feet, gaping mouths sought to drink her blood. The darkness
was endless, the trees mocked her, their creaking branches
laughing horribly.
“Crysania,” said a soft, whispering voice.
What was that, speaking her name from the shadows of the
oaks? She could see it, standing in a clearing, robed in black.
“Crysania,” the voice repeated.
“Raistlin!” She sobbed in thankfulness. Stumbling out of the
terrifying grove of oak trees, fleeing the bone-white hands that
sought to drag her down to join their endless torment, Crysa-
nia felt thin arms hold her. She felt the strange burning touch of
slender fingers.
“Rest easy, Revered Daughter,” the voice said softly. Trem-
bling in his arms, Crysania closed her eyes. “Your trials are
over. You have come through the Grove safely. There was
nothing to fear, lady. You had my charm.”
“Yes,” Crysania murmured. Her hand touched her forehead
where his lips had pressed against her skin. Then, realizing
what she had been through, and realizing, too, that she had
allowed him to see her give way to weakness, Crysania pushed
the mage’s arms away. Standing back from him, she regarded
him coldly.
“Why do you surround yourself with such foul things?” she
demanded. “Why do you feel the need for such… such guard-
ians!” Her voice quavered in spite of herself.
Raistlin looked at her mildly, his golden eyes shining in the
light of his staff. “What kind of guardians do you surround
yourself with, Revered Daughter?” he asked. “What torment
would I endure if I set foot upon the Temple’s sacred grounds?”
Crysania opened her mouth for a scathing reply, but the
words died on her lips. Indeed, the Temple was consecrated
ground. Sacred to Paladine, if any who worshipped the Queen
of Darkness entered its precincts, they would feel Paladine’s
wrath. Crysania saw Raistlin smile, his thin lips twitch. She felt
her skin flush. How was he capable of doing this to her’? Never
had any man been able to humiliate her so! Never had any man
cast her mind in such turmoil!
Ever since the evening she had met Raistlin at the home of
Astinus, Crysania had not been able to banish him from her
thoughts. She had looked forward to visiting the Tower this
night, looked forward to it and dreaded it at the same time. She
had told Elistan all about her talk with Raistlin, all – that is –
except the “charm” he had given her. Somehow, she could not
bring herself to tell Elistan that Raistlin had touched her, had –
No, she wouldn’t mention it.
Elistan had been upset enough as it was. He knew Raistlin, he
had known the young man of old – the mage having been
among the companions who rescued the cleric from Vermi-
naard’s prison at Pax Tharkas. Elistan had never liked or
trusted Raistlin, but then no one had, not really. The cleric had
not been surprised to hear that the young mage had donned the
Black Robes. He was not surprised to hear about Crysania’s
warning from Paladine. He was surprised at Crysania’s reac-
tion to meeting Raistlin, however. He was surprised – and
alarmed – at hearing Crysania had been invited to visit Raistlin
in the Tower – a place where now beat the heart of evil in
Krynn. Elistan would have forbidden Crysania to go,. but free-
dom of will was a teaching of the gods.
He told Crysania his thoughts and she listened respectfully.
But she had gone to the Tower, drawn by a lure she could not
begin to understand – although she told Elistan it was to “save
the world.”
“The world is getting on quite well,” Elistan replied gravely.
But Crysania did not listen.
“Come inside,” Raistlin said. “Some wine will help banish the
evil memories of what you have endured.” He regarded her
intently. “You are very brave, Revered Daughter,” he said and
she heard no sarcasm in his voice. “Few there are with the
strength to survive the terror of the Grove.”
He turned away from her then, and Crysania was glad he
did. She felt herself blushing at his praise.
“Keep near me,” he warned as he walked ahead of her, his