Margaret Weis - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage

Clutching his bundle, Raistlin entered a small building located near the compound, where men and women were hauling wood and stirring the contents of the vats with big, wooden paddles. A clerk on a stool was writing figures in a large book. Another man sat on another stool, studying long lists. Neither took any notice of Raistlin.

Raistlin waited a moment; then he coughed, causing the man looking over the lists to raise his eyes. Seeing Raistlin waiting in the entrance, the man left his stool and came over to inquire how he might serve one of the honored Aesthetics.

"I have some cloth to be dyed," said Raistlin, and he brought forth the red robes.

He kept his hood over his face, but he could not very well hide his hands. Fortunately the building was shadowy, and Raistlin hoped the man would not notice his gold-colored skin.

The dyer examined the color, running his hands over the cloth. "A nice wool," he pronounced. "Not fine, mind you, but good and serviceable. It should take the dye well. What color would you like, Revered Sir?"

Raistlin was about to reply when he was interrupted by a fit of coughing so severe that he staggered and fell back against the doorframe. He missed his brother's strong arm, which had always been there to support him.

The dyer eyed Raistlin and backed up slightly in alarm. "Not catching, is it, sir?"

"Black," Raistlin gasped, ignoring the question.

"I am sorry, what did you say?" asked the dyer. "It's hard to hear with all that jabbering."

He gestured to the compound behind him, where women engaged in dunking the cloth in the kettles were yelling back and forth or exchanging barbed comments with the men who stoked the fires.

"Black," Raistlin said, raising his voice. He generally spoke softly. Talking irritated his throat.

The dyer raised an eyebrow. Aesthetics who served Astinus in the Great Library wore robes of gray.

"It is not for me," Raistlin added. "I am acting for a friend."

"I see," said the dyer. He cast Raistlin a quizzical glance, which Raistlin, overtaken by another fit of coughing, did not notice.

"We have three types of black dye," stated the dyer. "Our cheapest grade uses chromium, alum, and red argol, logwood and barwood. This produces a good black, though not very durable. The color will fade with washing. The next grade dye utilizes camwood and copperas and logwood. This grade is better than the first I named, though the black can turn slightly green over a long period of time. The best grade is done with indigo and camwood. This provides a deep, rich black that will not fade no matter how many times the cloth is washed. The latter is, of course, the most expensive."

"How much?" Raistlin asked.

The dyer named the price, and Raistlin winced. It would considerably diminish the number of coins in the small leather pouch he had hidden in a conjured cubbyhole in the monk's cell he was occupying in the Great Library. He should settle for the less costly dye. But then he thought of appearing before the wealthy, powerful Black Robes of Neraka, and he cringed as he imagined walking among them in black robes that were not black but "slightly green."

"The indigo," he stated, and he handed over his red robes.

"Very good, Revered Sir," said the dyer. "May I have your name?"

"Bertrem," Raistlin replied with a smile that he kept hidden in the shadow of the cowl. Bertrem was the name of Astinus's long-suffering and harried chief assistant.

The dyer made a note.

"When may I return for these?" Raistlin asked. "I am-that is, my friend is in a hurry."

"Day after tomorrow," said the dyer.

"Not sooner?" Raistlin asked, disappointed.

The dyer shook his head. "Not unless your friend wants to walk the streets dripping black dye."

Raistlin gave a curt nod and took his leave. The moment Raistlin's back was turned, the dyer spoke a word to his assistant then hurried out of the building. Raistlin saw the man hastening down the street, but exhausted from the long walk and half suffocated by the choking fumes, he paid no heed.

The Great Library was located in the Old City. The hour being High Watch, when shops normally closed for lunch, more people thronged the streets. The noise was appalling, dinning in Raistlin's ears. The long walk had taxed Raistlin's strength to such an extent that he was forced to stop frequently to rest, and when he finally came in sight of the library's marble columns and imposing portico, he was so weak that he feared he could not make it across the street without collapsing.

Raistlin sank down on a stone bench not far from the Great Library. Winter's long night was drawing to a close. The dawn of spring was near. The bright sun was warm. Raistlin closed his eyes. His head slumped forward onto his chest. He dozed in the sun.

He was back on board the ship, holding the dragon orb and facing his brother and Tanis and the rest of his friends…

"… using my magic. And the magic of the dragon orb. It is quite simple, though probably beyond your weak minds. I now have the power to harness the energy of my corporeal body and the energy of my spirit into one. I will become pure energy-light, if you want to think of it that way. And becoming light, I can travel through the heavens like the rays of the sun, returning to this physical world whenever and wherever I choose."

"Can the orb do this for all of us?" Tanis asked.

"I will not chance it. I know I can escape. The others are not my concern. You led them into this blood-red death, half-elf. You get them out"

"You won't harm your brother. Caramon, stop him!"

"Tell him, Caramon. The last Test in the Tower of High Sorcery was against myself. And I failed. I killed him. I killed my brother…"

"Aha! I thought I'd find you here, you doorknob of a kender!"

Raistlin stirred uneasily in his sleep.

That is Flint's voice and that is all wrong, Raistlin thought. Flint isn't here. I haven't seen Flint in a long time, not for months, not since the fall of Tarsis. Raistlin sank back into the dream.

"Don't try to stop me, Tanis. I killed Caramon once, you see. Or rather, it was an illusion meant to teach me to fight against the darkness within. But they were too late. I had already given myself to the darkness."

"I tell you, I saw him!"

Raistlin woke with a start. He knew that voice as well.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot stood quite close to him. Raistlin had only to rise up from the bench and walk a few paces and he could reach out his hand and touch him. Flint Fireforge was standing beside the kender, and though they both had their backs to Raistlin, he could picture the exasperated look on the old dwarf's face as he tried arguing with a kender. Raistlin had seen the quivering beard and flushed cheeks often enough.

It can't be! Raistlin told himself, shaken. Tasslehoff was in my mind, and now I have conjured him up whole.

But just to be safe, Raistlin pulled down the cowl of the gray robe, making sure it covered his face, and he thrust his gold-skinned hands inside the sleeves of his robes.

The kender looked like Tas from the back, but then all kender looked alike either from the front or the back: short in stature; dressed in the brightest clothing they could find; their long hair done up in outlandish topknots; their small, slender bodies festooned in pouches. The dwarf looked the same as any dwarf, short and stocky, clad in armor, wearing a helm decorated with horsehair… or the mane of a griffon.

"I saw Raistlin, I tell you!" the kender was saying insistently. He pointed to the Great Library. "He was lying on those very stairs. The monks were all gathered around him. That staff of his-the Staff of Maggots-"

"Magius," the dwarf muttered.

"-was on the stairs beside him."

"So what if it was Raistlin?" the dwarf demanded.