had left. He would maintain them to the end.

He thought fleetingly, hopefully, of Caramon, but then dis missed the hope as being unrealistic. The

fairgrounds were far from the prison. Caramon had no way of knowing what was going on. He would not return

until morning, and by then it would be too late.

One of the priests stood in front of Raistlin's cell. "Here he is! In here!"

Raistlin clasped his hands together tightly to keep from revealing how he trembled. He faced them defiantly,

his face a cold, proud mask to conceal his fear.

The priests had keys to the cell; the jailer had not put up much of a fight. Ignoring the pleadings and wailings

of the kender, who were having a difficult time removing the padlock, the priests opened Raistlin's cell. They

seized hold of him, bound his hands with a length of rope.

"You'll not work any more of your foul magic on us," said one.

"It's not my magic you fear," Raistlin told them, speaking proudly, pleased that his voice did not crack. "It is

my words. That is why you want to kill me before I can stand trial. You know that if I have a chance to speak, I

will denounce you for the thieves and charlatans that you are."

One of the priests struck Raistlin across the face. The blow rocked him backward, knocked loose a tooth and

split open his lip. He tasted blood. The cell and the priests wavered in his sight.

"Don't knock him unconscious!" scolded the other priest. "We want him wide awake to feel the flames licking him!"

They took hold of Raistlin by the arms, hustled him out of the cell, moving so rapidly that they nearly swept him

off his feet. He stumbled after them, forced to almost run to keep from falling. Whenever he slowed,they jerked him

forward, gripping his arms painfully.

The jailkeep stood huddled by the door, head down and eyes lowered. The young guard, who had apparently made

some attempt to defend the prisoner, lay unconscious on the ground, blood forming a pool beneath his head.

The priests gave a cheer when Raistlin was brought forth. The cheer ceased immediately, at a sharp command

from the High Priest. Quietly, with deadly intent, they surrounded Raistlin, looked to their leader for orders.

"We will take him back to the temple and execute him there. His death will serve as an example to others who may

have it in mind to cross us.

"After the wizard's dead, we will claim that none of us saw the giant kender. We will send out our claque to make

the same pronouncements. Soon those who did see it will begin to doubt their senses. We will maintain that the

wizard, frightened of the power of Belzor, started a riot in order that he might slip away unnoticed and murder our

priestess."

"Kill that work?" asked someone dubiously. "People saw what they saw."

"They'll soon change their minds. Seeing the charred body of the wizard in front of the temple will help them reach

the right decision. Those who don't will face the same fate."

"What about the wizard's friends? The dwarf and the half-elf and the rest of them?"

"Judith knew them, told me all about them. We have nothing to fear. The sister's a whore. The dwarf's a drunken

sot who cares only for his ale mug. The half-elf's a mongrel, a sniveling coward like all elves. They won't cause any

trouble. They'll be only too happy to slink out of town. Start chanting, someone," the High Priest snapped. "It will look

better if we do this in the name of Belzor."

Raistlin managed a bleak smile, though it reopened the wound on his split lip. At the thought of his friends, his

despair lessened and he grew hopeful. The priests didn't want him dead nearly as much as they needed the drama of

his death, needed it to instill the fear of Belzor in the minds of the populace. This

delay could work to his advantage. The noise and the light and the uproar in the town must be noticed, even as

far away as the fairgrounds.

Taking up the chant, shouting praise to Belzor, the priests dragged Raistlin through the streets of Haven. The

sound of loud chanting and the light of flaring torches brought people from their beds to the windows. Seeing the

spectacle, they hastily donned their clothes, hurried out to watch. The ne'r-do-wells in the taverns left their

drinking tosee what all the commo tion was about. They were quick to join the mob, and fell in behind the

priests. Drunken shouts now punctuated the priests' chanting.

The pain of his swelling jaw made Raistlin's head ache unbearably. The ropes cut into his flesh, the priests

pinched his arms. He struggled to remain on his feet, lest he fall and be trampled. It was all so unreal, he felt no