The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  “Well, we aren’t in one of the finest inns in Palanthas,” said Tanin sarcastically, stopping in his pacing to catch a hunk of thrown bread. Grinding it to bits in his hand, he tossed it on the floor. “We’re in the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth. We’ve been spirited into this room. The damn doors are locked, and we can’t get out We have no idea what these wizards have done with Father, and all you can think of is cheese and ale!”

  “That’s not all I’m thinking of,” Sturm said quietly with a nod of his head and a worried glance at their little brother, who was still staring into the fire.

  “Yeah,” Tanin snapped gloomily, his gaze following Sturm’s. “I’m thinking of him, too! It’s his fault we’re here in the first place!” Moodily kicking a table leg as he walked past, Tanin resumed his pacing. Seeing his little brother flinch at his older brother’s words, Sturm sighed and returned to his sport of trying to hit Tanin between the shoulder blades with the bread.

  Anyone observing the older two young men (as someone was at this very moment) might have taken them for twins, though they were—in reality—a year apart in age. Twenty-four and twenty-three respectfully, Tanin and Sturm (named for Caramon’s best friend, Tanis Half-Elven, and the heroic Knight of Solamnia, Sturm Brightblade) looked, acted, and even thought alike. Indeed, they often played the part of twins and enjoyed nothing so much as when people mistook one for the other.

  Big and brawny, each young man had Caramon’s splendid physique and his genial, honest face. But the bright red curls and dancing green eyes that wreaked such havoc among the women the young men met came directly from their mother, who had broken her share of hearts in her youth. One of the beauties of Krynn as well as a renowned warrior, Tika Waylan had grown a little plumper since the days when she bashed draconians over the head with her skillet. But heads still turned when Tika waited tables in her fluffy, low-necked white blouse, and there were few men who left the Inn of the Last Home without shaking their heads and swearing that Caramon was a lucky fellow.

  The green eyes of young Sturm were not dancing now, however. Instead, they glinted mischievously as, with a wink at his younger brother—who wasn’t watching—Sturm rose silently to his feet and, positioning himself behind the preoccupied Tanin, quietly drew his sword. Just as Tanin turned around, Sturm stuck the sword blade between his brother’s legs, tripping him and sending him to the floor with a crash that seemed to shake the very foundation of the tower.

  “Damn you for a lame-brained gully dwarf!” roared Tanin. Clambering to his feet, he leapt after his brother, who was scrambling to get out of the way. Tanin caught him and, grabbing hold of the grinning Sturm by the collar of his tunic, sent him sprawling backward into the table, smashing it to the floor. Tanin jumped on top of his brother, and the two were engaged in their usual rough-and-tumble antics, which had left several barrooms in Ansalon in shambles, when a quiet voice brought the tussle to a halt.

  “Stop it,” said Palin tensely, rising from his chair by the fire. “Stop it, both of you! Remember where you are!”

  “I remember where I am,” Tanin said sulkily, gazing up at his youngest brother.

  As tall as the older two young men, Palin was well-built. Given to study rather than swordplay, however, he lacked the heavy musculature of the two warriors. He had his mother’s red hair, but it was not fiery red, being nearer a dark auburn. He wore his hair long—it flowed to his shoulders in soft waves from a central part on his forehead. But it was the young man’s face—his face and his hands—that sometimes haunted the dreams of his mother and father. Fine-boned, with penetrating, intelligent eyes that always seemed to be seeing right through one, Palin’s face had the look of his uncle, if not his features. Palin’s hands were Raistlin’s, however. Slender, delicate, the fingers quick and deft, the young man handled the fragile spell components with such skill that his father was often torn between watching with pride and looking away in sadness.

  Just now, the hands were clenched into fists as Palin glared grimly at his two older brothers lying on the floor amid spilled ale, pieces of bread, crockery, a half-eaten cheese, and shards of broken table.

  “Then try to behave with some dignity, at least!” Palin snapped.

  “I remember where I am,” Tanin repeated angrily. Getting to his feet, he walked over to stand in front of Palin, staring at him accusingly. “And I remember who brought us here! Riding through that accursed wood that damn near got us killed—”

  “Nothing in Wayreth Forest will hurt you,” Palin returned, looking at the mess on the floor in disgust. “As I’d have told you if you’d only listened. This forest is controlled by the wizards in the tower. It protects them from unwanted intruders. We have been invited here. The trees let us pass without harm. The voices you heard whispered only the fears in your own heart. It’s magic—”

  “You listen, Palin,” Tanin interrupted in what Sturm always referred to as his Elder Brother voice. “Why don’t you just drop all this magic business? You’re hurting Father and Mother—Father most of all. You saw his face when we rode up to this place! The gods know what it must have cost him to come back here.”

  Flushing, Palin turned away, biting his lip.

  “Oh, lay off the kid, will you, Tanin?” Sturm said, seeing the pain on his younger brother’s face. Wiping ale from his pants, he somewhat shamefacedly began trying to put the table back together—a hopeless task, considering most of it was in splinters.

  “You had the makings of a good swordsman once, Little Brother,” Tanin said persuasively, ignoring Sturm and putting his hand on Palin’s shoulder. “C’mon, kid. Tell whoever’s out there”—Tanin waved his hand somewhat vaguely—“that you’ve changed your mind. We can leave this cursed place, then, and go home—”

  “We have no idea why they asked us to come here,” Palin retorted, shaking off his brother’s hand. “It probably has nothing to do with me! Why should it?” he asked bitterly. “I’m still a student. It will be years before I am ready to take my test … thanks to Father and Mother,” he muttered beneath his breath. Tanin did not hear it, but the unseen observer did.

  “Yeah? And I’m a half-ogre,” retorted Tanin angrily. “Look at me when I’m talking, Palin—”

  “Just leave me alone!”

  “Hey, you two—” Sturm the peacemaker started to intervene when the three young men suddenly realized they were not alone in the room.

  All quarrels forgotten, the brothers acted instantly. Sturm rose to his feet with the quickness of a cat. His hand on the hilt of his sword, he joined Tanin, who had already moved to stand protectively in front of the unarmed Palin. Like all magic-users, the young man carried neither sword nor shield nor wore armor. But his hand went to the dagger he wore concealed beneath his robes, his mind already forming the words of the few defensive spells he had been allowed to learn.

  “Who are you?” Tanin asked harshly, staring at the man standing in the center of the locked room. “How did you get in here?”

  “As to how I got here”—the man smiled expansively—“there are no walls in the Tower of High Sorcery for those who walk with magic. As for who I am, my name is Dunbar Mastersmate, of Northern Ergoth.”

  “What do you want?” Sturm asked quietly.

  “Want? Why—to make certain you are comfortable, that is all,” Dunbar answered. “I am your host—”

  “You? A magic-user?” Tanin gaped, and even Palin seemed slightly startled.

  In a world where wizards are noted for having more brains than brawn, this man was obviously the exception. Standing as tall as Tanin, he had a barrel of a chest that Caramon might well have envied. Muscles rippled beneath the shining black skin of his bare chest. His arms looked as though he could have picked up the stalwart Sturm and carried him about the room as easily as if he had been a child. He was not dressed in robes, but wore bright-colored, loose-fitting trousers. The only hint that he might have been a wizard at all came from the pouches that hung at his waist and a white sash that girdl
ed his broad middle.

  Dunbar laughed, booming laughter that set the dishes rattling.

  “Aye,” he said, “I am a magic-user.” With that, he spoke a word of command, and the broken table, leaping to its legs, put itself back together with incredible speed. The ale vanished from the floor, and the cracked pitcher mended and floated up to rest on the table, where it was soon foaming with brew again. A roasted haunch of venison appeared, as did a loaf of fragrant bread, along with sundry other delicacies that caused Sturm’s mouth to water and cooled even Tanin’s ardor, though they did not allay his suspicions.

  “Seat yourselves,” said Dunbar, “and let us eat. Do not worry about your father,” he added, as Tanin was about to speak. “He is in conference about important matters with the heads of the other two orders. Sit down! Sit down!” He grinned, white teeth flashing against his black skin. “Or shall I make you sit down …?”

  At this, Tanin let loose the hilt of his sword and pulled up a chair, though he did not eat but sat watching Dunbar warily. Sturm fell to with a good appetite, however. Only Palin remained standing, his hands folded in the sleeves of his white robes.

  “Please, Palin,” said Dunbar more gently, looking at the young man, “be seated. Soon we will join your father, and you will discover the reason you have been brought here. In the meanwhile, I ask you to share bread and meat with me.”

  “Thank you, master,” Palin said, bowing respectfully.

  “Dunbar, Dunbar …” The man waved his hand. “You are my guests. We will not stand on formalities.”

  Palin sat down and began to eat, but it was obvious he did so out of courtesy only. Dunbar and Sturm more than made up for him, however, and soon even Tanin was lured from his self-imposed role of protector by the delicious smells and the sight of the others enjoying themselves.

  “You … you said the heads of the other orders, mast—Dunbar,” Palin ventured. “Are you—”

  “Head of the Order of White Robes. Yes.” Dunbar tore off a hunk of bread with his strong teeth and washed it down with a draft of ale, which he drank at one long swallow. “I took over when Par-Salian retired.”

  “Head of the order?” Sturm looked at the big man in awe. “But—what kind of wizard are you? What do you do?”

  “I’ll wager it’s more than pulling the wings off bats,” Tanin mumbled through a mouthful of meat.

  Palin appeared shocked, and frowned at his older brother. But Dunbar only laughed again. “You’re right there!” he said with an oath. “I am a sea wizard. My father was a ship’s captain and his father before him. I had no use for captaining vessels. My skills lay in magic, but my heart was with the sea, and there I returned. Now I sail the waves and use my art to summon the wind or quell the storm. I can leave the enemy becalmed so that we may outrun him, or I can cast bursting flame onto his decks if we attack. And, when necessary”—Dunbar grinned—“I can take my turn at the bilge pump or turn the capstan with the best of them. Keeps me fit.” He pounded himself on his broad chest. “I understand you two”—he looked at Sturm and Tanin—“have returned from fighting the minotaurs who have been raiding the coast up north. I, too, have been involved in trying to stop those pirates. Tell me, did you—?”

  The three were soon deeply involved in discussion. Even Tanin warmed to the subject, and was soon describing in vivid detail the ambush that had stopped the minotaurs from leveling the city of Kalaman. Dunbar listened attentively, asking intelligent questions, making comments, and appearing to enjoy himself very much.

  But though the wizard’s shrewd gaze was concentrated on the warrior brothers, his attention was in truth on the youngest.

  Seeing the three deep in conversation and himself apparently forgotten, Palin thankfully gave up all pretense of eating and went back to staring into the fire, never noticing Dunbar watching him.

  The young man’s face was pale and thoughtful, the slender hands twisted together in his lap. So lost in his thoughts was he that his lips moved and, though he did not speak aloud, one other person in the room heard the words.

  “Why have they brought me here? Can they read the secrets of my heart? Will they tell my father?”

  And, finally, “How can I hurt him, who has suffered so much already?”

  Nodding to himself as if he had found the answer to some unasked question, Dunbar sighed and turned his complete attention back to fighting minotaurs.

  Chapter Three

  “You’re wrong,” said Caramon calmly. “My brother is dead.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Justarius glanced at Dalamar, who shrugged. Of all the reactions they had been prepared for, this calm refutal had not been one of them, apparently. His expression grave, seeming uncertain what to say, Justarius looked back at Caramon.

  “You talk as though you have proof.”

  “I have,” said Caramon.

  “May I ask what?” Dalamar inquired sarcastically. “The Portal to the Abyss closed, after all—closed with your brother’s help—leaving him trapped on the other side.” The dark elf’s voice dropped. “Her Dark Majesty would not kill him. Raistlin prevented her entry into this world. Her rage would know no bounds. She would take delight in tormenting him eternally. Death would have been Raistlin’s salvation.”

  “And so it was,” said Caramon softly.

  “Sentimental drivel—” Dalamar began impatiently, but Justarius once again laid his hand upon the dark elf’s arm, and the black-robed mage lapsed into seething silence.

  “I hear certainty in your voice, Caramon,” Justarius said earnestly. “You have knowledge, obviously, that we do not. Share this with us. I know this is painful for you, but we face a decision of grave importance, and this may influence our actions.”

  Caramon hesitated, frowning. “Does this have something to do with my son?”

  “Yes,” Justarius replied.

  Caramon’s face darkened. His gaze went to his sword, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his hand absently fingering the hilt. “Then I will tell you,” he said, speaking reluctantly, yet in a firm, low voice, “what I have never told anyone—not my wife, not Tanis, not anyone.” He was silent a moment more, collecting his thoughts. Then, swallowing and brushing his hand across his eyes, keeping his gaze on the sword, he began. “I was numb after … after what happened in the tower in Palanthas. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to think. It was easier to go through the day like a sleepwalker. I moved, I talked, but I didn’t feel. It was easy.” He shrugged. “There was a lot to do to keep me occupied. The city was in ruins. Dalamar”—he glanced briefly at the dark elf—“was nearly dead, Revered Daughter Crysania hurt badly. Then there was Tas—stealing that floating citadel.” In spite of himself, Caramon smiled, remembering the antics of the merry kender. But the smile soon faded. Shaking his head, he continued.

  “I knew that someday I’d have to think about Raistlin. I’d have to sort it out in my mind.” Raising his head, Caramon looked at Justarius directly. “I had to make myself understand what Raistlin was, what he had done. I came to face the fact that he was evil, truly evil, that he had jeopardized the entire world in his lust for power, that innocent people had suffered and died because of him.”

  “And for this, of course, he was granted salvation!” Dalamar sneered.

  “Wait!” Caramon raised his hand, flushing. “I came to realize something else. I loved Raistlin. He was my brother, my twin. We were close—no one knows how close.” The big man could not go on, but stared down at his sword, frowning, until, drawing a shaking breath, he raised his head again. “Raistlin did some good in his life. Without him, we couldn’t have defeated the dragonarmies. He cared for those who … who were wretched, sick … like himself. But even that, I know, wouldn’t have saved him at the end.” Caramon’s lips pressed together firmly as he blinked back his tears. “When I met him in the Abyss, he was near victory, as you well know. He had only to reenter the portal, draw the Dark Queen through it, and then he would be able to defeat her and take her place. He wou
ld achieve his dream of becoming a god. But in so doing, he would destroy the world. My journey into the future showed that to me—and I showed the future to him. Raistlin would become a god—but he would rule over a dead world. He knew then that he couldn’t return. He had doomed himself. He knew the risks he faced, however, when he entered the Abyss.”

  “Yes,” said Justarius quietly. “And, in his ambition, he chose freely to take those risks. What is it you are trying to say?”

  “Just this,” Caramon returned. “Raistlin made a mistake, a terrible, tragic mistake. And he did what few of us can do—he had courage enough to admit it and try to do what he could to rectify it, even though it meant sacrificing himself.”

  “You have grown in wisdom over the years, Caramon Majere. What you say is convincing.” Justarius regarded Caramon with new respect, even as the archmage shook his head sadly. “Still, this is a question for philosophers to argue. It is not proof. Forgive me for pressing you, Caramon, but—”

  “I spent a month at Tanis’s, before I went home,” Caramon continued as if he hadn’t heard the interruption. “It was in his quiet, peaceful home that I thought about all this. It was there that I first had to come to grips with the fact that my brother—my companion since birth, the person that I loved better than anyone else on this world—was gone. Lost. For all I knew, trapped in horrible torment. I … I thought, more than once, about taking the edge off my pain with dwarf spirits again.” Caramon closed his eyes, shuddering. “One day, when I didn’t think I could live anymore without going mad, I went into my room and locked the door. Taking out my sword, I looked at it, thinking how easy it would be to … to escape. I lay on my bed, fully intending to kill myself. Instead, I fell into an exhausted sleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up, it was night. Everything was quiet, Solinari’s silver light shone in the window, and I was filled with a sense of inexpressible peace. I wondered why … and then I saw him.”