." Tas nudged Flint. "It's really a mood spoiler."
"I'm not sulking." the Dwarf muttered.
"Are too."
"Am...by Reorx's beard, I have better things to do than argue with a doorknob of a Kender!" Flint exclaimed. "Let me be and go get yourself killed!"
Tas remained unfazed. In spite of the Dwarf's words, he fooled no one. His worry was written all over his old face.
"Flint, look at me" Tas said, turning the Dwarf's face towards him. "I have to do this. For both of them. I can't turn my back on them, I just can't. Just think good thoughts. Besides," he added with a crooked smile, "You don't think I'm that easy to get rid of, do you?"
"No," Flint muttered. "I suppose not."
The Kender looked at him with an odd expression, and then impulsively hugged the startled Dwarf.
"I won't leave yet, Flint. I promise. Now look, here comes Waylan."