Raistlin grabbed his staff and quickly stood up, knocking over a bench.
“Barroom brawl?” Earwig’s head jerked up. He blinked sleepily.
“Hush,” said Caramon.
“What’s Raistlin doing?” whispered the kender.
“I don’t know,” Caramon shot back. “But when he’s like this, you better leave him alone.”
What have I seen? What could it be? Do I even really see it? The mage moved to the south wall of the large eating hall. He looked out the back window and stared up into the sky. The glow appeared on the soft green grass lit silver and red in the light of the two moons. Raistlin kept his eyes open so long that they began to tear. The line grew brighter.
Returning to the table, Raistlin thrust his fingers into his glass of wine and wiped them across his eyes, the alcohol making them water again. The line became clear to his blurred vision — a band of power leading north. Raistlin faced the north window and saw that the stream flowed from the floor, through the wall, and out into the grass — a steady flowing river of white light. The mage sat down heavily on his bench.
“Hey, Raistlin,” Earwig cried, jumping to his feet. “You’re crying!”
“Raist— ”
“Shut up, Caramon.”
Sweeping the staff over the kender’s head, causing Earwig to duck or be decapitated, the mage pointed downward.
“What do you see, kender?”
Earwig, startled by the question, followed the length of the staff with his large brown eyes. The pale blue orb at its top hovered inches from the floor.
“Uh, I see wood and a few dust bunnies. Isn’t that a funny name? Dust bunnies? I guess it’s because they look
Bnotrjens Majene
like little rabbits—”
“Look at me,” ordered the mage.
“Sure.” The kender looked up obediently.
Raistlin put his fingers in his glass and flicked wine straight into Earwig’s wide-open eyes.
“Ouch! Hey, what are you doing?” Earwig cried in pain. He rubbed his hands against his eyes, trying to clear them of the spirits.
“Now what do you see?” Raistlin asked again.
The kender, squinting, tears running down his cheeks, peered around blearily. “Oh, wow! The room’s gone all blurry. Everyone’s sort of swelled up! Thanks, Raistlin. This is fun!”
“I mean on the floor,” said Raistlin, exasperated.
“I can’t see the floor,” the kender said. “It’s nothing but a dark lump.”
Raistlin smiled.
“What is it, Raist?” asked Caramon, tensing, knowing by the expression on his brother’s face that something remarkable had occurred.
“Hey, Caramon, what do you see?” Earwig cried gleefully. Grabbing the glass, the kender tossed wine in the warrior’s face.
“A dead kender!” Caramon shouted, spluttering. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, collaring Earwig.
“Peace, my brother,” Raistlin said, holding up the palm of his right hand. Caramon let go of the kender, pushing him roughly into the seat.
“By the way,” the mage continued mildly, “what do you see, Caramon?”
“Not a damn thing!” the warrior muttered, wiping his streaming eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Nothing on the floor?”
DRAQONLANCE Pneluoes
“What’s this about the floor? You keep staring at it, Raist. It’s just a floor, all right?”
“Yes, just a floor. Caramon, go find that bartender. What’s His name . . . Yost.”
“Sure, Raist.” Caramon’s eyes lit up. “Do you want me to bring him back?”
“No, just ask him a question. Which direction is Mereklar from here?”
“Oh.” Caramon shrugged. “All right.”
“I’ll come with you,” offered Earwig, growing bored now that the stinging and burning had faded from his eyes.
The two left. Raistlin fell limply back into his seal. He felt drained, suddenly completely bereft of energy. The line was magic, visible to his eyes only. But what did it mean? Why was it there? And why this tiny, icy sliver of fear? . . .
Caramon found Yost and the bottle of dwarven spirits. Earwig watched and listened to them for a while but soon grew restless. He didn’t want to go back into the eating room. He’d been there already.
“I guess I’ll go out for a walk,” he said to Caramon.
“Uh, sure, Earwax. Go ahead.” The big warrior nodded. His voice sounded fuzzy.