ous to me that Raistlin simply charmed this – this creature” –
Par-Salian spoke with disgust – “to use her and -”
“Me no creature!”
Bupu lifted her tear-stained, mud-streaked face from the
floor, her hair frizzed up like an angry cat’s. Glaring at Par-
Salian, she stood up and started forward, tripped over the bag
she carried, and sprawled flat on the floor. Undaunted, the
gully dwarf picked herself up and faced Par-Salian.
“Me know nothing ’bout big, powerful wizards.” Bupu
waved a grubby hand. “Me know nothing ’bout no charm
spell. Me know magic is in this” – she scrabbled around in the
bag, then drew forth the dead rat and waved it in Par-Salian’s
direction – “and me know that man you talk ’bout here is nice
man. Him nice to me.” Clutching the dead rat to her chest,
Bupu stared tearfully at Par-Salian. “The others – the big man,
the kender – they laugh at Bupu. They look at me like me some
sort of bug.”
Bupu rubbed her eyes. There was a lump in Tas’s throat, and
he felt lower than a bug himself.
Bupu continued, speaking softly. “Me know how me look.”
Her filthy hands tried in vain to smooth her dress, leaving
streaks of dirt down it. “Me know me not pretty, like lady lying
there.” The gully dwarf snuffled, but then she wiped her hand
across her nose and – raising her head – looked at Par-Salian
defiantly. “But him not call me ‘creature!’ Him call me ‘little
one.’ Little one,” she repeated.
For a moment, she was quiet, remembering. Then she
heaved a gusty sigh. “I-I want to stay with him. But him tell me,
‘no,’ Him say he must walk roads that be dark. Him tell me, he
want me to be safe. Him lay his hand on my head” – Bupu
bowed her head, as if in memory – “and I feel warm inside.
Then him tell me, ‘Farewell, Bupu.’ Him call me ‘little one.’ ”
Looking up, Bupu glanced around at the semi-circle. “Him
never laugh at me,” she said, choking. “Never!” She began to
cry.
The only sounds in the room, for a moment, were the gully
dwarf’s sobs. Caramon put his hands over his face, overcome.
Tas drew a shuddering breath and fished around for a handker-
chief. After a few moments, Par-Salian rose from his stone
chair and came to stand in front of the gully dwarf, who was
regarding him with suspicion and hiccuping at the same time.
The great mage extended his hand. “Forgive me, Bupu,” he
said gravely, “if I offended you. I must confess that I spoke
those cruel words on purpose, hoping to make you angry
enough to tell your story. For, only then, could we be certain of
the truth.” Par-Salian laid his hand on Bupu’s head, his face was
drawn and tired, but he appeared exultant. “Maybe we did not
fail, maybe he did learn some compassion,” he murmured.
Gently he stroked the gully dwarf’s rough hair. “No, Raistlin
would never laugh at you, little one. He knew, he remembered.
There were too many who had laughed at him.”
Tas couldn’t see through his tears, and he heard Caramon
weeping quietly beside him. The kender blew his nose on his
handkerchief, then went up to retrieve Bupu, who was blub-
bering into the hem of Par-Salian’s white robe.
“So this is the reason Lady Crysania made this journey?”
Par-Salian asked Tas as the kender came near. The mage
glanced at the still, white, cold form lying beneath the linen,
her eyes staring sightlessly into the shadowy darkness. “She
believes that she can rekindle the spark of goodness that we
tried to light and failed?”
“Yes,” Tas answered, suddenly uncomfortable beneath the
gaze of the mage’s penetrating blue eyes.
“And why does she want to attempt this?” Par-Salian per-
sisted.
Tas dragged Bupu to her feet and handed her his handker-
chief, trying to ignore the fact that she stared at it in wonder,
obviously having no idea what she was supposed to do with it.
She blew her nose on the hem of her dress.
“Uh, well, Tika said -” Tas stopped, flushing.