The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

“Do not come closer, master,” the being warned, though Palin could see the eyes shining with a lust that brought sudden visions of cold lips touching his cringing flesh, drinking away his life. Shuddering, he wrapped his arms around his shivering body and sagged back against the wall. The warm feeling was gone, replaced by the chill of this horrible creature, the chill of death and disappointment. He felt nothing inside now, just empty and cold. Perhaps I will give it up. It isn’t worth it. Palin’s head drooped. Then his father’s hand was on his shoulder, his father’s voice echoing his thoughts.

  “Come, Palin,” Caramon said wearily. “This has all been for nothing. Let’s go home—”

  “Wait!” The gaze of the disembodied eyes shifted from the dark elf to the two figures that huddled behind him. “Who are these? One I recognize—”

  “Yes,” said Caramon, his voice low, “you’ve seen me before.”

  “His brother,” murmured the specter. “But who is this? The young one? Him I do not know.…”

  “C’mon, Palin,” Caramon ordered gruffly, casting a fearful glance at the eyes. “We’ve got a long journey—”

  Caramon’s arm encircled Palin’s shoulders. The young man felt his father’s gentle urging and tried to turn away, but his gaze was fixed on the specter, which was staring at him strangely.

  “Wait!” the specter commanded again, its hollow voice ringing through the darkness. Even the whispers fell silent at its command. “Palin?” it murmured softly, speaking questioningly, it seemed, to itself … or to someone else.…

  A decision was reached, apparently, because the voice became firm. “Palin. Come forward.”

  “No!” Caramon grasped his son.

  “Let him go!” Dalamar ordered, glancing around with a furious look. “I told you this might happen! It is our chance!” He gazed coldly at Caramon. “Or are you afraid of what you might find?”

  “I am not!” Caramon returned in a choked voice. “Raistlin is dead! I have seen him at peace! I don’t trust you mages! You’re not going to take my son from me!”

  Palin could feel his father’s body trembling near his. He could see the anguish in his father’s eyes. Compassion and pity stirred within the young man. There was a brief longing to stay safe within his father’s strong, sheltering arms, but these feelings were burned away by a hot anger that surged up from somewhere inside of him, an anger kindled by the magic.

  “Did you give Tanin a sword then bid him break it?” Palin demanded, pulling free of his father’s grip. “Did you give Sturm a shield and tell him to hide behind it? Oh, I know!” Palin snapped, seeing Caramon, his face flushed, about to speak. “That is different. That is something you understand. You’ve never understood me, have you, Father? How many years was it before I persuaded you to let me go to school, to study with the master who had taught my uncle? When you finally relented, I was the oldest beginning student there! For years, I was behind the others, working to catch up. And all the time, I could sense you and mother watching me anxiously. I could hear you talking at night, saying that maybe I’d outgrown this ‘fancy.’ Fancy!” Palin’s voice grew agonized. “Can’t you see? The magic is my life! My love!”

  “No, Palin, don’t say that!” Caramon cried, his voice breaking.

  “Why not? Because I sound like my uncle? You never understood him, either! You aren’t intending to let me take the Test, are you, Father?”

  Caramon stood without moving, refusing to answer, staring grimly into the darkness.

  “No,” said Palin softly. “You aren’t. You’re going to do everything in your power to stop me. Maybe even this!” The young man turned to look at Dalamar suspiciously. “Maybe this is some foul stew you and your friends here have cooked up to feed to me so that I’ll quit! It gives you ail the perfect excuse! Well, it won’t work.” Palin’s cold gaze went from Dalamar to his father. “I hope you choke on it!”

  Stepping past the dark elf, Palin put his foot upon the first step, his eyes on the specter, which floated above him.

  “Come, Palin”—a pallid hand appeared from nowhere, beckoning—“come closer.”

  “No!” Caramon screamed in rage, jumping forward.

  “I will do this, Father!” Palin took another step.

  Caramon reached out to grasp his son. There came a spoken word of magic, and the big man was frozen to the stone floor. “You must not interfere,” Dalamar said sternly.

  Glancing back, Palin saw his father—tears streaming down his face—still struggling in impotent fury to break free of the spell that bound him. For a moment, Palin’s heart misgave him. His father loved him.… No. Palin’s lips tightened in resolution. All the more reason for letting me go. I will prove to him I am as strong as Tanin and Sturm. I will make him proud of me as he is proud of them. I will show him I am not a child, needing his protection.

  Palin saw Dalamar start to ascend the stairs behind him. But then the dark elf himself came to a halt as two more pairs of disembodied eyes suddenly materialized out of the darkness and ranked themselves around him.

  “What is this?” Dalamar demanded furiously. “Do you dare stop me—the Master of the Tower?”

  “There is only one true Master of the Tower,” the Guardian said softly. “He who came to us long ago. For him, the gates opened.”

  As the Guardian spoke, it held out its pallid hand. A silver key lay within its skeletal palm.

  “Palin!” Dalamar shouted, fear and anger tightening his voice. “Don’t enter alone! You know nothing of the Art! You have not taken the Test! You cannot fight him! You could destroy us all!”

  “Palin!” Caramon begged in agony. “Palin, come home! Can’t you understand? I love you so much, my son! I can’t lose you—not like I lost him.…”

  The voices dinned in his ears, but Palin didn’t hear them. He heard another voice, a soft, shattered voice whispering in his heart. Come to me, Palin! I need you! I need your help …

  A thrill tingled in his blood. Reaching out, Palin took the key from the specter and, his hand shaking with fear and excitement, finally managed to insert the silver key into the ornate silver lock.

  There was a sharp click. Placing the tips of his five fingers on the oaken panel, Palin gave a gentle push.

  For him, the door opened.

  Chapter Seven

  Palin entered the dark laboratory, slowly, exultantly, his body shaking in excitement. He glanced back to see if Dalamar was behind him (to gloat a little, if the truth must be told) when the door slammed shut. There was a click, a snap. Sudden fear assailed Palin, trapped alone in the darkness. Frantically, he groped for the silver door handle, his fingers trying desperately to fit the key in the lock—a key that vanished in his hand.

  “Palin!” On the other side of the door, he heard his father’s frantic shout, but it sounded muffled and far away. There was a scuffling sound outside the door, muttered words of chanting, and then a thud, as though something heavy had smote it.

  The thick oaken door shivered, and light flared from beneath it.

  “Dalamar’s cast a spell,” Palin said to himself, backing up. The thud was probably his father’s broad shoulder. Nothing happened. From somewhere behind him, Palin noticed a faint light beginning to glow in the laboratory. His fear diminished. Shrugging, the young man turned away. Nothing they did could open that door. He knew that, somehow, and he smiled. For the first time in his life, he was doing something on his own, without father or brothers or master around to “help.” The thought was exhilarating. Sighing with pleasure, Palin relaxed and looked around, a tingle of joy surging through his body.

  He had heard this chamber described to him only twice—once by Caramon and once by Tanis Half-Elven. Caramon never spoke about what had happened that day in this laboratory, the day his twin had died. It had been only after much pleading on Palin’s part that his father had told him the story at all—and then only in brief, halting words. Caramon’s best friend, Tanis, had been more elaborate, though there were parts of the bittersweet
tale of ambition, love, and self-sacrifice about which not even Tanis could talk. Their descriptions had been accurate, however. The laboratory looked just as Palin had pictured it in his dreams.

  Walking slowly inside, examining every detail, Palin held his breath in reverent awe.

  Nothing and no one had disturbed the great chamber in twenty-five years. As Dalamar had said, no living being had dared enter it. Gray dust lay thick on the floor—no skittering mice feet had disturbed its drifted surface—as smooth and trackless as newfallen snow. The dust sifted from the window ledges where no spider spun its web, no bat flapped its leathery wings in anger at being awakened.

  The size of the chamber was difficult to determine. At first, Palin had thought it small, logic telling him it couldn’t be very large, located as it was at the top of the tower. But the longer he stayed, the larger the chamber seemed to grow.

  “Or is it me that grows smaller?” Palin whispered. “I am not even a mage. I don’t belong here,” said his mind. But his heart answered, You never really belonged anywhere else.…

  The air was heavy with the odors of mildew and dust. There lingered still a faint spicy smell, familiar to the young man. Palin saw the light glint off rows of jars filled with dried leaves, rose petals, and other herbs and spices lining one wall—spell components. There was another smell, too, this one not so pleasant—the smell of decay, of death. The skeletons of strange and unfamiliar creatures lay curled at the bottoms of several large jars on the floor or the huge, stone table. Remembering rumors of his uncle’s experiments in creating life, Palin gave them a glance and looked hurriedly away.

  He examined the stone table, with its runes and polished surface. Had it really been dragged from the bottom of the sea as legend told? Palin wondered, running his fingers lovingly over the smooth top, leaving behind a spidery trail in the dust. His hand touched the high stool next to the table. He could picture his uncle sitting here, working, reading.…

  Palin’s gaze went to the rows of spellbooks lining shelf after shelf along one entire wall of the chamber. His heart beat faster as he approached them, recognizing them from his father’s description. The ones with the nightblue bindings and silver runes were the books of the great archmage, Fistandantilus. A whispering chill flowed from them. Palin shivered and stopped, afraid to go nearer, though his hands twitched to touch them.

  He dared not, however. Only mages of the highest ranking could even open the books, much less read the spells recorded therein. If he tried it, the binding would burn his skin, just as the words would burn his mind—eventually driving him mad. Sighing with bitter regret, Palin turned his gaze to another row of other spellbooks, these black with silver runes—his uncle’s.

  He was wondering if he should try to read, wondering what would happen if he did, and was just starting to examine them closer when he noticed, for the first time, the source of the light illuminating the laboratory.

  “His staff …” he whispered.

  It stood in a corner, leaning against a wall: the Staff of Magius. Its magical crystal burned with a cold, pale light, like the light from Solinari, Palin thought. Tears of longing filled his eyes and ran, unheeded, down his cheeks. Blinking them back so that he could see, hardly daring to breathe, fearful that the light might go out in an instant, he drew nearer the staff.

  Given to Raistlin by the wizard Par-Salian when the young mage had successfully completed his test, the staff possessed untold magical power. It could cast light at a word of command, Palin recalled. According to legend, however, no hand but his uncle’s could touch the staff or the light would extinguish.

  “But my father held it,” Palin said softly. “He used it—with my dying uncle’s help—to close the portal and prevent the Dark Queen from entering the world. Then the light went out and nothing anyone said could make it glow again.”

  But it was glowing now.…

  His throat dry and aching, his heart beating so that it made him short of breath, Palin reached out a trembling hand toward the staff. If the light failed, he would be left alone, trapped, in the smothering darkness.

  His fingertips brushed the wood.

  The light gleamed brightly.

  Palin’s cold fingers closed around the staff, grasping it firmly. The crystal burned brighter still, shedding its pure radiance over him; his white robes glowed molten silver. Lifting the staff from its corner, Palin looked at it in rapture and saw, as he moved it, that its beam grew concentrated, sending a shaft of light into a distant corner of the laboratory—a corner that had previously stood in deepest darkness.

  Walking nearer, the young man saw the light illuminate a heavy curtain of purple velvet hanging from the ceiling. The tears froze on Palin’s face, and a chill shook his body. He had no need to pull the golden, silken cord that hung beside the velvet, no need to draw aside those curtains to know what lay behind.

  The portal.

  Created long ago by wizards greedy for knowledge, the portals had led them to their own doom—into the realms of the gods. Knowing what terrible consequences this could have for the unwary, the wise among all three orders of wizards came together and closed them as best they could, decreeing that only a powerful archmage of the Black Robes and a holy cleric of Paladine acting together could cause the portal to open. They believed, in their wisdom, that this unlikely combination could never come about. But they had not counted on love.

  So Raistlin was able to persuade Crysania, the Revered Daughter of Paladine, to act with him to open the portal. He had entered and challenged the Queen of Darkness, thinking to rule in her stead. The consequences of such ambition in a human would have been disastrous—the destruction of the world. Knowing this, his twin brother, Caramon, had risked all to enter the Abyss and stop Raistlin. He had done so, but only with his twin’s assistance. Realizing his tragic mistake, Raistlin had sacrificed himself for the world—according to legend. He closed the portal, preventing the queen from entering, but at a dreadful cost. He himself was trapped upon the other side of this dread doorway.

  Palin came nearer and nearer the curtain, drawn to it against his will. Or was he? Was it fear making his steps falter and his body shake—or excitement?

  And then he heard that whispering voice again, Palin … help …

  It came from beyond the curtain!

  Palin closed his eyes, and he leaned weakly upon the staff. No! It couldn’t be! His father had been so certain.…

  Through his closed eyelids, the young man saw another light begin to glow, coming from in front of him. Fearfully, he opened his eyes and saw the light radiating from around and above and beneath the curtain. A multicolored light, it welled out in a dreadful rainbow.

  Palin … help me …

  Palin’s hand closed of its own volition over the golden drawstring. He had no conscious thought of moving his fingers, yet found himself holding on to the cord. Hesitating, he looked at the staff in his hand, then glanced back behind him at the door leading into the laboratory. The thudding had stopped, and no lights flashed. Perhaps Dalamar and his father had given up. Or perhaps the Guardians had attacked them.…

  Palin shivered. He should go back, abandon this. It was too dangerous. He wasn’t even a mage! But as the thought crossed his mind, the light from the crystal atop the staff dimmed—or so it seemed to him.

  No, he thought resolutely. I must go on. I must know the truth!

  Gripping the drawstring with a palm wet with sweat, he pulled it hard, watching, holding his breath as the curtain slowly lifted, rising upward in shimmering folds.

  The light grew more and more brilliant as the curtain rose, dazzling him. Raising his hand, shading his eyes, Palin stared in awe at the magnificent, fearful sight. The portal was a black void surrounded by five metallic dragon heads. Carved by magic into the likeness of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, their mouths gaped open in a silent scream of triumph, each head glowing green, blue, red, white, or black.

  The light blinded Palin. He blinked painfully and
rubbed his burning eyes. The dragon heads shone only more brilliantly, and now he could hear them each began to chant.

  The first, From darkness to darkness, my voice echoes in the emptiness.

  The second, From this world to the next, my voice cries with life.

  The third, From darkness to darkness, I shout. Beneath my feet, all is made firm.

  The fourth, Time that flows, hold in your course.

  And finally, the last head, Because by fate even the gods are cast down, weep ye all with me.

  A magical spell, Palin realized. His vision blurred, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he attempted to see through the dazzling light into the portal. The multicolored lights began to whirl madly, spinning around the outside of the great, gaping, twisting void within the center of the portal.

  Growing dizzy, Palin clutched the staff and kept his gaze on the void within. The darkness moved! It began to swirl, circling around an eye of deeper darkness within its center, like a maelstrom without substance or form. Round … and round … and round … sucking the air from the laboratory up in its mouth, sucking up the dust, and the light of the staff.…

  “No!” Palin cried, realizing in horror that it was sucking him in as well! Struggling, he fought against it, but the force was irresistible. Helpless as a babe trying to stop his own birth, Palin was drawn inside the dazzling light, the writhing darkness. The dragon’s heads shrieked a paean to their Dark Queen. Their weight crushed Palin’s body, then their talons pulled him apart, limb by limb. Fire burst upon him, burning his flesh from his bones. Waters swirled over him; he was drowning. He screamed without sound, though he could hear his voice. He was dying, and he was thankful he was dying, for the pain would end.

  His heart burst.

  Chapter Eight

  Everything stopped. The light, the pain.…

  Everything was silent.

  Palin was lying facedown, the Staff of Magius still clutched in his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw the light of the staff shining silver, gleaming cold and pure. He felt no pain, his breathing was relaxed and normal, and his heartbeat steady, his body whole and unharmed. But he wasn’t lying on the floor of the laboratory. He was in sand! Or so it seemed. Glancing around, slowly rising to his feet, he saw that he was in a strange land—flat, like a desert, with no distinguishing features of any type. It was completely empty, barren. The landscape stretched on and on endlessly as far as he could see. Puzzled, he looked around. He had never been here before, yet it was familiar. The ground was an odd color—a kind of muted pink, the same color as the sky. His father’s voice came to him, As though it was sunset or somewhere in the distance, a fire burned.…