black robes rustling softly around his ankles. “Keep within the
light of my staff.”
Crysania did as she was bidden, noticing as she walked near
him how the staff’s light made her white robes shine as coldly as
the light of the silver moon, a striking contrast to the strange
warmth it shed over Raistlin’s soft velvety black robes.
He led her through the dread Gates. She stared at them in
curiosity, remembering the gruesome story of the evil mage
who had cast himself down upon them, cursing them with his
dying breath. Things whispered and jabbered around her.
More than once, she turned at the sound, feeling cold fingers
upon her neck or the touch of a chill hand upon hers. More
than once, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but
when she looked, there was never anything there. A foul mist
rose up from the ground, rank with the smell of decay. making
her bones ache. She began to shake uncontrollably and when,
suddenly, she glanced behind her and saw two disembodied,
staring eyes – she took a hurried step forward and slipped her
hand around Raistlin’s thin arm.
He regarded her with curiosity and a gentle amusement that
made her blush again.
“There is no need to be afraid,” he said simply. “I am master
here. I will not let you come to harm.”
“I-I’m not afraid,” she said, though she knew he could feel her
body quivering. “I… was just… unsure of my steps, that was
all.”
“I beg your pardon, Revered Daughter,” Raistlin said, and
now she could not be certain if she heard sarcasm in his voice or
not. He came to a halt. “It was impolite of me to allow you to
walk this unfamiliar ground without offering you my assis-
tance. Do you find the walking easier now?”
“Yes, much,” she said, flushing deeply beneath that strange
gaze.
He said nothing, merely smiled. She lowered her eyes,
unable to face him, and they resumed walking. Crysania
berated herself for her fear all the way to the Tower, but she did
not remove her hand from the mage’s arm. Neither of them
spoke again until they reached the door to the Tower itself. It
was a plain wooden door with runes carved on the outside of its
surface. Raistlin said no word, made no motion that Crysania
could see, but – at their approach – the door slowly opened.
Light streamed out from inside, and Crysania felt so cheered by
its bright and welcoming warmth, that – for an instant – she
did not see another figure standing silhouetted within it.
When she did, she stopped and drew back in alarm.
Raistlin touched her hand with his thin, burning fingers.
“That is only my apprentice, Revered Daughter,” he said.
“Dalamar is flesh and blood, he walks among the living – at
least for the moment.”
Crysania did not understand that last remark, nor did she
pay it much attention, hearing the underlying laughter in Raist-
lin’s voice. She was too startled by the fact that live people lived
here. How silly, she scolded herself. What kind of monster have
I pictured this man? He is a man, nothing more. He is human,
he is flesh and blood. The thought relieved her, made her relax.
Stepping through the doorway, she felt almost herself. She
extended her hand to the young apprentice as she would have
given it to a new acolyte.
“My apprentice, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, gesturing toward
him. “Lady Crysania, Revered Daughter of Paladine.”
“Lady Crysania,” said the apprentice with becoming gravity,
accepting her hand and bringing it to’ his lips, bowing slightly.
Then he lifted his head, and the black hood that shadowed his
face fell back.
“An elf!” Crysania gasped. Her hand remained in his. “But,
that’s not possible,” she began in confusion. “Not serving evil -”
“I-am a dark elf, Revered Daughter,” the apprentice said, and
she heard a bitterness in his voice. “At least, that is what my
people call me.”
Crysania murmured in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean -”
She faltered and fell silent, not knowing where to look. She
could almost feel Raistlin laughing at her. Once again, he had