beneath the proprietor’s elbow and coming to stand in
front of the knight. “Where’s the mage who’ll be going
with you to Death’s Keep?”
“No mage accompanies me,” answered Gawain,
frowning. “Now, if there is nothing further you want of
me, I must leave.” He looked down at his sleeping wife
and, with a gentle hand, started to reach out to touch her
hair. Fearing it would waken her, however, he drew back.
“Good-bye, Aileen. I hope you can understand.” Turning
swiftly, he started to leave, but the proprietor grabbed his
elbow.
“No mage! But didn’t His Lordship tell you? It takes a
knight AND a mage to lift the Maiden’s Curse! For it was
because of a knight and a mage that the curse was placed
on the keep.”
“And a kender!” Earwig shouted, scrambling to his
feet. “I’m positive I heard that it takes a knight and a mage
and a kender!
“His Lordship mentioned some legend about a knight
and a mage,” said Gawain scornfully. “But a true knight
with faith in his god needs the help of no other being on
Krynn.”
Freeing himself of the proprietor’s plucking hand, the
knight started toward the door.
“Are you truly so eager to throw away your life, Sir
Knight?” The sibilant whisper cut through the hubbub in
the inn, bringing with it a deathlike silence. “Do you truly
believe that your wife and son will be better off when you
are dead?”
The knight stopped. His shoulders stiffened, his body
trembled. He did not turn, but glanced back at the mage
over his shoulder. “His Lordship promised. They will have
food and a roof over their heads. I can buy them that, at
least.”
“And so, with a cry of ‘My Honor is My Life’ you
rush off to certain defeat when, by bending that proud
neck and allowing me to accompany you, you have a
chance to achieve victory. How typical of you all,” said
Raistlin with an unpleasant smile. “No wonder your Order
has fallen into ruin.”
Gawain’s face flushed in anger at this insult. His hand
went to his sword. Caramon, growling, reached for his
own sword.
“Put away your weapons,” snapped Raistlin. “You are
a young man, Sir Knight. Fortune has not been kind to
you. It is obvious that you value your life, but, being
desperate, you know no other way to escape your
misfortune with honor.” His lip twisted as he said the last
word. “I have offered to help. Will you kill me for that?”
Gawain’s hand tightened around the sword’s hilt.
“Is it true that a knight and a mage are needed to lift
the curse?” he asked of those in the inn. (“And a kender!”
piped up a shrill voice indignantly.)
“Oh, yes. Truly,” averred everyone around him.
“Have there been any who have tried it?”
At this the men in the inn glanced at each other and
then looked at the ceiling or the floor or the walls or stared
into their mugs.
“A few,” said someone.
“How few?” asked Caramon, seeing that his brother
was in earnest about accompanying the knight.
“Twenty, thirty maybe.”
“Twenty or thirty! And none of them ever came back?
Did you hear that, Raist? Twenty or thirty and none of
them ever came back!” Caramon said emphatically.
“I heard.” Using his staff to support him, Raistlin rose
from the booth.
“So did I!” said Earwig, dancing with excitement.
“And we’re still going, aren’t we,” Caramon said
gloomily, buckling his sword belt around his waist. “Some
of us, that is. Not you, Nosepicker.”
“Nosepicker!” Hearing this foul corruption of a name
long honored among kender, Earwig was momentarily
paralyzed with shock and forgot to dodge Caramon’s large
hand. Catching hold of the kender by the long ponytail,
the big warrior skillfully tied him by the hair to one of the
inn’s support posts. “The name’s Lockpicker!” he shrieked
indignantly.
“Why is it you’re doing this, mage?” asked Gawain
suspiciously as Raistlin walked slowly across the room.
“Yeah, Raist, why is it we’re doing this?” Caramon
shot out of the comer of his mouth.
“For the money, of course,” said Raistlin coolly.
“What other reason would there be?”