Raistlin emerged from the corridors of magic into his bedroom in the Broken Shield. He was exhausted, and he was looking forward to his bed, to falling into exhausted sleep.
He found, to his astonishment, that his bed was occupied.
"Welcome home," said Iolanthe.
She was seated on the bed. As she lifted her head, he saw her face was battered and bruised. Both eyes were blackened, one almost completely swollen shut. Her lip was split. Her fine clothes were torn. Purple bruises covered her neck.
"Thank you for saving my life this night, my dear," she said, mumbling through her bloody lips. "Too bad I can't return the favor."
She cast a sidelong glance at the man who was standing at the window, gazing out at the three moons, which had just come together to form one unblinking eye. Emperor Ariakas did not bother to turn around. He merely glanced over his broad shoulder. His face was dark, expressionless.
Raistlin felt nothing. He was going to die in the next few moments, and he was too worn, too drained to care. He supposed he should try to defend himself, cast some sort of deadly spell. The words of magic fluttered in his brain and flew off before he could catch them.
"If you're going to kill me, do so now," he said wearily. "At least that way I will get some rest."
Iolanthe tried to smile, but it hurt. She winced and pressed her fingers to her lip.
"My lord wants the dragon orb," she said.
Raistlin tore the pouch from his belt and tossed it onto the floor. The pouch opened. Marbles and the dragon orb rolled out onto the floor and lay there, gleaming in the moonlight. The three moons were starting to separate, drifting apart, yet never far apart.
The moonlight-silver and red-shone on the orb and, as if basking in the magic, the orb seemed to grow and expand. Its own colored lights swirled in response.
Ariakas gazed at the orb, entranced. He left the window and squatted down on his haunches to peer at it. The hands in the orb reached out to him. Ariakas's fingers twitched. He must be longing to touch it, to see if he could control it. He actually started to reach for it. With a dark smile, he drew back.
"Nice try, Majere," said Ariakas, standing up. "I'm not as stupid as King Lorac-"
"Oh, yes, you are, my dear," said Iolanthe.
A blast of frigid air, chill as the frozen wastes of Icewall, struck Ariakas from behind. The magical cold turned his flesh blue and stole his breath. His hair and beard and armor were rimed with hoarfrost. His limbs shuddered. His blood congealed. A look of fury and astonishment froze on his face. Unable to move, he crashed to the floor with a thud like a block of ice.
"Never turn your back on a wizard," Iolanthe advised him. "Especially one you just beat up."
Raistlin watched, stupid with fatigue, as Iolanthe walked to Ariakas's side. She knelt down, put her hand to his neck, and began to swear.
"Damn it to the Abyss and back! The bastard is still alive! I thought I had killed him for certain. Takhisis must love him."
Iolanthe thrust a small crystal cone into her bosom and reached out her hand to Raistlin. "I know you're tired. I'll transport you. Hurry! We have to get out of here before his guards come to see what has happened to him."
Raistlin stared at her. He was too tired to think. He had to cajole his brain into working. He shook his head and, ignoring her outstretched hand, he picked up the glowing dragon orb. It shrank at his touch, and his hand closed over it tightly.
"You go," he said.
"You can't stay in Neraka! Ariakas isn't dead. He will send the Black Ghost after you-"
"He tried that tonight, didn't he?" said Raistlin, looking at Iolanthe intently.
A blush suffused her face. She was beautiful and alluring. Small wonder those unsuspecting Black Robes had opened their doors to her sultry whispers in the dead of night.
"How did you know?" she asked.
"I count stairs, remember. How long have you been working for Hidden Light?"
"Ever since-" Iolanthe stopped then shook her head. "It's a winter's tale, meant to be told around the fire. We don't have time for it now. My friends and I are leaving Neraka. Come with us."
Raistlin was gazing into the dragon orb, watching the colors. Black and green, red and white and blue twined and writhed and twisted.
"I have to change the darkness," he said.
She stared at him, not understanding. Then she squeezed his hand and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Thank you, Raistlin Majere. You saved the people who are most dear to me."
She flung her magical clay on the wall. The portal opened, expanded, and Iolanthe stepped into it.
"Go with the gods," she called to him.
The portal shut behind her.
"I plan to," said Raistlin.
He held the glowing dragon orb in his hands and looked out the window to the three moons.
"You owe me," he told them.
The hands in the dragon orb reached out to him, caught him up, and carried him away.