Fistanadantilus Reborn

CHAPTER 19

To His Excellency Astinus, Lorekeeper of Krynn

Inscribed this year of Krynn, 353 AC

As Your Excellency can well imagine, I am moved and flattered by your request that I provide a summation of my own life story. Of course, it has always been my belief that the proper historian should be a reporter, a chronicler of great deeds, and not a participant. Whether the fortune be good or ill, however, it has been my luck to have been thrust into the role of participant in some of these occurrences. Overcoming my reluctance, suppressing my discipline and training, I have forced myself, as it were, to stir the river's waters with a paddle of my own.

Naturally my humble role is dwarfed, virtually to insignificance, by the deeds of the great actors on the historical stage. Indeed, it seems presumptuous of me even to take up quill and ink for the discussion of such abjectly inconsequential deeds of my own, though admittedly those trivial occurrences did involve a certain level of risk to me. My blood still chills at the knowledge of the perilous circumstances that I repeatedly encountered. With nothing more then the steadiness of my spirit, the keenness of my observer's eye, and the sly wit of my tongue, I went into contest with villains of monstrous capability, fiends who would have flayed me alive as soon as looked at me.

And with all humility, I have overcome my modesty enough to describe how my encounters in these adventures were indeed met with some measure of success, however small and unportentous it may have been.

But, of course, I digress, forgetting that you have requested a history of the time preceding those sublime accomplishments. As ever, I shall strive my best to be the equal of Your Excellency's requirements.

To wit: My studies commenced during the autumn of 366 AC, when I was accepted into the Temple of Gilean in Palanthas as a novice. I was commended upon my literacy, though (as Your Excellency is no doubt aware) several of the elders held certain misgivings as to my suitability for the priesthood.

My studies progressed in two directions. In areas of research, of scribing, recording, and of accurate description, I was universally praised. However, in matters representative of faith in our god of neutrality, I confess that I displayed a rather extreme impairment. A typical novice, of course, has learned the basics of casting a spell after the conclusion of a year or two of study. And naturally it is not uncommon for the learning to increase in rapidity as the apprentice spends more time in the monastery.

In my own case, sadly, I passed the better part of a decade pursuing my studies devoutly, yet failed to so much as stir the dust in the library by means of magic. It was as if a light, a discernible spark, was glowing in the spirit of each of the other monks. In my case, however, the ember had been long ago doused, and so thoroughly soaked that it could never be relit.

In the course of my academic accomplishments, however, I did manage to make such a name for myself (or so I was told by the masters and Patriarch Grimbriar himself) that it drew even the attention of Your Excellency. It was the matter of my writing, of course, and not my faith that resulted in this notice. Specifically it was the study of Fistandantilus, the topic that became such a focal point of my early research.

The archmage of the black robe, so utterly corrupt and yet so immortally powerful, was a figure unlike any other in the long history of Krynn. His was a story full of contradictions and indeed is one of the powerful side currents wherein the River of Time goes through such tumultuous cascades in order to draw the various streams together. The tale began in the mists of ancient times and carries through the present, and it even, during the future that is my past, bears a relevance to the ongoing course of the great river.

Too, it is a tale that is known to be entwined with another of history's great figures, the archmage Raistlin Majere. In plaoes, in fact, the currents of the two arch-mages in the stream of history seem to run together, mingling in such a fashion that they are truly indistinguishable.

It was my choice to make the study of Fistandantilus my first area of specialization. I derived great pleasure during those years in the monastery in tracing the accounts of the archmage's presence in, this or that portion of Ansalon, during times when he was active, times when he was dormant, and even during epochs when it seemed that he was in two places at once! I did a bit of traveling in the course of these studies, most notably a journey to Haven in 370–371, where I unearthed key details. There you will remember that I did (or should I say "I will"?) unearth the first mention of Kelryn Dare-wind, though at my first encounter, I did not learn the name of the false high priest.

And there was a great deal that had been written about my subject, enough to keep me occupied for those years of research. (Forgive me, Excellency, if I now dare to think that my own body of work has significantly expanded that material, that it might provide months or years of inspiration to the diligent student historian who might someday follow in my tracks!)

Yet inevitably I reached a time when I had exhausted the available sources. And still I had displayed no aptitude for the casting of even the most basic spells of clerical magic. In truth, it seemed that my aspirations toward the priesthood were destined to end in failure.

It was in the spirit of a last chance that Patriarch Grim-briar and my own tutors at last called me into their presence. I remember still the flickering tapers casting yellow beams of light through the dark, lofty library. My heart was hammering, for I feared that I was to be dismissed as a failure, sent from the place to make my way in the world as one who could not find his true calling.

Instead, my mentor, Falstar Kane, opened the meeting by giving me a gift. The Book of Learning, it was, and I well recognized the treasure that I held and the level of trust that the temple hierarchy had placed in me.

I opened the enchanted tome and was confronted with a blank page. I knew enough of the meaning to wait expectantly for the further words of the masters. (Of the book, more later.)

"We have decided, Foryth, that your learning must continue along a different path than it has to date," Falstar Kane declared, his tone gentle.

"I await your commands, your inspiration!" I pledged with utmost sincerity.

"We are sending you once again into the world beyond the walls of our temple," continued my mentor gravely.

"Where, my lords?" I inquired in tones as bold as I could muster.

"Your diligence in the matter of the archmage is well known," declared Thantal, one of the other masters. "It has been suggested that you journey to a place where you might continue that study, where you might seek to add to your work… and at the same time seek something else as well."

I was admittedly intrigued. Even at that moment, I had determined upon an initial target for my studies.

"Field research — and a quest for magic," declared Patriarch Grimbriar, putting all the cards on the table (if Your Excellency is not repelled by a gambling metaphor).

"What kind of magic?" I dared to ask.

It was Falstar who replied. "Any kind, my son. You are to travel for a year, and it is hoped that you will take advantage of the time to further your studies on the matter of Fistandantilus."

"However, it is expected, nay, required" — the patriarch's tone was very stern indeed — "that you return to these premises in possession of a spell of clerical magic. You must do this within the allotted time of a year, or your course of study under the Scale of Gilean shall be terminated."

His words chilled into a ball of ice within my gut. I had struggled mightily to learn a spell, but if I had failed within the reverent, controlled environment of the monastery, it did not seem likely that I could succeed in the chaos of the outside world.

"Do you have an idea," Falstar asked, "of where you might commence your journey?"

To that, I replied with confidence. "You may recall from my research the discovery of a man, a false priest of the Seekers, who once lived in Haven," I replied. Encouraged by my listeners' apparent interest, I continued.

"During the time of the Seekers, he established a false religion, gaining considerable prestige until the coming of the dragonarmies. He left the city then, but I have encountered hints in my studies that suggest he may still live somewhere in the remote and mountainous country south of Qualinesti."

"Why does this particular cleric — a false cleric, it should be noted-interest you?" There was honest curiosity in Brother Thantal's voice.

"Because his sect was based on a worship of Fistan-dantilus," I replied.

"Appropriate enough," agreed Grimbriar. "But the man must be very old by now. Perhaps he has died."

"He may have died," I agreed, "but I doubt that he is old." In the face of their questioning glares, I explained. "His sect lasted for some fifty years in Haven, yet at the time of its dissolution, he was still a young man. He had found a means to avoid the effects of aging." (I did not mention my supposition, but I believed even then that the bloodstone of Fistandantilus might have been the key to this longevity.)

"That is interesting," Falstar Kane declared with a pleased smile. "May the god of neutrality watch over you on your travels."

"And grant you good fortune as well," added the patriarch. (For all his sternness, I believe that he really did want me to succeed.)

So it was that I left the monastery in Palanthas behind, taking ship to New Ports, then following a rough overland road into the depths of the Kharolis wilderness.

And it is there, Excellency, that my story truly begins, in that future era when I was a much younger man.

In Devotion to the Truth,

Your Loyal Servant,

Foryth Teel