“I know. I’m sorry,” Tasslehoff said, sitting hunched in mis-
ery on the ground. “I made a mess of things. I generally do,” he
continued woefully. “Ask anyone. I’ve often been told I drive
people crazy – but this is the first time I ever did it for real!”
Snuffling, the kender’ cast an anxious gaze at Caramon. The
big man sat near the fire, huddled in his cape. Still under the
influence of the potent dwarf spirits, he was now sometimes
Caramon and sometimes Raistlin. As Caramon, he ate vora-
ciously, cramming food into his mouth with gusto. He then
regaled them with several bawdy ballads – to the delight of
Bupu, who clapped along out of time and came in strong on the
choruses. Tas was torn by a strong desire to giggle wildly or
crawl beneath a rock and die in shame.
But, the kender decided with a shudder, he would take
Caramon – bawdy songs and all – over Caramon/Raistlin.
The transformation occurred suddenly, right in the middle of a
song, in fact. The big man’s frame collapsed, he began to
cough, then – looking at them with narrow eyes – he coldly
ordered himself to shut up.
“You didn’t do this to him,” Lady Crysania said to Tas,
regarding Caramon with a cool gaze. “It is the drink. He is
gross, thick-headed, and obviously lacking in self-control. He
has let his appetites rule him. Odd, isn’t it, that he and Raistlin
are twins’? His brother is so much in control, so disciplined,
intelligent, and refined.”
She shrugged. “Oh, there is no doubt this poor man is to be
greatly pitied.” Standing up, she walked over to where her
horse was tethered and began to unstrap her bedroll from its
place behind her saddle. “I shall remember him in my prayers
to Paladine.”
“I’m sure prayers won’t hurt,” Tas said dubiously, “but I think
some strong tarbean tea might be better just now.”
Lady Crysania turned and regarded the kender with a reprov-
ing stare. “I am certain you did not mean to blaspheme. There-
fore I will take your statement in the sense it was uttered. Do
endeavor to look at things with a more serious attitude, how-
ever.”
“I was serious,” Tas protested. “All Caramon needs is a few
mugs of good, thick tarbean tea -”
Lady Crysania’s dark eyebrows rose so sharply that Tas fell
silent, though he hadn’t the vaguest idea what he had said to
upset her. He began to unpack his own blankets, his spirits just
about as low as he could ever remember them being. He felt just
as he had when he had ridden dragonback with Flint during the
Battle of Estwilde Plains. The dragon had soared into the
clouds, then it dove out, spinning round and round. For a few
moments, up had been down, sky had been below, ground
above, and then – whoosh! into a cloud, and everything was
lost in the haze.
His mind felt just like it did then. Lady Crysania admired
Raistlin and pitied Caramon. Tas wasn’t certain, but that
seemed all backward. Then there was Caramon who was Cara-
mon and then wasn’t Caramon. Inns that were there one min-
ute and gone the next. A secret magic word he was supposed to
listen for so he’d know when not to listen. Then he’d made a
perfectly logical, common-sense suggestion about tarbean tea
and been reprimanded for blasphemy!
“After all,” he mumbled to himself, jerking at his blankets,
“Paladine and I are close personal friends. He’d know what I
meant.”
Sighing, the kender pillowed his head upon a rolled-up
cloak. Bupu – now quite convinced that Caramon was
Raistlin – was sound asleep, curled up with her head resting
adoringly on the big man’s foot. Caramon himself was sitting
quietly now, his eyes closed, humming a song to himself. Occa-
sionally he would cough, and once he demanded in a loud
voice that Tas bring him his spellbook so that he could study his
magic. But he seemed peaceful enough. Tas hoped he would
soon dose and sleep off the effects of the dwarf spirits.
The fire burned low. Lady Crysania spread out her blankets