flat, reflective, revealing nothing of the soul within. The
pupils – Crysania stared at the dark pupils in rapt horror. The
pupils within the golden eyes were the shape of hourglasses!
And the face – Drawn with suffering, marked with the pain of
the tortured existence the young man had led for seven years,
ever since the cruel Tests in the Tower of High Sorcery left his
body shattered and his skin tinged gold, the mage’s face was a
metallic mask, impenetrable, unfeeling as the golden dragon’s
claw upon his staff.
“Revered Daughter of Paladine,” he said in a soft voice, a
voice filled with respect and – even reverence.
Crysania started, staring at him in astonishment. Certainly
that was not what she had expected.
Still, she could not move. His gaze held her, and she won-
dered in panic if he had cast a spell upon her. Seeming to sense
her fear, he walked across the room to stand before her in an
attitude that was both patronizing and reassuring. Looking up,
she could see the firelight flickering in his golden eyes.
“Revered Daughter of Paladine,” Raistlin said again, his soft
voice enfolding Crysania like the velvety blackness of his
robes. “I hope I find you well?” But now she heard bitter, cyni-
cal sarcasm in that voice. This she had expected, this she was
prepared for. His earlier tone of respect had taken her by sur-
prise, she admitted to herself angrily, but her first weakness
was past. Rising to her feet, bringing her eyes level with his, she
unconsciously clasped the medallion of Paladine with her
hand. The touch of the cool metal gave her courage.
“I do not believe we need to exchange meaningless social
amenities,” Crysania stated crisply, her face once more smooth
and cold. “We are keeping Astinus from his studies. He will
appreciate our completing our business with alacrity.”
“I could not agree more,” the black-robed mage said with a
slight twist of his thin lip that might have been a smile. “I have
come in response to your request. What is it you want of me?”
Crysania sensed he was laughing at her. Accustomed only to
the highest respect, this increased her anger. She regarded him
with cold gray eyes. “I have come to warn you, Raistlin
Majere, that your evil designs are known to Paladine. Beware,
or he will destroy you -”
“How’?” Raistlin asked suddenly, and his strange eyes flared
with a strange, intense light. “How will he destroy me?” he
repeated. “Lightning bolts? Flood and fire? Perhaps another
fiery mountain?”
He took another step toward her. Crysania moved coolly
away from him, only to back into her chair. Gripping the hard
wooden back firmly, she walked around it, then turned to face
him.
“It is your own doom you mock,” she replied quietly.
Raistlin’s lip twisted further still, but he continued talking, as
if he had not heard her words. “Elistan?” Raistlin’s voice sank
to a hissing whisper. “He will send Elistan to destroy me?” The
mage shrugged. “But no, surely not. By all reports, the great
and holy cleric of Paladine is tired, feeble, dying….”
“No!” Crysania cried, then bit her lip, angry that this man
had goaded her into showing her feelings. She paused, drawing
a deep breath. “Paladine’s ways are not to be questioned or
mocked,” she said with icelike calm, but she could not help her
voice from softening almost imperceptibly. “And Elistan’s
health is no concern of yours.”
“Perhaps I take a greater interest in his health than you real-
ize,” Raistlin replied with what was, to Crysania, a sneering
smile.
Crysania felt blood pound in her temples. Even as he had
spoken, the mage moved around the chair, coming nearer the
young woman. He was so close to her now that Crysania could
feel a strange, unnatural heat radiate from his body through his
black robes. She could smell a faintly cloying but pleasant
scent about him. A spiciness – His spell components, she real-
ized suddenly. The thought sickened and disgusted her. Hold-
ing the medallion of Paladine in her hand, feeling its smoothly
chiseled edges bite into her flesh, she moved away from him