war, her evil shadow was spreading. Goblins had always
been a problem in this realm, but suddenly what had been
small bands of raiders who struck isolated farms had
grown into armies attacking villages.
“What’s His Lordship offering?” queried a mage clad
in red robes who occupied a booth – the one nearest the
fire and the most comfortable in the crowded inn – with
just one companion. No one thought of joining them.
Though the mage was sickly in appearance, with a
hacking cough that nearly bent him double, those who had
served with him in previous campaigns whispered that he
was quick to anger and quicker with his spells.
“Standard rate – two pieces of steel a week and a
bounty on goblin ears. I signed us up.” The man
responding was a large, burly warrior who sat down
opposite his questioner. Shedding his plain, undecorated
cloak in the heat of the room, the warrior revealed hard-
muscled arms the size of tree trunks and a chest like a
bull’s. He unbuckled from around his waist a sword belt,
laying on the table near at hand a sword with every
appearance of having been well and skillfully used.
“When do we get our pay?”
“After we drive out the goblins. He’ll make us earn
it.”
“Of course,” said the mage, “and he won’t be out any
cash to those who die. What took you so long?”
“The town is packed! Every mercenary this side of
Ansalon is here, not to mention horse traders, camp
followers, swordmakers, and every kender not currently
behind bars. We’ll be lucky to find a place in a field to
spread our blankets this night.”
“Hullo, Caramon!” called out a leather-armor-clad
man, coming over to the table and clapping the warrior on
the back. “Mind if I share your booth?” he asked, starting
to sit down. “It’s standing room only in this place. This
your twin I’ve heard so much about? Introduce us.”
The mage lifted his head, fixed his gaze upon the
stranger.
Golden eyes with pupils the shape of an hourglass
glittered in the shadows of the red hood. The light in the
inn glinted off golden skin. Near at hand stood a wooden
staff – obviously and ominously magical – topped by a
multifaceted crystal clutched in a dragon’s claw. Gulping,
the man rose quickly to his feet and, with a hasty farewell
to Caramon, took his ale to a distant comer of the room.
“He looked at me as if he saw me on my deathbed!”
muttered the man to more congenial companions.
“It’s going to be a cold night tonight, Raist,” said the
warrior to his brother in a low voice when the two were
again alone. “It smells like snow in the air. You shouldn’t
sleep outside.”
“And where would you have me sleep, Caramon?” asked
the mage in a soft, sneering voice. “In a hole in the
ground, like a rabbit, for that is all we can aff – .” He broke
off in a fit of coughing that left him breathless.
His twin gazed at him anxiously. Pulling a coin from
a shabby purse he wore at his belt, Caramon held it up.
“We have this, Raist. You could sleep here tonight and the
next night.”
“And what would we do for food in the interim, my
brother? We won’t get paid for a fortnight, at least.”
Caramon lowered his voice and, leaning across the
table, grasped hold of his brother’s arm to draw him near.
“I could snare us something, if need be.”
“You’d be the one to end up in a snare, you fool!” The
mage jerked away from his brother’s touch. “The lord’s
men are all over the woods, hunting for poachers with
only slightly less enthusiasm than they’re hunting for
goblins. No, we’ll return to camp tonight. Don’t fuss over
me. You know how I hate it. I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse
places.”
Raistlin began to cough again, the spasms shaking his
frail body until it seemed he must split apart. Pulling out a
cloth, he pressed it over his mouth. Those who glanced at
him in concern saw that, when the mage withdrew the