“There is no cure for my malady. This is the sacrifice, the price I
paid for my magic.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured. Her hands twitched, as
she remembered vividly the velvety soft smoothness of the
black robes, and she unconsciously clasped her fingers behind
her back.
“Don’t you’?” Raistlin asked, staring deep into her soul with
his strange, golden eyes. “What was the sacrifice you made for
your power?”
A faint flush, barely visible in the dying firelight, stained
Crysania cheeks with blood, much as the mage’s lips were
stained. Alarmed at this invasion of her being, she averted her
face, her eyes looking once more out the window. Night had
fallen over Palanthas. The silver moon, Solinari, was a sliver
of light in the dark sky. The red moon that was its twin had not
yet risen. The black moon – She caught herself wondering,
where is it? Can he truly see it?
“I must go,” Raistlin said, his breath rasping in his throat.
“These spasms weaken me. I need rest.”
“Certainly.” Crysania felt herself calm once more. All the
ends of her emotions tucked back neatly into place, she turned
to face him again. “I thank you for coming -”
“But our business is not concluded,” Raistlin said softly. “I
would like a chance to prove to you that these fears of your god
are unfounded. I have a suggestion. Come visit me in the Tower
of High Sorcery. There you will see me among my books and
understand my studies. When you do, your mind will be at
ease. As it teaches in the Disks, we fear only that which is
unknown.” He took a step nearer her.
Astounded at his proposal, Crysania’s eyes opened wide.
She tried to move away from him, but she had inadvertently let
herself become trapped by the window. “I cannot go… to the
Tower,” she faltered as his nearness smothered her, stole her
breath. She tried to walk around him, but he moved his staff
slightly, blocking her path. Coldly, she continued, “The spells
laid upon it keep out all -”
“Except those I choose to admit,” Raistlin whispered. Folding
the blood-stained cloth, he tucked it back into a secret pocket
of his robes. Then, reaching out, he took hold of Crysania’s
hand.
“How brave you are, Revered Daughter,” he commented.
“You do not tremble at my evil touch.”
“Paladine is with me,” Crysania replied disdainfully.
Raistlin smiled, a warm smile, dark and secret – a smile for
just the two of them. It fascinated Crysania. He drew her near
to him. Then, he dropped her hand. Resting the staff against
the chair, he reached out and took hold of her head with his
slender hands, placing his fingers over the white hood she
wore. Now, Crysania trembled at his touch, but she could not
move, she could not speak or do anything more than stare at
him in a wild fear she could neither suppress nor understand.
Holding her firmly, Raistlin leaned down and brushed his
blood-flecked lips across her forehead. As he did so, he mut-
tered strange words. Then he released her.
Crysania stumbled, nearly falling. She felt weak and dizzy.
Her hand went to her forehead where the touch of his lips
burned into her skin with a searing pain. “What have you
done?” she cried brokenly. “You cannot cast a spell upon me!
My faith protects -”
“Of course.” Raistlin sighed wearily, and there was an expres-
sion of sorrow in his face and voice, the sorrow of one who is
constantly suspected, misunderstood. “I have simply given you
a, charm that will allow you to pass through Shoikan Grove.
The way will not be easy” – his sarcasm returned – “but,
undoubtedly your faith will sustain you!”
Pulling his hood low over his eyes, the mage bowed silently
to Crysania, who could only stare at him, then he walked
toward the door with slow, faltering steps. Reaching out a skel-
etal hand, he pulled the bell rope. The door opened and
Bertrem entered so swiftly and suddenly that Crysania knew he
must have been posted outside. Her lips tightened. She flashed
the Aesthetic such a furious, imperious glance that the man