"A clever and sensible reply," said the mage tersely. "But tell me this, how would we define it in the absence of good?"
"Well," said Raist with a frown, "there can be no true absence of good, nor of evil really. One cannot exist without the other. They are in a kind of balance, counterpoint, with each other at all times. One might be dominant, the other dormant, but never truly absent."
"Can you think of no example of evil?" asked the master mage.
"No pure example… except, of course, the gods of darkness," the boy added hastily.
Morath looked satisfied. "Then how do we recognize evil?" he persisted.
"Its disguises are infinite."
"Yet a mage must strive to recognize and identify evil, both in himself and his magic, and as regards others."
"Yes," agreed Raist. "One must study its manifest forms. More than most-" he paused and searched for the proper words "-a mage does learn to recognize evil. One who wears the white robe would identify it as anathema. A black robe would know it as an ally."
"And a red robe?"
"Hmm," said Raistlin, his voice pitifully weary. "I'm not sure. I guess I would say that a red robe ought to know it as part of himself."
For the past several minutes Morath's eyes had narrowed, intrigued. Indeed, the master mage had stopped pacing and taken a seat on the other wooden chair for the first time since the hours of questioning had begun. Now he leaned forward and emitted a short, barking laugh.
"Hah!" Morath exclaimed. "Very clever. Superficial, I should think, but exceedingly clever for a six-year-old boy!"
Raistlin seized on the brief moment of amity to ask for a break. He was eager for Morath's approval, but sensed he did not have it. "Please sir," Raist asked respectfully, "may I have some water and eat my lunch now?"
Immediately Morath's harsh demeanor returned. He stood up briskly and moved away from the table. Then he turned, folded his arms, and glared at the small, hungry boy.
"Mages must be able to devote hours at a time to their studies, whether they're hungry or not," Morath advised. "If you cannot bear up through one day of simple tests, then you are too young, too much of a child, to begin your studies."
Raist, sitting there all shrunken up with fatigue and hunger, his little-boy face wan and pinched, his eyes watering, refused to apologize. "If that is your answer," he said petulantly, "then let us proceed. I assume you won't penalize me for the mere asking."
In fact, Morath was a little hungry himself, though he hated to admit it. He usually broke at midday and ate a modest lunch in the company of his favorite students. But he had found himself determined to confound this little boy who had an answer to every question. Even if the answers were sometimes unusual, the master mage had to admit they were well considered. He was as impressed as he was irritated by the boy's gravity and defiance, his self-control and refusal to knuckle under.
"Perhaps this would be a good time to break," Morath relented finally. "I will have a tray brought in to you, supplementing whatever you have carried with you on your trek from Solace. In the meantime, I must leave you alone and go check on my students."
The master mage opened the door into the library and, before leaving, hesitated and turned to Raistlin. "You have ten minutes," he said. "No more."
Raistlin ate his lunch quickly, barely managing to wash it down with the cool, foamy drink brought by the young man in workman's garb, before Morath returned.
The master mage stood in the doorway and harrumphed, then with a gesture indicated that Raistlin should come into the library proper. Following Morath into that vast circular room with its poolbottom light and shelves of books after spending hours in the cramped annex, Raist felt revitalized and excited.
His heart thumped wildly against his rib cage. This wondrous library, so different from anything he had known in Solace-how he longed to read all of these books, to study the ancient arts here! Raistlin gazed at the books as another child might gaze longingly at a plate of sweets.
Morath pointed Raistlin toward a chair. He went to a shelf and picked out several tomes, three of which he set before Raist. One other, an ancient leather-bound volume, he placed next to his own chair, across from Raist.
"Open that gilt-embossed book in front of you and turn to page twenty-five."
Raistlin was disappointed to see that the book in question appeared to contain basic numerical equations. Dutifully, he began to read. The minutes stretched on. Morath said nothing, merely sat across from the boy, watching him closely. When Raist peeked over the top of the pages, the master mage seemed almost to be dozing. At least his eyes were hooded.
A discreet knock on the door interrupted Morath's reverie. Muttering a few words under his breath, the master mage stood and bade whoever it was to enter. The door swung open, although how it operated, whether mechanically or magically, Raist could not be sure. In any case, the boy was not supposed to be paying any attention. He was supposed to be reading, so all of his looks were furtive ones.
A plump boy about Kitiara's age, dressed in the gray robes of an apprentice mage, came in. Obviously one of the students, the boy seemed very much in awe of the master mage as he struggled to find his voice.
"Master," the boy began tentatively. "Alekno is having, er, trouble with the invisibility spell. He has been able to make his legs disappear, but unfortunately that is all. Now it seems that he cannot make them reappear. We have tried to aid him, but cannot tell what he is doing wrong. Would you advise us?"
"Alekno's habitual failure to pay attention during his instruction results in just this sort of difficulty," responded Morath snappishly. "He is fortunate not to be facing a horde of combative minotaurs or some other situation where he might really need to disappear. I am tempted to let him stay half-in visible, if only for a day or two. Teach him to listen next time."
The plump boy shifted uneasily on his feet, uncertain of how to respond, a plaintive look on his face.
"Oh well," said Morath with irritation. He rose and headed toward the door, muttering and grumbling. At the threshold he turned back toward Raist. "Continue. I expect to be back shortly."
As instructed, Raistlin kept going. Laboriously the boy turned the pages, reading with his finger from top to bottom, left to right, doing his best to understand and remember the tables described in the text. These included basic arithmetic and measurements, as well as sophisticated equivalents, angles and degrees, and component breakdowns. Raistlin continued reading until almost an hour had passed, and still the master mage did not return.
All the rote mental exercises made the boy drowsy. Understanding numerical configurations would be helpful for certain spells and situations, Raist supposed, but he had to yawn as he turned the last page of the book and closed its gilt cover.
Still there was no sign of Morath, nor any echo of noise from the other side of the library door where he had disappeared. The late afternoon sun seeping in from above was no longer so pleasant, and the light in the library had grown amber and murky. Reinforced by the silence, it was almost eerie in its effect.
With a sigh, Raistlin reached for one of the other two books that the master mage had set aside for him, the one with a wrinkly cover and crumbly pages. Immediately he realized it was a geography tome, studded with detailed maps of the many familiar as well as obscure regions of Ansalon. There were crude climate charts, topography and elevation references, and soil descriptions, all of it painstakingly hand sketched and coded in colors.