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the entire city? That you could take anything you wanted, Master Wizard?” She glanced at Raistlin alluringly.
He felt his body react to her presence and immediately angrily raised his defenses. “I am not a Master Wizard. I have not attained that high level,” he said with mocking humility. “Forgive me, I was only asking on principle. I am sorry if you feel offended,” he added, pulling the cowl of his red robes over his head.
The councillor stepped away from him. “Then you agree to our terms?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t say that at all. I will have to take time to consider,” the mage said from the depths of his robes.
“You will tell me tomorrow?” Shavas inquired, with a touch of impatience.
“Perhaps.” Raistlin turned back to the fire and was startled to feel Shavas moving again to stand near him. Gold mask in place, he asked harshly, “Is there something wrong. Councillor?”
“No,” she said, pulling back slightly and placing a hand over the necklace she wore at her throat. “It’s just that I’ve never been this close to a mage before.”
“You have no mystics in Mereklar?” Raistlin asked with a rise in his voice.
“Yes, that is correct. No mage has entered the city for a very long time.”
“And why is that, I wonder?”
“I don’t know.” Shavas shrugged white shoulders. After a moment’s consideration, she added, “There was a wizard who lived in the mountains. But I hear he was killed long ago by some . . . evil force.”
“Spooks,” said Raistlin, half-smiling.
“What?” The woman looked startled.
“Nothing, just some inanity of my brother’s. What kind of force killed him?”
“I’m not sure. It’s only a legend which began long be-
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fore I was born. What you said about ‘spooks,’ though. I have heard that he was killed by ghosts. Is that common among wizards?”
“That type of magic is not in the realm of my studies, Councillor. I am no necromancer.”
Shavas leaned forward slightly. “Have you ever considered becoming one?”
She was almost touching him. Raistlin stared at her. “Why, Councillor?” he asked softly. “Are you offering to teach me?”
The woman laughed merrily. “How droll you are! As if I could teach you anything! I know nothing of magic and magicians.”
Yes, my lady, that is what you claim, but why do you ask a question like that? And why do you keep a library filled with magical books if you can’t read them? the mage wondered, but he said nothing.
A moment of silence passed between councillor and magician. Raistlin looked slowly around the library. Shavas stood motionless, her head angled slightly back to observe the mage’s movements. The braid of her hair shone a rich reddish brown. No light from the fire reached her deep green eyes, but they glittered like emeralds.
“Where were you going before you decided to come to Mereklar?” she asked.
Raistlin ran his fingers along the volumes, reading some of their titles and the names of the authors who wrote them.
“You have an excellent collection of books. Councillor,” he said, finding a particularly interesting manuscript, History of Modern Philosophies.
“Thank you, but you still haven’t answered my question.”
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Raistlin turned to face his hostess, letting the book fall back into place. “My companions and I were on our way across New Sea on personal business.” His voice was cold, almost insulting.
“Now it is my turn to say that I am sorry if I have offended,” the councillor said, gliding back to her seat.
Raistlin took advantage of the opportunity to dip his finger slightly into the glass he had set on a nearby table. When he was sure the councillor was not looking at him, he drew his finger across his eyes, causing them to tear from the alcohol. The mage scanned the room quickly, staring up at the ceiling and to the walls.
The line—the stream of age and untold power—did not appear. Where is it? It must lead here from Southgate Street and cut through the house!
Raistlin moved to look out a window to the road that led from the gate, hoping he would find the line there, but the pane of glass was opaque,