vanished. Wild, vibrant colors whirled madly inside the orb for
an instant, making Crysania dizzy with their light and their
brilliance. Then they, too, were gone. She saw…
“Palanthas,” she said, startled. Floating on the mists of morn-
ing, she could see the entire city, gleaming like a pearl, spread
out before her eyes. And then the city began to rush up at her,
or perhaps she was falling down into it. Now she was hovering
over New City, now she was over the Wall, now she was inside
Old City. The Temple of Paladine rose before her, the beautiful,
sacred grounds peaceful and serene in the morning sunlight.
And then she was behind the Temple, looking over a high wall.
She caught her breath. “What is this?” she asked.
“Have you never seen it?” Raistlin replied. “This alley so near
the sacred grounds?”
Crysania shook her head, “N-no,” she answered, her voice
breaking. “And, yet, I must have. I have lived in Palanthas all
my life. I know all of -”
“No, lady,” Raistlin said, his fingertips lightly caressing the
dragon orb’s crystalline surface. “No, you know very little.”
Crysania could not answer. He spoke the truth, apparently,
for she did not know this part of the city. Littered with refuse,
the alley was dark and dismal. Morning’s sunlight did not find
its way past the buildings that leaned over the street as if they
had no more energy to stand upright. Crysania recognized the
buildings now. She had seen them from the front. They were
used to store everything from grain to casks of wine and ale.
But how much different they looked from the front! And who
were these people, these wretched people?
“They live there,” Raistlin answered her unspoken question.
“Where?” Crysania asked in horror. “There? Why?”
“They live where they can. Burrowing into the heart of the
city like maggots, they feed off its decay. As for why?” Raistlin
shrugged. “They have nowhere else to go.”
“But this is terrible! I’ll tell Elistan. We’ll help them, give
them money -”
“Elistan knows,” Raistlin said softly.
“No, he can’t! That’s impossible!”
“You knew. If not about this, then you knew of other places
in your fair city that are not so fair.”
“I didn’t -” Crysania began angrily, then stopped. Memories
washed over her in waves – her mother averting her face as
they rode in their carriage through certain parts of town, her
father quickly drawing shut the curtains in the carriage win-
dows or leaning out to tell the driver to take a different road.
The scene shimmered, the colors swirled, it faded and was
replaced by another, and then another. Crysania watched in
agony as the mage ripped the pearl-white facade from the city,
showing her blackness and corruption beneath. Bars, brothels,
gambling dens, the wharves, the docks… all spewed forth
their refuse of misery and suffering before Crysania’s shocked
vision. No longer could she avert her face, there were no cur-
tains to pull shut. Raistlin dragged her inside, brought her close
to the hopeless, the starving, the forlorn, the forgotten.
“No,” she pleaded, shaking her head and trying to back away
from the desk. “Please show me no more.”
But Raistlin was pitiless. Once again the colors swirled, and
they left Palanthas. The dragon orb carried them around the
world, and everywhere Crysania looked, she saw more hor-
rors. Gully dwarves, a race cast off from their dwarven kin,
living in squalor in whatever part of Krynn they could find that
no one else wanted. Humans eking out a wretched existence in
lands where rain had ceased to fall. The Wilder elves, enslaved
by their own people. Clerics, using their power to cheat and
amass great wealth at the expense of those who trusted them.
It was too much. With a wild cry, Crysania covered her face
with her hands. The room swayed beneath her feet. Staggering,
she nearly fell. And then Raistlin’s arms were around her. She
felt that strange, burning warmth from his body and the soft
touch of the black velvet. There was a smell of spices, rose
petals, and other, more mysterious odors. She could hear his
shallow breathing rattle in his lungs.