flickering globe that bathed the library in dancing yellow light. He glided around to his chair and sat down, putting down the globe, then pointedly reached across to bring the
'What have you been doing?' Morath demanded.
'Well,' began Raist uncomfortably, sliding back into his chair and looking up into Morath's fierce black eyes staring at him. 'I finished the book with all the numbers and equations in it about two hours ago, so I started to read the other two books you brought out for me, the ones about geography and elven history. I finished them, too, and then-' Raist's voice faltered '-I think I fell asleep for a few minutes.'
'Asleep!' Morath boomed indignantly.
'For a few minutes,' Raist repeated softly.
There was a long ominous silence while each waited for the other to say something else.
'I think,' said Raist, after a long pause, 'that I managed to memorize a good deal of all three books. I suppose I can answer almost any question that is taken from them. If that is the object of the task…' His voice trailed off, losing confidence under Morath's stare.
'No,' said Morath, cutting him off harshly. 'I mean, what have you been doing with this book?' He gestured angrily, indicating the chronicle by Astinus. 'This most precious volume is intended only for far-seeing eyes and deep-thinking scholars-not for students, certainly not for children. This book was not offered to you because it is mine alone.'
Morath's eyes stayed fixed on him, and little Raist, for once cowed, lowered his.
'I did not open it,' said Raist apologetically.
'You were reading it!' accused Morath.
'I was not,' said Raist, looking up, surprised.
'Come, come, boy. What were you doing then?' asked the master mage sarcastically. His eyes were watching Raist.
'I was feeling it, touching it,' said Raist, once again holding his gaze level.
'Feeling it, touching it!' derided Morath.
'Yes,' said Raist, more confidently. 'Touching it!'
'May I ask why?'
A pause. 'I don't know why,' Raistlin said at last. 'I knew that you had set it aside for yourself and that I shouldn't read it, but I wanted, at least, to feel it and touch it. I didn't see the harm.'
'You had no business,' declared Morath.
Raist bit his lip, angry and overcome with frustration. After all the hard work and long hours, to fail at this, this unexpected test of restraint! It was all he could do to keep from breaking down and crying. But like his sister Kitiara, Raist would not cry, not in front of this hardhearted master mage. Raist wouldn't give Morath the satisfaction.
'All right, boy, the day is done. Your father and sister are here. I'll thank you not to waste any more of my time.'
'Yes, your son is gifted, but I question whether his constitution can withstand the rigors of our program here. Indeed, the boy was so exhausted after the lessons of the afternoon that he fell asleep at his books.'
Morath spoke firmly. He and Gilon were at the table in the library, which was now quite dark and lit only by the flickering globe in front of the master mage.
Gilon steeled himself. 'He may not be strong in body,' Raistlin's father replied steadfastly, 'but he is strong-willed, and this is what he truly wants. In all honesty, the lad would not be fit for a vocation that demanded physical prowess. Yet for him, magic is no whim. If you do not accept him, we will go elsewhere and try to find someone who will tutor him. I have made inquiries, and I understand that a mage named Petroc runs an excellent school near Haven.'
This was half a bluff on Gilon's part, but a shrewd one. He judged Morath would not want to turn his back on the possible reflected glory of training an exceptional pupil, even such a young one.
A rustle of turning pages interrupted the conversation. Raistlin was in a dark corner, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of one of the bookshelves, with a slim volume on his lap. Morath started when he saw what Raistlin was doing.
He crossed the room quickly and snatched the book from Raist's hands. 'Young man, I thought you had learned a lesson about playing with books that were not given to you, especially spellbooks!'
Raistlin looked up at him coolly. 'I wasn't playing with it. I was reading it.'
A shocked silence filled the room.
'I was reading the 'Spell for Changing Water Into Sand',' the boy continued defiantly, satisfied at the look of amazement that crossed Morath's face. 'You can reject me as a pupil. But I won't miss this opportunity to read one of your precious spellbooks!'
Morath flushed an angry shade. Gilon, in a rare display of temper, pointed toward the door. 'That's enough, Raist. Go wait outside with your sister.'
When Gilon turned back, the master mage had controlled his rage. Morath was leafing through a richly embroidered book, small in size, and scanning various hand-inked lists and schedules.
'He can start at the beginning of the new week,' said the master mage matter-of-factly, taking up a feather pen and formally inscribing Raistlin's name on the roll of students.
Gilon's mouth gaped. No matter Raistlin's certain abilities, his father had come to think he wouldn't be able to gain a place in this vaunted school. His jaws worked but no words came out.
'How will you pay?' asked Morath, scarcely noticing Gilon's struggle to speak when he looked up after inscribing Raistlin's name on the ledger.
Pay? This was something the woodsman could fathom.
'Well, your lordship,' said Gilon, not certain how to address a master mage, but certain he didn't want to insult him. 'I am a woodcutter by trade, as I mentioned earlier
today. And our means are modest. I was hoping that I could keep up with any, er, tuition, by bringing you cut wood for use here at the school. Or I might provide other such services, in fair trade. People in town will tell you that I am honest with my barter, and my accounts are always paid.'
'Pah!' snorted Morath. 'What do I want with bundles of firewood? I can snap my fingers like this-' he lifted his hands and demonstrated '-and have all the wood I need. Not just local wood, but rare and exotic varieties from all over Krynn. Wood!'
The master mage glared at Gilon, whose face was flushed. Once again the woodsman found that his mouth was not working very well while his arms felt useless dangling at his sides.
'Pah!' repeated Morath, turning back to his book and scribbling something further next to Raistlin's name. 'I will carry the boy on scholarship for a while,' added the master mage irritably. 'And we will see if he is worth the bother.'
Before Gilon could think how to respond, Morath had swept out of the room, slipping behind a door that the woodcutter had not noticed before, behind one of the towering bookshelves. Because he had taken the flickering globe with him, instantly the library was plunged into gloomy darkness. A little dazed by everything that had transpired, Gilon backed toward the double doors that led to the long entrance corridor, bowing once or twice in the direction of the vanished mage, just in case.
Little Raist was so worn-out that Kit could not tell, from his drained expression, whether he at all understood what Gilon, bursting with smiles, told him. Indeed the aspiring mage could not walk and was fast asleep in his father's arms before they had traveled several hundred yards away from Poolbottom toward Solace.
Home was more than an hour's hike away, but Gilon carried his burden stoically, his heart light with relief. It was a clear night, a momentous occasion, and neither Kit nor Gilon felt like speaking and breaking the mood.
In truth, Kit was elated, too. Her bad temper had been whisked away by the news of Raist's acceptance. As she trudged along, herself weary, her thoughts raced.
Raist never woke up that night, and Kit skipped the supper Rosamun had prepared and kept warm. Up in her niche, the young girl stayed awake, thinking. She knew now what she would do-catch up to Ursa and convince him to take her with him. Raist's acceptance into the mage school meant that she did not have to worry about him as
