(A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in so long, peeps. Thanks for stickin' with me. R&R PLZ… Well, that's all I have to say. Enjoy.)
Lady Crysania sat on a worn quilt underneath a huge oak, which stood straight and tall just outside the doors of the Temple. Sunlight filtered through the thick leaves, dancing merrily on her thick black hair. Her heart-shaped lips spoke words of comfort, healing, and blessing as she touched worshiper after worshiper with her soft, healing hands. Terren sat at her side, his steel gray eyes watching her reverently, lovingly. It was whispered among the worshipers who stood near the back of the line that the young elf was enamored of the lovely Lady Crysania, and it was just a matter of time before he asked her hand in marriage. Young girls giggled at the prospect, while the men shook their heads, muttering darkly about elves and their 'blasted perfection'.
This particular day, Crysania seemed eager to get her daily service over and done with. Her unseeing eyes seemed strangely preoccupied, though some put it off as they were no longer under her control. Every once in a while her hand would stray to the medallion around her neck, as if to assure it was still there.
At long last, the service was over, and she rose reverently to her feet, blessing each and every one of her wide-eyed followers with a raised hand and whispered words of prayer. The people departed, murmuring among themselves, taking about the wonderful things they had witnessed or heard. Crysania started off toward the Temple so suddenly that Terren had to jump to his feet and take off at a near run to catch up.
"Revered Daughter!" He grabbed her arm. "You should not run off without a guide like that! You could trip or fall or worse--!"
"Paladine guides me," she said, unperturbed, but she allowed him to lead her towards the temple.
"You seem rather distant, Lady." He shot her a concerned glance. "Is something bothering you?"
"No," she lied. "I am tired. That is all."
"Let me get the door. Don't move." Letting go of her arm, he jogged easily up the steps, reaching out to grab the handle.
At that moment, Senan materialized out of thin air, suspended about two feet above the elf's head.
"What the--"
"Waiii!"
Senan came tumbling down upon Terren, and the two landed at Crysania's feet in a tangle of arms, legs, and curses.
"What happened? Is that you, Senan?" Crysania knelt down, hands eagerly running over the girl's smooth face for recognition. Senan grasped her mentor's hands warmly.
"Yes, Revered Daughter. I am back."
"Thank Paladine!" Crysania embraced her servant. Then, pulling back, her smile faded into a frown. "What happened with Dalamar?"
"Before you explain, Senan," Terren's voice interrupted, muffled by the girl's white robes. "Would you mind getting off of me?"
"Oh! Forgive me, Terren." Giving the irritated elf's face a friendly slap, Senan hefted herself to her feet, reaching out a helping hand.
Terren ignored it, nimbly rolling into a standing position. He brushed himself off, eyeing the newly arrived young cleric suspiciously. "And where have you been that you come tumbling out of thin air?" he demanded.
"Nowhere in particular," she replied, giving him a supremely innocent look.
Before Terren could proclaim that he didn't believe her and demand the truth, Crysania grabbed Senan's arm. "Let us go to the sanctuary, my Daughter. We will discuss this there." The young cleric nodded and began to carefully lead her master up the steps of the Temple.
"Wait a minute!" Terren scampered up the steps and planted himself firmly in front of the two. "You're not going without me!"
"I'm afraid we are, my Son," Crysania said softly. "Please. Wait for me here."
Before he could protest, Crysania called upon Paladine to whisk them into the sanctuary, leaving the young elf to simmer in his own fury.
"So what did you learn?" Crysania asked eagerly, her milky eyes staring eerily into Senan's face.
"More than I think I needed to know," the girl muttered, shifting under the sightless gaze.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"Well, out with it! Please, tell me what the dream meant!" the Head of Church's voice pleaded with her servant, and her hands clenched and unclenched as if she would rip the information from the girls' very mind.
"Um, well…" Senan considered what she should tell her master and what she should keep hidden. "The part about Caramon Majere…that was true. Do you remember a dark wizard named Fist…Fisteetant…"
"Fistandantilus?" Crysania supplied, her face going several shades paler.
"Yes, that was it. He somehow used that red gem to fuse himself to Caramon. Within a week, Caramon will be completely under his spell, then he will…cease to exist. Fistandantilus will return to the world with Raistlin's great power and Caramon's great strength; unless…" she snapped her mouth shut, afraid she'd already said too much.
"Unless what?" the older cleric demanded, reaching out to take Senan's hands in a strong grip. "You know you can tell me anything. I must know!"
Senan was suddenly shamefully glad for her master's blindness, for through that darkness, she could not see the girl's face grow flushed; she could not see her eyes avert themselves in shame.
"They're…they're going to destroy the jewel…and thus release his hold on Caramon," she said haltingly, her mind working fast.
Crysania was silent for a time. Then, "You don't have to lie to me. The gem can only be destroyed by a wizard of great, great power. Please, Senan! You are like a daughter to me! For you to lie to me like this tears at my heart…"
"I cannot tell!" the girl burst out, tears slipping down her cheeks. In her mind, she could hear Raistlin forbidding her to tell Crysania. She could see his porcelain face with its golden tinge twisted with anguish…she could see the wall being dropped…
"Please, Senan." Crysania's voice was calmer now, but it held an icy edge. "If you will not tell me, I will have to resort to force."
The cleric blinked in astonishment. "W…what?"
"You heard me, dear. If you will not tell me the news of Raistlin, I will rip it from your lips."
Senan laughed nervously. "You…you're not serious…" But even as she spoke, she could tell from Crysania's dangerous expression that she was quite serious. Deadly serious. The girl swallowed hard. "How?" she whispered. "How will you do it, if I refuse to tell you?"
Crysania's lips were set in a grim line. Getting up, she felt her way to the doors of the sanctuary. "Terren!" she called, knowing the elf was just beyond the entrance. "You may enter."
The golden doors creaked open, and Terren stepped inside. He bowed, somewhat red in the face, thinking he was about to be scolded for following them. "Yes, Revered Daughter," he mumbled.
"I want you to use your truth-seek to probe Senan's mind. She hides information from me, information that is vital and of utmost importance."
His head snapped up in surprise. Few knew about his Silvanesti ability to sift through other beings' souls, and he could not recall ever telling the Head of Church of the terrible ability. He cleared his rapidly drying throat, wetting parched lips. "C-concerning what, my Lady?"
"Search for anything pertaining to Raistlin Majere."
The elf's expression hardened. "I see no purpose in doing so, my lady. Raistlin Majere is dead."
"So it would seem," Crysania muttered. "Please, Terren. Do as I say."
Shaking his head, he bowed once more in acquiesce. "As you wish."
Senan scrambled back against the alter. "N-no! Revered Daughter, why are you doing this? There is nothing you can
do--"
"I would like to be the judge of that," the cleric said grimly. "This information may very well affect the world."
Terren pointed a slender finger at the cowering girl.
"You do this only for love of Raistlin," Senan whispered brokenly, as Terren began to recite the words of the spell. "For him, you would do anything – even throw yourself into the depths of the Abyss."
"For love of Raistlin," Crysania repeated softly. "Yes, for him I would do anything. For him, so many would do so much…"
"Then it is about time he did something for the world, even if he himself refuses to admit it," Senan said to herself, just as she sank into the unconsciousness of the elven spell.
Terren closed his eyes and delved deep into her heart, his perfect lips mouthing the name 'Raistlin Majere' in a silent chant. After a few more minutes, he sat back on his haunches, his elven face paler than usual.
"What did you find?" Crysania asked eagerly, feeling her way up onto the alter platform. She cradled Senan in an apologetic embrace, though her face was turned toward Terren. The elf cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Raistlin Majere is back among the living," he said hoarsely, his gray eyes standing out with startling contrast to his increasingly white face. "Right now he travels to Solace to help his brother, Caramon, seeking to dispel Fistandantilus once and for all. It seems as if he will…disappear…the moment his task is completed, and he will return to the Abyss to await whatever torture the Queen has in store for him." He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his white robe. "He told Senan not to tell you for reasons that are unclear to me…"
"So he is alive," Crysania breathed. Her hand shook as she clutched the medallion around her neck.
"So it would seem," Terren muttered, silently cursing the truth seek for its never-failing accuracy.
"Oh, Paladine, thank you for this chance!" The Head of Church bowed her head reverently. "I will not fail you this time. I will redeem Raistlin from his shadowy grave and return him to your loving embrace! Terren, when Senan awakens, tell her that she is in charge until I return." Crysania stood up, her pretty face radiant with an inner light. "And also tell her…that I am sorry."
Terren lowered his head. "I will, Revered Daughter. But must you take this course of action? Raistlin Majere" he shuddered as he spoke the name – "would not have specifically requested your ignorance of this matter without reason. He is intelligent, albeit evil, and he would not say something like that unless it was in his best interest."
"I am going regardless of his intentions," Crysania said firmly. "Remember to tell her what I said." With a quick prayer to Paladine, the Head Cleric was gone in a flash of holy light. Terren picked up Senan in his strong arms, his eyes never leaving where his mentor had stood.
"If you could just let go of the past, my beloved Crysania," he murmured into the stillness. "Then I would be able to make you the happiest woman alive. Curse you to your Abyss, Raistlin Majere. Though you are gone, your hold on this world is still all too strong."
Chapter Eight: An Unfortunate Encounter.
Crysania appeared in the main marketplace of Solace. The market was actually on the ground below the vallenwoods, for it was easier for the caravans to make their deliveries someplace their horses could reach. Dwarves, a few elves, humans, and countless kender swarmed about the stands and shops. Knights of Solamnia lazily patrolled the area, stopping every once in a while for a quick chat or to drive some too-curious kender out of a shop. Crysania could hear their voices jumble in her head, and she reeled, wondering vaguely how she had missed her location – the Inn of the Last Home. She was about to try again when she felt two tiny arms suddenly wrap themselves around her legs. Startled, she instinctively whipped her head around.
"Who's there?" she cried.
"It's me, Tasslehoff Burrfoot!" came the shrill reply. "Don't you remember me? Hey, why are you looking over there? Oh yes, you're blind. Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that! I meant…uh…you smell like lime!"
Crysania smiled, feeling about until her soft hand rested on the kender's prized topknot. "Hello, Tas. Good to see you again."
"But you can't see me! Or can you?" The kender peered closer, and Crysania suppressed a giggle.
"Just an expression, my dear friend. I was just on my way to the Inn, actually--"
Tas's expression darkened. "The Inn's closed, actually," he said apologetically. "But I guess you haven't heard, have you? Caramon apparently collapsed a few days ago, and now he's all comatose and Tika won't stop crying and – say, could you help us? You're a cleric! Yeah, come on!" Tas dragged at her hand, trying to make her follow along behind him. She obliged, gratefully letting the little kender lead her through the maze of stands and shops.
"I've heard, as a matter of fact," Crysania told him, pulling her white hood low over her face to keep from being recognized. Much as she loved the people of Krynn, now was not the time to get mobbed by a horde of the sick, weary, or dying. "I came to see if there was anything I could do."
"Thanks be to Reorx," Tas said passionately, as he had heard his friend Flint do on many occasions. Thinking of the ornery old dwarf brought a tear to his eye, but he quickly blinked it away. He pulled Crysania to the side of the street to keep her from being hit by a passing cart. "Tika'll be so happy to see you."
The cleric squeezed his little hand thankfully. "Happy to come, Tas…happy to come."
The kender flushed with pleasure. So pleased was he that he decided to go seek out the owner of a particularly fancy purse that had found its way down his shirt front. "I'll only be a minute!" he called from about fifty paces away.
"Tas, wait!" Crysania cried after him, knowing full well that it would be no use. Unable to use her clerical powers in the middle of the busy street, she felt her way through the crowd and blundered into an alley. "By Paladine, where am I now?" she muttered to herself, groping around for something – anything – that she could use as a walking stick. As she felt along the ground, her hand came to rest upon velvety garments that covered a warm body. She blinked. "What the…"
The figure groaned and shifted under her touch. Then she heard it give a strangled gasp.
"Are you all right?" she asked, drawing her cowl back to let her silky black hair fall about her shoulders. "I am a cleric of Paladine, and if there's any way I can help you, please tell me." She frowned as the figure, whom she guessed was a man, made nothing but incoherent squeaks. "Here, let me try to heal you--"
"I am not ill!" the man rasped, pushing her hand away.
"Sir, I can hear it in your voice--"
"No! There is nothing you can do!" She heard the man heft himself painfully to his feet and try to stumble off down the alley. Concerned, she moved to follow him, only to be greeted by a loud crash as the man toppled over onto the pavement.
"You see?" Crysania said gently, kneeling beside him and placing her hand upon his forehead. His skin was strangely hot to the touch, and she worried that he might have a fever. "You have most certainly contracted some disease. You're burning up! Please, let me help you."
"I don't need your help, cleric," he snarled. But he did not push her hand away this time.
"Be calm," she crooned, brushing back his silky hair. Settling herself against the wall, she pulled his head into her lap. "Be still. You are safe in the arms of Paladine. In his name you will be healed."
"Paladine cares nothing for me, and he never will. My soul is too dark with crimes that go without reparation." He moved feebly in her arms, trying halfheartedly to break free of her embrace.
"Shhh…" Crysania pressed her lips to his forehead, and was surprised to feel him shudder beneath their touch. "Paladine is merciful and forgiving. He loves us all unconditionally, and I'm sure he will willingly accept your repentance."
"A curse on Paladine and all he stands for," the man muttered under his breath, hiding his words by burying his face in the folds of her robes. When she asked him to repeat himself, he simply shook his head.
"I returned the purse, Lady Crysania. Boy, lord Aragard was happy to get it back! I told him to be more careful with his valuables. One never knows when a thief might be about—hello, what's this?" Tas came skipping down the alley and squatted down next to the cleric, his bright eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"This man needed my help," Crysania explained. "I found him back here, and now I'm going to heal him." Her hand traveled to her medallion and a prayer formed on her lips, but the burning hand caught her wrist and held her firm.
"You cannot heal me. I am weak from travel, nothing more." The man looked up. When he saw Tas, his eyes went wide. Immediately he pulled the black hood over his head, hiding his face from view.
"You're certainly an interesting fellow," Tas said politely after having his hand smacked away from the velvet cowl, which he had unwittingly tried to remove. "You kind of remind me of my friend Raistlin." The man stiffened, but the kender didn't notice. "Of course, he's quite dead now. It's really a fascinating story. Would you care to hear it?" Without waiting for an answer, Tas launched happily into his tale. "Well, Raistlin had gone evil and he was trying to defeat the Dark Queen, which was stupid, but I guess that didn't really occur to him until it was too late. Anyway, Caramon had gone into the Abyss after Lady Crysania over there and he found his brother and--"
"I am familiar with that story, kender," the man interrupted, his delicate white hands clenched in irritation. "And it is not one of my favorites. So if you'll excuse me, I have to be going to the Inn of the Last--"
"Oh!" Tas exclaimed in delight. "We were just heading there ourselves! You can come with us."
"Why were you going there?" Crysania wondered, turning her sightless eyes upon him. "You must know that it is closed…?"
"I…I am an old friend of the family," he stammered, drawing his hood even lower over his face. "I came to…to voice my grievances to Lady Tika."
"Friend of the family, eh? What's your name?" Tas tried once again to remove the hood, and was pleasantly surprised when little bolts of static electricity temporarily numbed his fingertips.
"My name is…er…Denubis. Denubis Ishton." At the name, Crysania frowned as if trying to remember where she had heard it before. But, unable to put a face with the name, she shrugged and gave up.
"Don't recognize that name. I'm Tasslehoff Burrfoot, Hero of the Lance." The kender politely offered his small hand to shake.
Denubis did not take it. Green eyes glittered from the depths of the black hood. "Take me to the Inn," he ordered in a breathy voice.
"Gosh, you certainly do remind me a lot of my friend Raistlin," Tas remarked. "He was always impolite, rude, and sarcastic too! Not to mention the black robes--"
"The Inn!" the mage roared, making Crysania and Tas jump.
"Ok ok, Mr. Bossy," Tas grumbled. Taking the High Cleric gently by the hand, he led the two down the street and into the trees. Crysania reached out laced her fingers through the man's, smiling reverently as she gave it a squeeze, which was not returned. The man simply walked along in brooding silence, his green-eyed glare resting always on the cleric's unseeing face.
Noticing this unusual occurrence, Tas stopped to take a look for himself.
"Does she have something on her face?" the kender asked loudly, peering closer.
Denubis flushed. "No, there is nothing on her face, you dunderhead!"
"Then what are you staring at, if she doesn't have something on her – saaaay…" A mischievous grin split Tas's face nearly in two. "You like her, dontcha?"
Now it was Crysania's turn to go red. "T-Tas!" she protested.
"Given, the Lady is very beautiful, but I do not like her, as you imply," Denubis snarled. "Now take me to the Inn before I put a compass spell on you and make you fly there!"
Tas brightened. "Now that you mention it, I have this wonderful body compass that works wonders. See, all you have to do is stick your arms out like this--" The kender spread his arms wide. "Then you start spinning and the iron in your body will always point you north!" Tas spun around six times then dug in his heels to halt himself. His finger pointed due West. "Ah! See? There's north!"
"Most impressive," Denubis muttered, placing a heavy hand on the little imp's shoulder. "Now, for the last time – lead me to the Inn or I will not make you fly – I'll turn you into a rock!"
Tas considered. Though it would be quite fun to be a rock, it would get rather tiresome not being able to move all day long. "No, thanks," he declined politely. "I'd rather fly. It was awfully nice of you to offer, though."
Crysania suppressed a giggle. Denubis smacked his forehead.
"Then I will find it myself!" the mage growled. Shaking free of the cleric's grasp, he mounted the stairs that led to the upper levels of the vallenwoods.
"Wait!" Tas wailed, running up and attaching himself to the man's robed leg. "If I don't show you, you'll get lost!"
"Get off, you little parasite! The Inn is right up ahead! I can see it!"
"Oh you're right!" Tas smiled sheepishly and let go of his leg. "Imagine that."
"Tas?" Crysania was weaving through the crowed, hand outstretched. She bumped into about ten different people and almost knocked over a cart of fruit, for which she received a curse and a kick. She tumbled to the wooden walkway with a cry of pain.
"Blind beggar!" the fruit seller snarled, raising his foot to deliver another kick.
"Do not touch her." Denubis wound his way through the throngs of people, his soft voice carrying like thunder over the hubbub. Reaching Crysania, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet, pushing her protectively behind him.
"D…Denubis?" she ventured, clinging to his robes in fear. "Don't worry about it, let's just go--"
"Do you have the slightest idea of whom you just struck?" the mage went on, ignoring Crysania's pleas to move along.
The man snorted. "Some scurvy ol' beggar. Good for nuthin'."
Denubis regarded the man with an amused smirk. "This is Revered Daughter Crysania, Head Cleric of the Church of Paladine."
The vendor's face went pale. He immediately sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against the wooden walkway. "Forgive me, Revered Daughter!" he cried.
Crysania gave an exasperated sigh. "I did not want to be discovered," she whispered to Denubis, who simply folded his hands into the sleeves of his black robes. Placing her hand upon his head, Crysania bade the man to rise. "All is forgiven," she said softly. "Just take this as a lesson; treat others as if the next person who crossed your path could be a god."
"Y-yes'm," the vender mumbled, bobbing his head up and down. "I'll ne'er forget it. But may I ask why yer ladyship is travelin' with a black robed mage?" He peered closer, beady pig eyes looking the magic user over with disdain. " 'e wouldn't happen t'be Raistlin Majere, would'ee?"
"Of course not!" Crysania nearly shouted. "Raistlin Majere is…is dead."
"So we hope," the man said placidly. "G'day t'ya, Mistress." With one last hurried bow, the man hefted his cart and lumbered off down the walkway.
As soon as he was gone, people swarmed around Crysania, reaching out to touch her, begging her blessing, or just standing in awe. Crysania tried to worm her way through the crowd, only to find her way blocked by a living barrier.
"Please, good people, I am weary and I wish to go to the Inn of the Last Home. I am needed there, and--"
"She's come to heal Caramon Majere!"
"Finally we can be at peace!"
"Thanks to Paladine! Blessed Paladine!"
"Wonderful news, milady."
"Let us escort you, Revered Daughter!"
"Th…that's not necessary," Crysania said helplessly. "Really, I must go alone."
Denubis stepped in front of her. The milling crowd immediately hushed.
"Ast separalon jilak solationast!" Immediately people moved aside as if they had been shoved by some invisible hand, clearing a path right up to the steps of the Inn. Sensing the magic, Crysania grabbed the sleeve of his robe.
"What did you do?" she demanded frantically. "You didn't hurt them, did you?"
"No," he replied. "I simply moved them aside. Come, Revered Daughter. I will lead you to your destination." Twisting his arm so her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, he led her toward the Inn.
"Wow! That was amazing, Denubis!" Tas scampered up to join the two, but, to his delight, he was repelled and smashed against the trunk of a huge vallenwood. Giggling loudly, he drunkenly staggered to his feet. "Great trick!" he called after the mage, who pointedly ignored him. "Hehe…was seeing little birds part of the spell? Gee, I do hope so…"
Tika heard the commotion all the way from the Common Room of the Inn of the Last Home. She and Tanis had moved Caramon to one of the rooms of the Inn so they could look after him and their livelihood at the same time. Meanwhile, the whole group of companions had congregated in the common room to offer their condolences and support. Goldmoon and Riverwind, with their two daughters and son, were sitting by the fire listening to the Que-shu princess tell stories of the War of the Lance. Laurana was engaged in quiet conversation with her husband, and they both were casting wary glances toward the window as the hubbub became louder and louder. Finally, Tika couldn't take it anymore. She threw down the bar rag she had been using to wipe down the same mug for the last half hour and stalked over to the window.
"What in Paladine's good name is going on out there?" she wondered. Then her eyes went wide.
Seeing Tika's unusual reaction, Tanis frowned and went over to join her, gesturing for Laurana to stay put. "What is it, Tika?"
"A…a black robed mage…and Lady Crysania!" she breathed, pointing a shaking finger. "Tanis, you don't think it could be…"
"Raistlin? No," the half-elf assured her quickly. "Here, I'll go meet them outside and ask them a few questions, alright? Stay here." Giving her red curls a quick pat of reassurance, Tanis dashed out the door.
Tika hurried over to Laurana and grasped the elf's slender hands. Even after all these years since the war, she could still feel the calluses the sword had worn into the soft skin. "Laurana," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb Riverwind or Goldmoon. "I've got this really weird feeling about that mage out there. I know it can't be Raistlin, but somehow…"
"I know. I feel it too." Laurana frowned, a crease of worry marring her smooth brow. "Here, let's go to the window. Maybe we can learn something from the conversation."
The two women stole over to the window. Tika opened it a crack, and they both pressed their ear to the small slit.
"So what did you say your name was?" Tanis was asking the mage. He had taken Lady Crysania from the mage and bid her go on up to the Inn, which was no more than ten paces away. The cleric hesitated, then slowly mounted the steps to the door.
"I didn't," the dark robed mage said coolly. Glittering green eyes shone from the depths of his hood. "But if you must know, my name is Denubis Ishton, and I am from Palanthas." He gave a curt bow. "Now if you would step aside, I would like to pay a visit to Caramon Majere."
"I do not like to admit someone unless I can see their face," Tanis returned, not budging. Tika and Laurana held their breath. "And surely you must have heard that Caramon Majere is not well."
"I have heard. I have come to…see if there is anything I can do. His brother, though he was an arrogant fool, was still well respected among the Black Robes." Slowly he drew back the cowl, revealing a mass of shining black hair that framed a white, fine-boned face. Ashen lips the color of dried blood were pursed in annoyance as he regarded the half elf with glittering green eyes.
Tika and Laurana simultaneously let out a sigh of relief.
"He's definitely not Raistlin," said Laurana, managing a nervous laugh. "We were certainly foolish to harbor such ridiculous notions."
Tika nodded, pressing a finger to her lips. Crysania had just walked through the door, and Goldmoon had gone to meet her and lead her to the fire. The chieftain's daughter cast the women at the window a questioning look, but Tika dismissed it with a quick gesture for silence.
"Are you ill, sir?" Tanis asked, eyeing the mage's white complexion suspiciously. "You seem rather pale."
"I am not ill, Half-Elven. Now let me pass. Time grows short." Denubis pushed past the half elf without waiting for a reply, gliding up the steps with liquid grace.
"Wait…how did you know my name?" Tanis caught hold of the man's sleeve and almost pulled his hand back in alarm. The man's arm radiated with a strange sort of heat that was almost scalding to the touch.
The mage whipped his head around, his lip curling in disgust. "Come now. You are a Hero of the Lance. Everyone knows your name and description. I have seen at least fifteen paintings depicting your marvelous adventure."
Tanis let go, his face going red. "I…I suppose," he muttered into his beard.
Denubis turned back to the door and pushed it open, stepping across the threshold with rapid, even steps. Tanis followed, shutting the door behind him.
Laurana and Tika leapt away from the window. Crysania lifted her head and gazed sightlessly toward the door.
"Denubis?" she ventured.
"Yes, Revered Daughter. I am here." The Black Robe's gaze lingered on the High Cleric for a short moment, then he looked away. Suddenly his expression darkened as if he had suddenly seen a foreboding premonition. With a strangled cry, he whirled and advanced on Tika, who yelped and instinctively groped for a sword that wasn't there.
"Peace, Tika! For the love of Nuitari!" the mage growled, exasperated. However, a strain of what could have been worry crossed his face, setting the porcelain skin into creasing lines. "Tell me where you have put Caramon. I will see to him there."
"I…I'd rather let Lady Crysania take a look at him first, if you don't mind," Tika stated quietly. She glanced over to the fire, where the High Cleric was bombarding Goldmoon with eager questions about the occupants of the room. A thought struck her, and she looked back to the mage, brow furrowing. "How did you know I was Tika?"
Denubis rolled his eyes. "I will give you the same explanation I gave that fool of a half elf. You are a Hero of the Lance, are you not? Your name and face are well renowned."
"Tanis is not a fool," Laurana interrupted angrily, with an indignant toss of her honey-colored hair. "We have every right to be suspicious of a black robed mage. And if you are as familiar with the stories of the war as you seem, then you know the reason quite well."
"Even after his death, you all still cower in fear at his memory," the mage sneered. "Pathetic cowards."
"Not in fear," Tika murmured, "but in pity."
Eyes flaring wide, the mage reeled as if he had been struck with a morning star dipped in hot iron. "P…pity!" he raged. "How dare you! He was the most powerful mage to ever walk upon Krynn, and you say you pity him!"
"With power comes isolation," Goldmoon quoted an old Que-shu proverb, "and with isolation comes despair." Riverwind nodded in agreement. His little son, Wanderer, looked up at the mention of the familiar saying with a timid smile.
"You're all fools," Denubis spat, turning his back on the lot of them. "Stupid, good-hearted fools. I will find Caramon on my own." He strode toward the door leading to the customer's rooms of the Inn, only to have his way blocked by Tanis and Riverwind. "Stand aside!" he hissed, hand straying to his spell components.
"Not until we get the OK from Tika," Tanis said grimly.
Tika cast him a grateful look and hurried over to Crysania. "Revered Daughter, please go take a look at my husband," she pleaded. "There must be something you can do!"
"No," Crysania replied, sightless eyes turned inward. "There is nothing I can do. Let the mage proceed. Perhaps he can prepare the way for the one who will come soon after."
"The one who will…" Tika's face went pale. "Revered Daughter, you can't be serious…"
"Raistlin will come," Crysania said confidently. "He will free Caramon from that which binds him."
"Let him pass," Tika called to Tanis and Riverwind, who reluctantly stepped aside. With one last disgusted look, Denubis hurried past him and swept down the hall, disappearing into Caramon's room in a flurry of black robes.
A few minutes passed without interruption. Crysania listened closely, expectantly, while the others paced or sipped thirstlessly at a mug of ale.
"Where is he?" Crysania wondered aloud. "He should be here…"
"He's not coming," Goldmoon said suddenly, her hand clasping the medallion of Mishakal that hung around her neck.
"What? But he must!" Crysania gripped her own medallion. "The dream – what Senan witnessed--"
Goldmoon put cold, slender fingers over Crysania's lips. Her blue eyes were wide and unblinking, and beads of sweat stood out on her furrowed brow.
"He will not come," she whispered hoarsely, "because he is already here."