Without further comment, Sarkis gave a snort, turned, and climbed back up the stairs. Dogz stalled, glancing at Sarkis's retreating form before turning back to Tas. "Goodbye, friend Tas," the minotaur said sadly and turned to leave.

"Wait! What's going to happen now?" Tas shouted, but it was too late, for Dogz had hurried back up the stairs.

An hour or two went by. It was hard to keep track of time in the boring cell. It wasn't that it was so dirty, although it was dirty enough, or that it was so smelly, considering that Tas was almost getting used to the stench of minotaurs. It was just that the complete furnishings consisted of a bunk and a bucket, with nothing else to see or do, and Tas was so uncharacteristically dispirited that he didn't even feel like rummaging through his pouches. By comparison, the minotaur ship had been a carnival of entertainment.

Things began to look up when footsteps sounded and two minotaurs he hadn't seen before came down the stairs with Sarkis, who carried a flail. One of the minotaurs wore a crimson cape and a thin gold band around his forehead. Tas wondered if it was truly gold and wished he could hold it in his hands for just a minute to see. The other minotaur was ugly and horned like most of them, but wore a kilt and didn't bear any weapons.

The one with the gold band bore an air of authority. He stepped in front of the others and looked at Tas. The expression on his snout face was blank. His foul breath made Tas retreat to the back of the cell. His yellow teeth glistened.

"So this is the kender mage,” said the caped minotaur.

"Yes, King," answered Sarkis.

Kender mage? Tas thought. What in blazes were these dumb bullheads talking about?

"The Nightmaster will be very pleased," the king said, then spun on his cloven heels and started up the steps.

So astonished was Tas by the brief exchange that he barely had time to say anything. "Nightmaster who?" he shouted after the retreating figure. "King who? If you're the bull in charge, then you'd better let me out of here before my friends find out where I am! And I've got plenty of friends-numerous-lots! If they chose you for king, it must be because you have the worst breath in all of Lacynos-no, make that all of Mithas. Make that all of Ansalon, you overdressed, forked-tailed, bulging-eyed lardhead!"

If only he had room to toss his hoopak. If only iron bars didn't stand between him and the minotaurs. Tas grabbed his hoopak and waved it threateningly.

Sarkis and the other minotaur, the one who wore the kilt, stood there, watching Tas indifferently, waiting for him to shut up. Eventually he did.

"I have never seen a kender before," rumbled the kilted minotaur in a surprisingly civilized tone. "And I have certainly never seen a kender mage."

"Yes, Cleef-Eth," said Sarkis. "As ordered, I have delivered him to your keeping."

Tas waited to hear what Cleef-Eth was going to say next. Sarkis deferred to him, that was plain. And Cleef-Eth appeared to be a minotaur of some intelligence and standing.

"Torture him until he reveals to us his secrets," said Cleef-Eth, leveling his big, round bullish orbs at Tasslehoff.

"Don't kill him, though… not right away, at least. But hurt him so he knows that we mean business."

Sarkis snapped his flail against his palm. "It will be my pleasure, Cleef-Eth," he said with relish.

Fallen tree limbs overgrown with twisted pines and a sponge-like, mossy vegetation crosshatched the dense forest, making the going difficult. Sudden torrents of water, evidence of some vast underground river, surfaced, rushed by, then vanished back beneath the wooded maze.

The land sloped gradually upward. Peaks ringed the forest where the terrain broke into abrupt escarpments and promontories. Here and there, shafts of pale sunlight pierced the greenish-blue atmosphere that enveloped the woods.

Slowly the three friends made their way through the junglelike forest. With blunt swings, Flint and Tanis hacked away at the lush greenery, clearing a path. Tanis grumbled at having to use his sword for such activity, while Flint, who had been the grumbler for most of the morning, could find some pleasure in wielding the sharp-edged shortaxe he usually kept slung at his side. Behind them, Raistlin waited wordlessly each time they halted, leaning on the stout cedar walking stick that had been carved for him by Flint some months ago. His pale face was lined with tension, but he was more patient with delay than either of his two companions.

The Master Mage's directions had been very precise. Although well-concealed, its whereabouts known only to a small, privileged number of magic practitioners, the cave of the Oracle lay only slightly more than half a day's trek from Solace. Morath had warned Raistlin to beware. In spite of deceptive appearances, the Oracle had fantastic powers and did not welcome uninvited strangers.

Outside Solace, the crushed gravel road that led to the southeast cleaved into two smaller pebble roads, one leading deeper into the mountainous south and the other curving to the east. Following Morath's instructions, Tanis, Flint, and Raistlin took the eastern fork. After a half-dozen miles, the path spidered off in numerous directions, giving a traveler the choice of several well-trodden dirt paths. Without the Master Mage's counsel, they never would have chosen the least of these, a northeasterly trail of dirt and mud that led, after a few miles, to a seeming dead end, a thick canopy of low-growing plants surrounding a grove of immense, broad-leafed trees with low-slung branches and huge trunks.

For half an hour, they slashed their way through the smothering undergrowth, then maneuvered past a cluster of formidable trees with outstretched branches. On the other side of the barrier, as the Master Mage had foretold, the faint traces of the old trail resumed.

Sometimes stooping, at other times crawling over or under obstacles of boulders and fallen trees, the trio spent an hour laboring on the wending, debris-ridden trail.

Raistlin kept a dogged pace. His determination to reach the Oracle impressed Tanis, who had banished Kitiara from his thoughts and was occupied with the task at hand. Flint took every opportunity to gripe and grumble.

"This mage of yours better know what he's talking about!" Flint complained at one point, mopping his brow with a handkerchief that was by now mottled with dirt and sweat.

Raistlin fixed him with a stare. "If you have any doubts, then turn back," rasped Caramon's twin, who was every bit as road-weary as the dwarf and furthermore less accustomed to such exertion. His face was pale and shiny. "Although I thought someone with your forest skills would find this outing a lark."

Flint scowled furiously but held his tongue, turning his back on Raistlin and continuing to clear the trail. Tanis would also have liked some assurances, but he saw the glint of anger in Raistlin's eyes and chose to say nothing.

Finally the elusive trail appeared to end in a small grassy clearing. At one end of the clearing stood a mammoth fir tree with a trunk that seemed welded to other trees and huge rocks wedged up behind it. At the base of the great fir was a black, hollow maw. This was obviously the place, for out of the cavity spewed tendrils of mist, accompanied by a strange brackish smell.

Both Flint and Tanis hesitated, but Raistlin moved ahead of them, peering cautiously. With his staff, he beckoned the dwarf and half-elf forward. The young mage led the three of them up to the mouth of the forbidding cave.

"Hallo!" cried Raistlin boldly, leaning into the darkness, his voice harsh and loud in the forest calm. "Three friends have come to call! We have greetings from Morath, the Master Mage!"