Dragonlance Part 4
Caramon left work with Choal Steelanvil later than usual this night. Because the Dwarf was a caring fellow, he decided to sit down with Caramon and give the young man a talking to.
Choal bowed his final customers of the day out of his shop, closing and bolting the door behind them. The smithy heaved a huge sigh and hung a neatly written "closed" sign on the front window next to the door. With a great groan, Choal lowered himself into an old armchair the Dwarf himself, who was capable of woodcraft as well as metalcraft, as most dwarves were, had fashioned. Caramon stood waiting, his open honest face carrying an ever innocent smile. He was waiting for Choal to dismiss him to the tavern.
"Caramon," the Dwarf said, his searching eyes roving aver the warrior's face, "You should stop treating your brother as though her were a helpless dame."
The big man had not expected this comment, and it sent him reeling into an armchair opposite Choal. Dwarves were extremely blunt at times, and this was a perfect example of the . . . "no play" views that they held. Caramon was the Dwarf's friend and Choal left that open honesty was the best path to take on guiding the warrior.
"I don't know what your t-talking about," Caramon said with a stutter although he was regaining his senses. But when the warrior said it, he looked down at his feet and scratched the back of his head. The friendly giant had always been a terrible liar and wasn't looking much better this time.
Choal thanked Reorx that his long beard hid his smile. "I know this city and its people better than you can imagine," the Dwarf replied, "and I know that you've been having townspeople, patrons of the Red Raven oddly enough, watch your brother every Friday night as he makes his way to the tavern.
Caramon twitched, clearly disturbed by the Dwarf's accusations, "H-how did -"
"I know?" the dwarf said, finishing Caramon's sentence with a grim chuckle. "As I said, I know the townspeople nearly as well as the ever-popular Caramon Majere, I'd dare say, and they were quick to tell me of your "strange" request." Choal sighed as he shook his head, "your brother may not be strong physically, but I can tell he's strong and other ways, greater ways perhaps! I know you two are gran mercenaries and are looking to become grander yet, and I reckon that one of those days, when your out in the field, strength and body won't be enough to save you, and that's when your brother will come in and save the day."
"I know he's good at magic, and the smartest person that's out there . . . but I don't wanna see him get hurt," the gentle giant responded with a said sigh.
"I know, lad, and I reckon he feels the same, but he'd never limit you! So let him be, let him prove himself to you, lad," Choal finished in a soft voice.
The dwarf had broken through and the warrior gave in, a single tear falling from his eyelash, rolling down his cheek, and splashing to the ground in its own freeing finality. "Your right, Choal," Caramon
breathed, "I'll tell him tonight and apologize at that. Thank you for talking to me and making me see clearly, my friend," Caramon finished, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Aye, lad," Choal replied gently, "and I'm glad to be able to talk to someone." The dwarf rose with a grown, ending the conversation. He stomped to his heavy oaken door and threw it open, grabbing a cloak from the convenient stand in the foyer. "Coming?" he called in mock impatience to the befuddled Caramon, "We'll miss the freshest batches of ale, you lout."
"You're coming to the Red Raven with me?" asked the dumbstruck giant. Caramon knew well that the dwarf often frequented the tavern, but had never seen Choal do so on a Friday, the smithy's most tiring, full day of work.
"Well of course, lad, after all, I have to keep an eye on you," the steelsmith said with a mischievous glint in his eye, "What if something happened to you along the way?" And with that, the Dwarf was out the door, Caramon following closely, closing the door behind them.
Raistlin nodded as the scholar from Palanthas, who roamed all of Ansalon, settling down at different points for a few weeks and moving on to some other place, spoke. The young mage had arrived at the tavern, determined to find out more information about imps. Raistlin had come to the scholar, hoping that somewhere along the journeyman's travels; he had crossed paths with an imp – had had, or at least close enough to it.
". . . and so the imp's 'soul' marble is a revealed after death! I believe that during the course of my research on the imp, I came across a passage written by a mage experimenting with the demonic creatures. It was a journal of sorts, really," the scholar named Henry said, speaking rapidly and sagely. Henry lowered his mug of ale and stood up, beginning to pace around the table and a bemused Raistlin. "Well, the magus said that the marble's color was linked to the preferred color of the master himself! The Magus noted that his couch as dark forest green, along with his curtains, shoes, suit, and quite suitably, his trees! This was after of course, that the mage realized that his imp's soul marble was the very same color. Really quite fascinating, isn't it?"
Raistlin, dazed by the eccentric man's enthusiasm, nodded. The young mage processed the information before shaking his head to clear the daze, "So the imp is definitely linked to its master. But does this link reach as far as the soul? Are their souls connected?" The golden-skinned man inquired thoughtfully.
"One might infer such a suggestion from this information, but one with my intelligence could go as far as saying that master and servant's souls are linked with certainty!" Henry stated, his voice carrying a proud conviction. The middle aged scholar stopped his pacing, looking a bit peaky, "Ah! Who needs spirits to feel happy when such a pleasing euphoria can be achieved through the infallible currents of knowledge, without the unpleasant side effects, of course!"
"I don't know," said Raistlin with a superior sniff, "knowledge has ever only been my spirit . . . my soul in fact. And with that knowledge comes the power which my soul ever-craves. Power which I am sure our magus felt when making these discoveries of demons from beyond, answering questions that none had answered before," Raistlin continued, his voice unusually strong and eager. "Power that you felt learning of this from your own studious efforts, whether it be on past literature or not. Power I ask you to deliver to me!"
Raistlin had indeed devoted his life to learning, and as the young man reasoned, one goes with the other, to magic. Ever since he and his brother were children, Raistlin had been very solitary, staying indoors and studying while his strong brother played war with the other kids like Sturm Brightblade, 'knight' of Solamnia. They all despised the mage, regarded him with disdain for his secretive nature, his snide sarcastic remarks, his cool calculated control of language used against them. However, while the children have have wished to "teach the sly one a lesson," none dared to follow through lest they find themselves meeting the mighty fist of Caramon Majere – head on.
Raistlin had always considered his brother's defense a fitting gesture – though he was sure it was for selfish and demeaning reasons on the part of his buffoon brother. Caramon had always overshadowed the weak Raistlin, and what better way to prove his "loyalty," his "bravery," and his "strength," than by fighting the weak and helpless Raistlin's battle's for him.
But thinking back to Joe Farnish and the stinging nettle, the mage had gotten back his foes soundly, with the use of his brain. Yes, knowledge was power; brawn was simply an "appealing," attribute that could grant brute force.
The mage shook himself from his reverie, his lips curled into a sneer. "So, tell me, what did this magus discover?" Raistlin asked the scholar, straightening his face, giving himself a more "pleasing mien.
"Well," Henry said, keeping the incredulity out of his voice, "the magi had his assistant kill the imp and bring to him the marble." The scholar had rose from his seat again, pacing back and forth in front of the impatient mage, "he was able to reach out with his soul and 'revive' the imp . . . or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he restored or recreated the creation."
"Could he call it to him, the magus I mean, if the marble were far away?" Raistlin asked, licking his lips steadily.
The scholar though back to his studies, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "the magus found he could summon the imp itself to him, but not the marble. Nor could he restore the imps unless it was with the magus, physically." Henry sat down once again, crossing his legs, his white robes with green trimming shifting casually with the movement.
Raistlin had not reached his most important questions, "Could the master locate the marble using the link?" For if he could, Raistlin realized that he and Caramon might have an adventure of their own . . . finally, yes they had adventures in the Mad Baron's army, but never by themselves. This was the young mage's chance to make himself a figure within the Tower of High Sorcery. He had overthrown one
renegade wizardess, but she had locked power, this new magus would be far more worthy of attention from the council.
"The magus noted that he could indeed located both the imp and the marble through that connection. Indeed, the magus could find his servant's murderer wherever the perpetrator hid!" Henry answered, sipping his ale, regarding the mage with a curious stare.
"Therefore an opposing magus could locate the master of the marble by creating a connection of his own with it?" Raistlin inquired, eagerness blatantly revealed. Were that possible, Raistlin could strike first, if not meet this adversary midway. Either way, the young mage would not be struck preeminently.
Raistlin coughed violently and quickly grabbed his handkerchief and wiped his blood tinged lips.
Henry leaned forward, alarmed, "Raistlin!" he said, his excited voice saturated with worry as Raistlin's coughing attack continued, "is their anything I can get you?"
The mage shook his head violently, glancing about in rage as the other patrons of the Red Raven took interest in the situation. "Continue! I am fine!" Raistlin managed to hiss vehemently.
Henry looked a bit affronted, but seeing his friend's attack subsiding, continued and answered Raistlin's question, "well that idea – that someone could located another through their imp – is preposterous!" The scholar settled down his mug of ale and rose once more, "Think young mage!" He said much to Raistlin's disdain, "were that possible, imps would be more of a hindrance than its value is worth. Imps are an easy prey for anything above a novice mage; however they take a high lever Magus to summon, making them the perfect surveillance as once caught, they are useless to the captor, a harm even! Why would a high order magus summon a weak creature that would provide his enemy with an insolvable way to identify the magus? For this reason and many other reasons, no, you may not locate a mage through his imp or its marble. In fact, most mages have very few material items that indicate their favorite color for this reason."
Raistlin's head drooped as he listened to the now perspiring scholar. He had been so close! How foolish of him to not recognize that this could never be so simple. The magus who had attacked Raistlin was powerful and clever. But it so clever, why send so weak a creature to slay him? Before Raistlin could ponder this, Henry turned inquisitive eyes toward the young mage.
"Why, Raistlin, did you need to know all of this information . . . besides the need to saturate yourself with all powerful knowledge?" The scholar added with a wry smile. Henry had taken back his seat and was now sitting, legs crossed, staring sagely at the young man.
Raistlin stared back at the sagacious scholar, before responding, "I am a mage . . . knowledge satiates my hunger enough, but if it is knowledge of magic, I must admit, I adhere to greediness."
Henry stared at the mage for a few more moments, and with a sigh, nodded his head, "very well," the scholar said, his tone only slightly disbelieving, "but remember, my hungry young friend, danger is not
pleasant. It is dangerous! Go looking for an adventure and chances are you'll be looking for danger. Keep this in mind: honor, courage, and wealth in our society are nearly always accompanied by peril."
Henry was fond of the young mage and any thought of Raistlin placing himself in danger worried the scholar. The robed man had always found himself a lover of books and artifacts and other means of learning, but not a lover of people. His wife, Dara, had accepted his love and became the only person whom tolerated it. However, in time, Henry's love became something more – he grew passionately obsessive. It was not enough to study the night and morning away, or to travel across town for a few days every so often. The scholar felt the need to travel; across all of Ansalon, all of Krynn!
Dara left Henry to his 'fantasies' as she called his passions, and told him, "find yourself, my love, during these adventures! Find yourself and life's true meaning and then come back to me with your priorities in order. And, Henry, if you are unable to do so . . . do not return."
And so Henry was free to adventure and "inherit" more information than any man could claim." The scholar traveled, far and wide for years on end, never hearing from or sending word to Dara – she had truly meant her words. At first . . . or for a few years, Henry was perfectly content, only a small feeling of guilt and sadness invaded his mind, and he managed to stomp them down to the bottom of his mind, and pile lots of knowledge on top. After some time, the scholar began to feel less passionate about his travels . . . his guilt and sadness began to uproot and invade his mind. It was a winning battle for those feelings.
Sitting there with Raistlin, Henry was feeling more and more dethatched from reality, from life. The closer he grew to Raistlin, the more that the scholar realized his loneliness, his resentment towards his decisions – towards what he had made his reality. Knowledge was power, when used the right ways. Henry had made Knowledge a two-pronged bridge – one way leading to wealth, love, and possibly glower, and another way leading to aloneness, cold, desperation in learning, and fruitless perseverance into the unknown. The tired man had taken the latter route, and it was now coming back to haunt him that he had done so.
"I'm sorry," the mage breathed, pity in his eyes. Would have the sarcastic man said this to someone closer to him, they might have been astonished at such a display of pitiful emotion, however Henry, not quite knowing better simply stared at Raistlin, and for quite a different reason.
"You're sorry?" The scholar said confusedly, brushing his hair back with his hand.
"You were murmuring a bit of your life to me," Raistlin responded softly, "perhaps not intentionally, sometimes when people are in deep thought, their thoughts become spoken unconsciously. However, I understand your pain, and acknowledge it."
"Th-thank you," Henry breathed, still astonished that so much of his private affairs had managed to slip from him, such lack of control! However, not that the frustrated man released his thoughts and feelings, he found that it felt good to have them out in the open, to someone who he considered more than trustworthy. "I'm actually happy to have told you," Henry said, chuckling nervously, "knowledge is power indeed! It corrupted me and lead me down the wrong path, Raistlin, and of course I love knowledge and
the act of acquiring knowledge, yet if I could change what I'd done, I would do so in an instant. I would be content learning through more local channels."
Raistlin, who seemed to be in deep thought was about to answer when the door was pounded open. The mage rolled his eyes, pulling his hood over his face. It was Caramon, Raistlin need not look to know it, the way the big man had thrust open the door with his overbearing stature.
And suddenly it came back to Raistlin; his brother had set the mage up, having random patrons of the Red Raven watch Raistlin's every step! The fire flashed in Raistlin's eyes as he sat waiting for Caramon to make his way over to his and Henry's table . . .