The crowd in the inn was on its feet, clamoring in
excitement, calling out directions and advice and laying
wagers on whether or not the adventurers would return.
Earwig, tied fast, screamed and pleaded and begged and
nearly yanked his hair out by the roots trying to free
himself.
It was only the barmaid who saw Raistlin’s frail hand
very gently ruffle the sleeping child’s hair in passing.
****
Half the patrons of the inn accompanied them down an
old, disused path to the fringes of a thick forest. Here,
beneath ancient trees that seemed ill-disposed to have their
rest disturbed, the crowd bid them good fortune.
“Do you need torches?” one of the men shouted.
“No,” answered Raistlin. “SHIRAK,” he said softly,
and the crystal ball on top of his staff burst into bright,
beaming light.
The crowd gasped in appreciative awe. The knight
glanced at the glowing staff askance.
“I will take a torch. I will not walk in any light that
has darkness as its source.”
The crowd bid them farewell, then turned back to the
inn to await the outcome. Odds were running high in favor
of Death’s Keep living up to its name. The wager seemed
such a sure thing, in fact, that Raistlin had some difficulty
in persuading Caramon not to bet against themselves.
Torch in hand, the knight started down the path.
Raistlin and his brother walked some paces behind, for the
young knight walked so swiftly, the frail mage could not
keep up.
“So much,” said Raistlin, leaning on his staff, “for the
courtesy of the knights.”
Gawain instantly halted and waited, stony-faced, for
them to catch up.
“Not only courtesy but just plain good sense to keep
together in a forest as dark and gloomy as this one,” stated
Caramon. “Did you hear something?”
The three listened, holding their breaths. Tree leaves
rustled, a twig snapped. Knight and warrior put hand to
weapon. Raistlin slid his hand inside his pouch, grasping a
handful of sand and calling to mind words of a sleep spell.
“Here I am!” said a shrill voice cheerfully. A small,
green and orange figure burst into the light. “Sorry I’m
late,” said Earwig. “My hair got caught in the booth.” He
exhibited half of what had once been a long tassel. “I had
to cut myself loose!”
“With MY dagger!” said Caramon, snatching it away.
“Is that one yours? Isn’t that odd? I could have sworn
I had one just like it!”
Sir Gawain came to a halt, scowling. “It is bad
enough I must travel in the company of a magic-user – ”
“I know,” said Earwig, nodding sympathetically.
“We’ll just have to make the best of it, won’t we?”
“Ah, let the little fellow come along,” said Caramon,
feeling remorseful when he looked at what had once been
the kender’s jaunty top-knot. “He might come in handy if
we’re attacked.”
Gawain hesitated, but it was obvious that the only way
to get rid of the kender would be to slice him in two, and
though the Oath and the Measure didn’t specifically ban a
knight from murdering kender, it didn’t exactly encourage
it, either.
“Attack!” he snorted. The knight resumed his pace,
Earwig skipping along beside him. “We are in no danger
until we reach the keep. At least so His Lordship told me.”
“And what else did His Lordship tell you?” Raistlin
asked, coughing.
Gawain glared at him dourly, obviously wondering of
what use this sickly mage would be to him.
“He told me the tale of the Maiden’s Curse. A long
time ago, before the Cataclysm, a wizard of the red robes –
such as yourself – stole away a young woman from her
father’s castle and carried her to this keep. A knight, the
young woman’s betrothed, discovered the abduction and
followed after to rescue her. He caught up with the mage
and his victim in the keep in this forest.
“The wizard, furious at having his evil plans thwarted,
called upon the Queen of Darkness to destroy the knight.
The knight, in his turn, called for Paladine to come to his
aid. The forces unleashed in the ensuing battle were so
powerful that they not only destroyed the wizard and the