use to him or to anyone because there is a curse laid upon it. Only — '
'A cursed fortress? Where? What kind of curse?' demanded an excited Earwig, scrambling up onto the table to get a better view.
'The Maiden's Curse,' called out several in answer. 'The fortress is called Death's Keep. No one who has entered it has ever returned.'
'Death's Keep!' breathed the kender, misty-eyed with rapture. 'What a wonderful-sounding place!'
'A true Knight of Solamnia may enter and return. According to His Lordship, it takes a true knight to lift the curse. I plan to go there and, with the help of Paladine, perform this deed.'
'I'll come wi — ' Earwig was offering magnanimously, when Caramon yanked the kender's feet out from underneath him, sending the green-clad figure sprawling face-first on the floor.
'His Lordship has promised to reward me well,' concluded Gawain, ignoring the crash and the kender's protest.
'Uh, huh,' sneered the proprietor, 'And who's going to pay your family's bill if you don't return, Sir True Knight? You're not the first of your kind to go up there, and I've never seen a one come back!'
Nods and low voices in the crowd affirmed this.
'His Lordship has promised to provide for them if I fall,' answered Gawain in a calm and steady voice.
'His Lordship? Oh, that's quite all right then,' said the proprietor, happy once more. 'And my best wishes to you, Sir Knight. I'll personally escort the lady and your boy — a fine child, if I may say so — to their room.'
'Wait just a minute,' said the barmaid, ducking 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?'
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!'
