Free Dragonlance 12 - Raistlin Chronicles - Soulforge by Margaret Weis Page A

drearily. Get on with it. Quit showing off. You've probably never spoken to an elf in your life, you fat old dundering idiot.
    "The letter a in the language of magic is spoken as 'ai.' "
    Raistlin snapped to alertness. Here was information he needed. He listened attentively. Master Theobald repeated the pronunciation.
    " 'Ai.' Now, you young gentlemen, say this after me."
    A drowsy chorus of ais sighed through the stifling room, punctuated by one strong ai spoken firmly by Raistlin. Generally his voice was the quietest among them, for he disliked drawing attention to himself, mainly because such attention was usually painful. His excitement at actually learning something useful and the fact that he was one of the few awake and listening had prompted him to speak more loudly than he'd intended.
    He immediately regretted having done so. Master Theobald regarded Raistlin with an approving eye, at least what could be seen of that eye through the pouches of fat surrounding it, and gently tapped the willow branch upon the desk.
    "Very good, Master Raistlin," he said.
    Raistlin's neighbors cast him covert, malignant glances, and he knew he'd be made to pay for this compliment. The boy to his right, an older boy, almost thirteen, who had been sent to the school because his parents could not stand to have him around the house, leaned over to whisper.
    "I hear you kiss his arse every morning, 'Master Raistlin.' "
    The boy , known as Gordo, made vulgar smacking sounds with his lips. Those sitting nearby responded with smothered giggles.
    Master Theobald heard and turned his eye on them. He rose to his feet and the boys immediately hushed. He headed for them, the willow branch in his hand, when he was distracted by the sight of a small pupil actually slumbering soundly, his head on his arms, his eyes closed.
    Master Theobald smiled. Down came the willow branch across the small shoulders. The pupil sat bolt upright with a pained and startled cry.
    "What do you mean, sir, sleeping in my class?" Master Theobald thundered at the young malefactor, who shrank before his rage and surreptitiously wiped away his tears.
    During this commotion, Raistlin heard a flurry of activity behind him, a sort of scuffling, but he didn't bother to look around. The antics of the other boys seemed petty and stupid to him. Why did they waste their time, such precious time, in nonsense?
    He said "ai" quietly to himself until he was sure he had it right, and even wrote down the vowel combination upon his slate in order to practice it later. Absorbed in his work, he ignored the muffled giggles and sniggers going on around him. Master Theobald, having completely demoralized one small urchin, returned to his desk well satisfied. Seating himself ponderously, he continued with the lesson.
    "The next vowel in the language of the arcane is o . This is not pronounced 'oo,' nor yet 'och,' but
    'oa.' Pronunciation is most important, young gentlemen, and therefore I suggest you pay attention.
    Pronounce a spell incorrectly and it will not work. I am reminded of the time when I was a pupil of the great wizard—"
    Raistlin fidgeted in irritation. Master Theobald was off on one of his tales, stories that were dull and boring and served invariably to laud the mediocre talents of Master Theobald. Raistlin was copying down carefully the letter o with the phonetic pronunciation "oa" next to it when suddenly his stool shot out from underneath him.
    Raistlin tumbled to the floor. The fall, completely unexpected, was a hard one. Stinging pain shot through his wrist, which he'd instinctively used to try to catch himself. The stool toppled to the floor with a loud clatter. His neighbors broke into guffaws, immediately silenced.
    Master Theobald, his face purple against his white robes, sprang to his feet and stood quivering in rage like a mound of vanilla pudding.
    "Master Raistlin! What is the meaning of this disruption to my lecture?"
    "He went to sleep, sir, and fell off his stool,"