At first, nothing happened. He could hear the red-robed mage's halting footsteps coming nearer and nearer the door.
Then—something was happening, although not quite what Tas expected. The hall was growing! There was a rushing sound in the kender's ears as the walls swooped past him and the ceiling soared away from him. Open-mouthed, he watched as the door grew larger and larger, until it was an immense size.
What have I done? Tas wondered in alarm. Have I made the Tower grow? Do you suppose anyone'll notice? If they do, will they be very upset?
The huge door opened with a gust of wind that nearly flattened the kender. An enormous red-robed ‘figure filled the doorway.
A giant! Tas gasped. I've not only made the Tower grow! I've made the mages grow, too! Oh, dear. I guess they'll notice that! At least they will the first time they try to put on their shoes! And I'm sure they'll be upset. I would be if I was twenty feet tall and none of my clothes fit.
But the red-robed mage didn't seem at all perturbed about suddenly shooting up in height, much to Tas's astonishment. He just peered up and down the hall, yelling, "Tasslehoff Burrfoot!"
He even looked right at where Tas was standing—and didn't see him!
"Oh, thank you, Fizban!" the kender squeaked. Then he coughed. His voice certainly did sound funny. Experimentally, he said, "Fizban?" again. Again, he squeaked.
At that moment, the red-robed mage glanced down.
"Ah, ha! And whose room have you escaped from, my little friend'?" the mage said.
As Tasslehoff watched in awe, a giant hand reached down— it was reaching down for him! The fingers got nearer and nearer. Tas was so startled he couldn't run or do anything except wait for that gigantic hand to grab him. Then it would be all over! They'd send him home instantly, if they didn't inflict a worse punishment on him for enlarging their Tower when he wasn't at all certain that they wanted it enlarged.
The hand hovered over him and then picked him up by his tail.
"My tail!" Tas thought wildly, squirming in midair as the hand lifted him off the floor. "I haven't got a tail! But I must! The hand's got hold of me by something!"
Twisting his head around, Tas saw that indeed, he did have a tail! Not only a tail, but four pink feet! Four! And instead of bright blue leggings, he was wearing white fur!
"Now, then," boomed a stern voice right in one of his ears, "answer me, little rodent! Whose familiar are you?"
"Some magi have animals that are bound to do their bidding," Raistlin had told him once. "These animals, or familiars as they are called, can act as an extension of a mage's own senses. They can go places he cannot, see things he is unable to see, hear conversations he has not been invited to share."
At the time, Tasslehoff had thought it a wonderful idea, although he recalled Raistlin had not been impressed. He seemed to consider it a weakness, to be so heavily dependent upon another living being.
"Well, answer me?" the red-robed mage demanded, shaking Tasslehoff by the tail. Blood rushed to the kender's head, making him dizzy, plus being held by the tail was quite painful, to say nothing of the indignity! All he could do, for a moment, was to give thanks that Flint couldn't see him.
I suppose, he thought bleakly, that familiars can talk. I hope they speak Common, not something strange—like Mouse, for example.
"I'm—I—uh—belong to"—what was a good name for a mage?—"Fa—Faikus,” Tas squeaked, remembering hearing Raistlin use this name in connection with a fellow student long ago.
"Ah," the red-robed mage said with a frown, "I might have known. Were you out upon some errand for your master or simply roaming around loose?"
Fortunately for Tas, the mage changed his hold upon the kender, releasing his tail to grasp him firmly in his hand. The kender's front paws rested quivering on the red-robed mage's thumb, his now beady, bright-red eyes stared into the mage's cool, dark ones.
What shall I answer? Tas wondered frantically. Neither choice sounded very good.
"It—it's my n-night off," Tas said in what he hoped was an indignant tone of squeak.
"Humpf!" The mage sniffed. "You've been around that lazy Faikus too long, that's for certain. I'll have a talk with that young man in the morning. As for you, no, you needn't start squirming! Have you forgotten that Sudora's familiar prowls the halls at night? You could have been Marigold's desert! Come along with me. After I'm finished with this evening's business, I'll return you to your master."
Tas, who had just been ready to sink his sharp little teeth into the mage's thumb, suddenly thought better of the idea. "Finished with this evening's business!" Of course, that had to be Caramon! This was better than being invisible! He would just go along for the ride!
The kender hung his head in what he imagined was a mousy expression of meekness and contrition. It seemed to satisfy the red-robed mage, for he smiled in a preoccupied manner and began to search the pocket of his robes for something.
"What is it, Justarius?"There was Caramon, looking befuddled and still half asleep, He peered vaguely up and down the hallway. "You find Tas?"
"The kender? No." The mage smiled again, this time rather ruefully. "It may be a while before we find him, I'm afraid— kender being very adept at hiding."
"You won't hurt him?" Caramon asked anxiously, so anxiously Tas felt sorry for the big man and longed to reassure him.
"No, of course not," Justarius replied soothingly, still searching through his robes. "Though," he added as an afterthought, "he might inadvertently hurt himself. There are objects lying around here it wouldn't be advisable to play with. Well, now, are you ready?"
"I really don't want to go until Tas is back and I know he's all right," Caramon said stubbornly.
"I'm afraid you haven't any choice," the mage said, and Tas heard the man's voice grow cool. "Your brother travels in the morning. You must be prepared to go then as well. It takes hours for Par-Salian to memorize and cast this complex spell. Already he has started. I have stayed too long searching for the kender, in fact. We are late. Come along."
"Wait . . . my things . . ." Caramon said pathetically. "My sword . . ."
"You need not worry about any of that," Justarius answered. Apparently finding what he had been searching for, he drew a silken bag out of the pocket of his robes. "You may not go back in time with any weapon or any device from this time period. Part of the spell will see to it that you are suitably dressed for the period you journey within."
Caramon looked down at his body, bewildered. "Y-you mean, I'll have to change clothes? I won't have a sword? What—”
And you're sending this man back in time by himself! Tas thought indignantly. He'll last five minutes. Five minutes, if that long! No, by all the gods, I'm—
Just exactly what the kender was going to do was lost as he suddenly found himself popped headfirst into the silken bag!
Everything went inky black. He tumbled down to the bottom of the bag, feet over tail, landing on his head. From somewhere inside of him came a horrifying fear of being on his back in a vulnerable position. Frantically, he fought to right himself, scrabbling wildly at the slick sides of the bag with his clawed feet. Finally he was right side up, and the terrible feeling subsided.
So that's what it's like to be panic-stricken, Tas thought with a sigh. I don't think much of it, that's certain. And I'm very glad kender don't get that way, as a general rule. Now what?
Forcing himself to calm down and his little heart to stop racing, Tas crouched in the bottom of the silken bag and tried to think what to do next. He appeared to have lost track of what was going on in his wild scrambling, for—by listening—he could hear two pairs of footsteps walking down a stone hall; Caramon's heavy, booted feet and the mage's shuffling tread. He also experienced a slight swaying motion, and he could hear the soft sounds of cloth rubbing against cloth. It suddenly occurred to him that the red-robed mage had undoubtedly suspended the sack he was in from his belt!
"What am I supposed to do back there? How'm I supposed to get back here afterwards—”
That was Caramon's voice, muffled a bit by the cloth bag but still fairly clear.
"All that will be explained to you." The mage's voice sounded overly patient. "I wonder—Are you having doubts, second thoughts perhaps. If so, you should tell us now—”
"No," Caramon's voice sounded firm, firmer than it had in a long time. "No, I'm not having doubts. I'll go. I'll take Lady Crysania back. It's my fault she's hurt, no matter what that old man says. I'll see that she gets the help she needs and I’ll take care of this Fistandantilus for you."
"M-m-m-m."
Tas heard that "m-m-m-m," though he doubted Caramon could. The big man was rambling on about what he would do to Fistandantilus when he caught up with him. But Tas felt chilled, as he had when Par-Salian gave Caramon that strange, sad look in the Hall. The kender, forgetting where he was, squeaked in frustration.
"Shhhh," Justarius murmured absently, patting the bag with his hand. "This is only for a short while, then you'll be back in your cage, eating corn."
"Huh?" Caramon said. Tas could almost see the big man's startled look. The kender gnashed his small teeth. The word "cage" called up a dreadful picture in his mind and a truly alarming thought occurred to him—what if I can't get back to being myself?
"Oh, not you!" the mage said hastily. "I was talking to my little furry friend here. He's getting restless. If we weren't late, I'd take him back right now." Tas froze. "There, he seems to have settled down. Now, what were you saying'?"
Tas didn't pay any more attention. Miserably, he clung to the bag with his small feet as it swayed back and forth, bumping gently against the mage's thigh as he limped along. Surely the spell could be reversed by simply taking off the ring?
Tas's fingers itched to try it and see. The last magic ring he'd put on he hadn't been able to get off! What if this was the same? Was he doomed to a life of white fur and pink feet forever? At the thought, Tas wrapped one foot around the ring that was still stuck to a toe (or whatever) and almost pulled it off, just to make sure.
But the thought of suddenly bursting out of a silk bag, a fullgrown kender, and landing at the mage's feet came to his mind. He forced his quivering little paw to stop. No. At least this way he was being taken to wherever Caramon was being taken. If nothing else, maybe he could go back with him in mouse shape. There might be worse things . . ..
How was he going to get out of the bag!
The kender's heart sank to his hind feet. Of course, getting out was easy if he turned back into himself. Only then they'd catch him and send him home! But if he stayed a mouse, he'd end up eating corn with Faikus! The kender groaned and hunkered down, his nose between his paws. This was by far the worst predicament he'd ever been in in his entire life, even counting the time the two wizards caught him running off with their woolly mammoth. To top it off, he was beginning to feel queasy, what with the swaying motion of the bag, being cooped up, the funny smell inside the bag, and the bumping around and all.
"The whole mistake lay in saying a prayer to Fizban," the kender told himself gloomily. "He may be Paladine in reality, but I bet somewhere that wacky old mage is getting a real chuckle out of this."
Thinking about Fizban and how much he missed the crazy old mage wasn't making Tas feel any better, so he put the thought out of his mind and tried once more to concentrate on his surroundings, hoping to figure a way out. He stared into the silky darkness and suddenly—
"You idiot!" he told himself excitedly. "You lamebrained doorknob of a kender, as Flint would say! Or lamebrained mouse, because I'm not a kender anymore! I'm a mouse . . . and I have teeth!"
Hurriedly Tas took an experimental nibble. At first he couldn't get a grip on the slick fabric and he despaired once more.
"Try the seam, fool," he scolded himself severely, and sank his teeth into the thread that held the fabric together. It gave way almost instantly as his sharp little teeth sheared right through. Tas quickly nibbled away several more stitches and soon he could see something red—the mage's red robes! He caught a whiff of fresh air (what had that man been keeping in here!) and was so elated he quickly started to chew through some more.
Then he stopped. If he enlarged the hole anymore, he'd fall out. And he wasn't ready to, at least not yet. Not until they got to wherever it was they were going. Apparently that wasn't far off. It occurred to Tas that they had been climbing a series of stairs for some time now. He could hear Caramon wheezing from the unaccustomed exercise and even the red-robed mage appeared a bit winded.
"Why can't you just magic us up to this laboratory place?" Caramon grumbled, panting.
"No!" Justarius answered softly, his voice tinged with awe. "I can feel the very air tingle and crackle with the power ParSalian extends to perform this spell. I would have no minor spell of mine disturb the forces that are at work here this night!"
Tas shivered at this beneath his fur, and he thought Caramon might have done the same, for he heard the big man clear his throat nervously and then continue to climb in silence. Suddenly, they came to a halt.
"Are we here?" Caramon asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Yes," came the whispered answer. Tas strained to hear. "I will take you up these last few stairs, then—when we come to the door at the top—I will open it very softly and allow you to enter. Speak no word! Say nothing that might disturb Par-Salian in his concentration. This spell takes days of preparation—”
"You mean he knew days ago he was going to be doing this?" Caramon interrupted harshly.
"Hush!" Justarius ordered, and his voice was tinged with anger. "Of course, he knew this was a possibility. He had to be prepared. It was well he did so, for we had no idea your brother intended to move this fast!" Tas heard the man draw a deep breath. When he spoke again, it was in calmer tones. "Now, I repeat, when we climb these last few stairs—speak no word! Is that understood?"
"Yes." Caramon sounded subdued.
"Do exactly as Par-Salian commands you to do. Ask no questions! Just obey. Can you do that?"
"Yes." Caramon sounded more subdued still. Tas heard a small tremor in the big man's reply.
He’s scared, Tas realized. Poor Caramon. Why are they doing this to him? I don't understand. There's more going on here than meets the eye. Well, that makes it final. I don't care if I do break Par-Salian's concentration. I'll just have to risk it. Somehow, someway — I'm going to go with Caramon! He needs me. Besides—the kender 'sighed—to travel back in time! How wonderful . . ..
"Very well." Justarius hesitated, and Tas could feel his body grow tense and rigid. "I will say my farewells here, Caramon. May the gods go with you. What you are doing is dangerous . . . for us all. You cannot begin to comprehend the danger." This last was spoken so softly only Tas heard it, and the kender's ears twitched in alarm. Then the red-robed mage sighed. "I wish I could say I thought your brother was worth it."
"He is," Caramon said firmly. "You will see."
"I pray Gilean you are right . . .. Now, are you ready?"
"Yes."
Tas heard a rustling sound, as if the hooded mage nodded his head. Then they began to move again, climbing the stairs slowly. The kender peered out of the hole in the bottom of the sack, watching the shadowy steps slide by underneath him. He would have seconds only, he knew.
The stairs came to an end. He could see a broad stone landing beneath him. This is it! he told himself with a gulp. He could hear the rustling sound again and feel the mage's body move. A door creaked. Quickly, Tas's sharp teeth sliced through the remaining threads that held the seam together. He heard Caramon's slow steps, entering the door. He heard the door starting to close . . ..