Raistlin cast a swift glance at his brother. Seeing Caramon preoccupied in attempting to capture the barmaid's attention, the mage made a slight, beckoning gesture with his hand.
Nothing appears as sweet as fruit we are forbidden to eat. The boy's eyes widened. He looked around to see if the mage meant someone else, then looked back at Raistlin, who repeated the gesture. The boy tugged gently at his mother's sleeve.
"Here, now. Let your ma sleep," scolded the barmaid, hustling past, a tray of mugs in her hands. "Be good for a few moments, and when I come back I'll bring you a treat." She vanished into the crowd.
"Hey, there! Barmaid!" Caramon was waving his arms and bellowing like a bull.
Raistlin cast him an irritated glance, then turned back to the boy.
Slowly, drawn by irresistible curiosity and fascination, the child left his mother's side and crept over to stand near the mage.
"Can you really do magic?" he asked, round-eyed with wonder.
"Here, there!" Caramon, seeing the kid apparently bothering his brother, tried to shoo him away. "Go on back to your ma."
"Caramon, shut up," said Raistlin softly. He turned his golden-eyed gaze on the boy. "Is your name Galeth?"
"Yes, sir. I was named after my grandfather. He was a knight. I'm going to be a knight, too."
Caramon grinned at his brother. "Reminds you of Sturm, doesn't he? These knights, they're all daft," he added, making the mistake that most adults make in thinking that children — because they are small — have no feelings.
The boy flared up like dry tinder cast in the fire. "My father's not daft I He's a great man!" Galeth flushed, realizing perhaps that his father hadn't seemed all that great. "It's just that he's worried about my mother. He and I can do without food, we're men. But my mother…" His lower lip began to tremble, his eyes filled with tears.
"Galeth," said Raistlin, casting Caramon a glance that sent the big man back to shouting for the barmaid, "would you like to see some magic?"
The boy, too awed to speak, nodded.
"Then bring me your mother's purse."
"Her purse is empty, sir," said the boy. Even though young, he was old enough to understand that this was a shameful thing, and his cheeks flushed.
"Bring it to me," said Raistlin in his soft, whispering voice.
Galeth stood a moment, undecided, torn between what he knew he should be doing and what he longed to do. Temptation proved too strong for his six years. Turning, he ran back to his mother and gently, without disturbing her rest, slipped her purse from the pocket of her gown. He brought it back and handed it to Raistlin, who took it in his long-fingered, delicate hands and studied it carefully. It was a small leather bag embroidered with golden thread, such as fine ladies use to carry their jewels. If this one had ever had jewels in it, they had long since been sold to buy food and clothing.
The mage turned the purse inside out and shook it. It was lined with silk and was, as the boy said, pitifully empty. Then, shrugging, Raistlin handed it back to the boy. Galeth accepted it hesitantly. Where was the magic? He began to droop a little in disappointment.
"And so you are going to be a knight like your father," said Raistlin.
"Yes!" The boy blinked back his tears. "Since when, then, does a future knight tell a lie?" "I didn't lie, sir!" Galeth flushed. "That's a wicked thing!" "But you said the purse was empty. Look inside." Startled, the boy opened the leather bag. Whistling in astonishment, he pulled out a coin, then gazed at Raistlin in delight.
"Go put the purse back, quietly now," said the mage. "And not a word to anyone about where the coin came from, or the spell will be broken!"
"Yes, sir!" said Galeth solemnly. Scurrying back, he slipped his mother's purse into her pocket with the stealthy skill of a kender. Squatting down next to her on the floor, he began to chew on a piece of candied ginger the barmaid tossed to him, pausing every now and then to share a conspiratorial grin with the mage.
"That's all well and good," grunted Caramon, leaning his elbows on the table, "but what do WE do now for food for the next week?"
"Something will turn up," said Raistlin calmly. Raising his frail hand, he made a weak gesture and the barmaid hurried to his side.
The soft glow of twilight darkened to night. The inn became even more crowded, hot, and noisy. The knight's wife slept through the turmoil, her exhaustion so apparent that many looked upon her with pitying eyes and muttered that she deserved a better fate. The boy fell asleep, too, curled up on the floor at his mother's feet. He never stirred when Caramon lifted him in his strong arms and tucked him near his mother. Earwig returned and sat down next to Caramon. Flushed and happy, he emptied out his bulging pouches onto the table and began to sort their contents, keeping up a nonstop, one-sided conversation at the same time.
After two hours, Sir Gawain returned. Each man in the inn who saw him enter nudged a neighbor into silence so that all were quiet and watching him attentively as he stepped into the common room.
"Where's my son?" he demanded, staring around darkly.
"Right here, safe and warm and sound asleep," answered the barmaid, pointing out the slumbering child. "We haven't made off with him, if that's what you're thinking."
The knight had grace enough to look ashamed. "I'm sorry," Gawain said gruffly. "I thank you for your kindness."
"Knight or barmaid, death takes us all alike. At least we can help one another through life. I'll wake your lady."
"No," said Gawain and put out his hand to stop her. "Let her sleep. I want to ask you" — he turned to the proprietor — "if she and my son can stay the night. I will have money to pay you in the morning," he added stiffly.
"You will?" The proprietor stared at him suspiciously. "His Lordship hired you?"
"No," answered the knight. "It seems he has all the fighters he needs to handle the goblins."
An audible sigh whispered through the room. "Told you so," said Caramon to his brother.
"Shut up, you fool!" Raistlin returned sharply. "I'm interested to know where he's planning to find money this night."
"His Lordship says that there is a woodland not far from here, and in that woodland is a fortress that is of no use to him or to anyone because there is a curse laid upon it. Only — "
"A cursed fortress? Where? What kind of curse?" demanded an excited Earwig, scrambling up onto the table to get a better view.
"The Maiden's Curse," called out several in answer. "The fortress is called Death's Keep. No one who has entered it has ever returned."
"Death's Keep!" breathed the kender, misty-eyed with rapture. "What a wonderful-sounding place!"
"A true Knight of Solamnia may enter and return. According to His Lordship, it takes a true knight to lift the curse. I plan to go there and, with the help of Paladine, perform this deed."
"I'll come wi — " Earwig was offering magnanimously, when Caramon yanked the kender's feet out from underneath him, sending the green-clad figure sprawling face-first on the floor.
"His Lordship has promised to reward me well," concluded Gawain, ignoring the crash and the kender's protest.
"Uh, huh," sneered the proprietor, "And who's going to pay your family's bill if you don't return, Sir True Knight? You're not the first of your kind to go up there, and I've never seen a one come back!"
Nods and low voices in the crowd affirmed this.
"His Lordship has promised to provide for them if I fall," answered Gawain in a calm and steady voice.
"His Lordship? Oh, that's quite all right then," said the proprietor, happy once more. "And my best wishes to you, Sir Knight. I'll personally escort the lady and your boy — a fine child, if I may say so — to their room."