Time of the Twins: Legends, Volume One (Dragonlance Legends)

by Tracy Hickman

  Tika swallowed. Tanis patted her hand and, after eating a little and drinking some wine in silence, Tika was able to continue.

  “A year ago last spring, though, everything started to change. Something happened to Caramon. I’m not sure what. It had something to do with—” She broke off, shook her head. “The town was prosperous. A blacksmith who had been held captive at Pax Tharkas moved here and took over the smithy trade. Oh, people still needed homes built, but there was no hurry. I took over running the Inn,” Tika shrugged. “I guess Caramon just had too much time on his hands.”

  “No one needed him,” Tanis said grimly.

  “Not even me.…” Tika said, gulping and wiping her eyes. “Maybe it’s my fault—”

  “No,” said Tanis, his thoughts—and his memories—far away. “Not your fault, Tika. I think we know whose fault this is.”

  “Anyway”—Tika drew a deep breath—“I tried to help, but I was so busy here. I suggested all sorts of things he could do and he tried—he really did. He helped the local constable, tracking down renegade draconians. He was a bodyguard, for a while, hiring out to people traveling to Haven. But no one ever hired him twice.” Her voice dropped. “Then one day, last winter, the party he’d been supposed to protect returned, dragging him on a sled. He was dead drunk. They’d ended up protecting him! Since then, he’s spent all his time either sleeping, eating, or hanging out with some ex-mercenaries at the Trough, that filthy place at the other end of town.”

  Wishing Laurana were here to discuss such matters, Tanis suggested softly, “Maybe a—um—baby?”

  “I was pregnant, last summer,” Tika said dully, leaning her head on her hand. “But not for long. I miscarried. Caramon never even knew. Since then”—she stared down at the wooden table—“well, we haven’t been sleeping in the same room.”

  Flushing in embarrassment, Tanis could do nothing more than pat her hand and hurriedly change the subject. “You said a moment before ‘it had something to do with—’ … with what?”

  Tika shivered, then took another drink of wine. “Rumors started, then, Tanis,” she said in a low, hushed voice. “Dark rumors. You can guess who they were about!”

  Tanis nodded.

  “Caramon wrote to him, Tanis. I saw the letter. It was—it tore my heart. Not a word of blame or reproach. It was filled with love. He begged his brother to come back and live with us. He pleaded with him to turn his back on the darkness.”

  “And what happened?” Tanis asked, though he already guessed the answer.

  “It came back,” Tika whispered. “Unopened. The seal wasn’t even broken. And on the outside was written, ‘I have no brother. I know no one named Caramon.’ And it was signed, Raistlin!”

  “Raistlin!” Crysania looked at Tika, as if seeing her for the first time. Her gray eyes were wide and startled as they went from the red-haired young woman to Tanis, then to the huge warrior on the floor, who belched comfortably in his drunken sleep. “Caramon … This is Caramon Majere? This is his brother? The twin you were telling me about? The man who could guide me—”

  “I’m sorry, Revered Daughter,” Tanis said, flushing. “I had no idea he—”

  “But Raistlin is so … intelligent, powerful. I thought his twin must be the same. Raistlin is sensitive, he exerts such strong control over himself and those who serve him. He is a perfectionist, while this”—Crysania gestured—“this pathetic wretch, while he deserves our pity and our prayers, is—”

  “Your ‘sensitive and intelligent perfectionist’ had a hand in making this man the ‘pathetic wretch’ you see, Revered Daughter,” Tanis said acidly, keeping his anger carefully under control.

  “Perhaps it was the other way around,” Crysania said, regarding Tanis coldly. “Perhaps it was for lack of love that Raistlin turned from the light to walk in darkness.”

  Tika looked up at Crysania, an odd expression in her eyes. “Lack of love?” she repeated gently.

  Caramon moaned in his sleep and began thrashing about on the floor. Tika rose quickly to her feet.

  “We better get him home.” She glanced up to see Riverwind’s tall figure appear in the doorway, then turned to Tanis. “I’ll see you in the morning, won’t I? Couldn’t you stay … just overnight?”

  Tanis looked at her pleading eyes and felt like biting off his tongue before he answered. But there was no help for it. “I’m sorry, Tika,” he said, taking her hands. “I wish I could, but I must go. It is a long ride to Qualinost from here, and I dare not be late. The fate of two kingdoms, perhaps, depends on my being there.”

  “I understand,” Tika said softly. “This isn’t your problem anyway. I’ll cope.”

  Tanis could have torn out his beard with frustration. He longed to stay and help, if he even could help. At least he might talk with Caramon, try to get some sense into that thick skull. But Porthios would take it as a personal affront if Tanis did not come to the funeral, which would affect not only his personal relationships with Laurana’s brother, but would affect the treaty of alliance being negotiated between Qualinesti and Solamnia.

  And then, his eyes going to Crysania, Tanis realized he had another problem. He groaned inwardly. He couldn’t take her to Qualinost. Porthios had no use for human clerics.

  “Look,” Tanis said, suddenly getting an idea, “I’ll come back, after the funeral.” Tika’s eyes brightened. He turned to Lady Crysania. “I’ll leave you here, Revered Daughter. You’ll be safe in this town, in the Inn. Then I can escort you back to Palanthas since your journey has failed—”

  “My journey has not failed,” Crysania said resolutely. “I will continue as I began. I intend to go to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth, there to council with Par-Salian of the White Robes.”

  Tanis shook his head. “I cannot take you there,” he said. “And Caramon obviously is incapable. Therefore I suggest—”

  “Yes,” Crysania interrupted complacently. “Caramon is clearly incapacitated. Therefore I will wait for the kender friend of yours to meet me here with the person he was sent to find, then I will continue on my own.”

  “Absolutely not!” Tanis shouted. Riverwind raised his eyebrows, reminding Tanis who he was addressing. With an effort, the half-elf regained control. “My lady, you have no idea of the danger! Besides those dark things that pursued us—and I think we all know who sent them—I’ve heard Caramon’s stories about the Forest of Wayreth. It’s darker still! We’ll go back to Palanthas, I’ll find some Knights—”

  For the first time, Tanis saw a pale stain of color touch Crysania’s marble cheeks. Her dark brows contracted as she seemed to be thinking. Then her face cleared. Looking up at Tanis, she smiled.

  “There is no danger,” she said. “I am in Paladine’s hands. The dark creatures may have been sent by Raistlin, but they have no power to harm me! They have merely strengthened my resolve.” Seeing Tanis’s face grow even grimmer, she sighed. “I promise this much. I will think about it. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the journey is too dangerous—”

  “And a waste of time!” Tanis muttered, sorrow and exhaustion making him speak bluntly what he had felt all along about this woman’s crazy scheme. “If Par-Salian could have destroyed Raistlin, he would have done it long before—”

  “Destroy!” Crysania regarded Tanis in shock, her gray eyes cold. “I do not seek his destruction.”

  Tanis stared at her in amazement.

  “I seek to reclaim him,” Crysania continued. “I will go to my rooms now, if someone will be so kind as to guide me to them.”

  Dezra hurried forward. Crysania calmly bade them all goodnight, then followed Dezra from the room. Tanis gazed after her, totally at a loss for words. He heard Riverwind mutter something in Que-shu. Then Caramon groaned again. Riverwind nudged Tanis. Together they bent over the slumbering Caramon and—with an effort—hauled the big man to his feet.

  “Name of the Abyss, he’s heavy!” Tanis gasped, staggering under the man’s dead weight as Caramon’s flacid arms floppe
d over his shoulders. The putrid smell of the dwarf spirits made him gag.

  “How can he drink that stuff?” Tanis said to Riverwind as the two dragged the drunken man to the door, Tika following along anxiously behind.

  “I saw a warrior fall victim to that curse once,” Riverwind grunted. “He perished leaping over a cliff, being chased by creatures that were there only in his mind.”

  “I should stay—” Tanis murmured.

  “You cannot fight another’s battle, my friend,” Riverwind said firmly. “Especially when it is between a man and his own soul.”

  It was past midnight when Tanis and Riverwind had Caramon safely at home and dumped—unceremoniously—into his bed. Tanis had never been so tired in his life. His shoulders ached from carrying the dead weight of the giant warrior. He was worn out and felt drained, his memories of the past—once pleasant—were now like old wounds, open and bleeding. And he still had hours to ride before morning.

  “I wish I could stay,” he repeated again to Tika as they stood together with Riverwind outside her door, gazing out over the sleeping, peaceful town of Solace. “I feel responsible—”

  “No, Tanis,” Tika said quietly. “Riverwind’s right. You can’t fight this war. You have your own life to live, now. Besides, there’s nothing you can do. You might only make things worse.”

  “I suppose,” Tanis frowned. “At any rate, I’ll be back in about a week. I’ll talk to Caramon then.”

  “That would be nice,” Tika sighed, then, after a pause, changed the subject. “By the way, what did Lady Crysania mean about a kender coming here? Tasslehoff?”

  “Yes,” Tanis said, scratching his beard. “It has something to do with Raistlin, though I’m not sure what. We ran into Tas in Palanthas. He started in on some of his stories—I warned her that only about half of what he says is true and even that half’s nonsense, but he probably convinced her to send him after some person she thinks can help her reclaim Raistlin!”

  “The woman may be a holy cleric of Paladine,” Riverwind said sternly, “and may the gods forgive me if I speak ill of one of their chosen. But I think she’s mad.” Having made this pronouncement, he slung his bow over his shoulder and prepared to depart.

  Tanis shook his head. Putting his arm around Tika, he kissed her. “I’m afraid Riverwind’s right,” he said to her softly. “Keep an eye on Lady Crysania while she’s here. I’ll have a talk with Elistan about her when we return. I wonder how much he knew about this wild scheme of hers. Oh, and if Tasslehoff does show up, hang onto him, will you? I don’t want him turning up in Qualinost! I’m going to have enough trouble with Porthios and the elves as it is!”

  “Sure, Tanis,” Tika said softly. For a moment she nestled close to him, letting herself be comforted by his strength and the compassion she could sense in both his touch and his voice.

  Tanis hesitated, holding her, reluctant to let her go. Glancing inside the small house, he could hear Caramon crying out in his sleep.

  “Tika—” he began.

  But she pushed herself away. “Go along, Tanis,” she said firmly. “You’ve got a long ride ahead of you.”

  “Tika. I wish—” But there was nothing he could say that would help, and they both knew it.

  Turning slowly, he trudged off after Riverwind.

  Watching them go, Tika smiled.

  “You are very wise, Tanis Half-Elven. But this time you are wrong,” she said to herself as she stood alone on her porch. “Lady Crysania isn’t mad. She’s in love.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  n army of dwarves was marching around the bedroom, their steelshod boots going THUD, THUD, THUD. Each dwarf had a hammer in his hand and, as he marched past the bed, he banged it against Caramon’s head. Caramon groaned and flapped his hands feebly.

  “Get away!” he muttered. “Get away!”

  But the dwarves only responded by lifting his bed up onto their strong shoulders and whirling it around at a rapid pace, as they continued to march, their boots striking the wooden floor THUD, THUD, THUD.

  Caramon felt his stomach heave. After several desperate tries, he managed to leap out of the revolving bed and make a clumsy dash for the chamber pot in the corner. Having vomited, he felt better. His head cleared. The dwarves disappeared—although he suspected they were hiding beneath the bed, waiting for him to lie down again.

  Instead, he opened a drawer in the tiny bedside table where he kept his small flask of dwarf spirits. Gone! Caramon scowled. So Tika was playing this game again, was she? Grinning smugly, Caramon stumbled over to the large clothes chest on the other side of the room. He lifted the lid and rummaged through tunics and pants and shirts that would no longer fit over his flabby body. There it was—tucked into an old boot.

  Caramon withdrew the flask lovingly, took a swig of the fiery liquor, belched, and heaved a sigh. There, the hammering in his head was gone. He glanced around the room. Let the dwarves stay under the bed. He didn’t care.

  There was the clink of crockery in the other room. Tika! Hurriedly, Caramon took another sip, then closed the flask and tucked it back into the boot again. Shutting the lid very, very quietly, he straightened up, ran a hand through his tangled hair, and started to go out into the main living area. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he passed.

  “Change my shirt,” he muttered thickly.

  After much pulling and tugging, he dragged off the filthy shirt he was wearing and tossed it in a corner. Perhaps he should wash? Bah! What was he—a sissy? So he smelled—it was a manly smell. Plenty of women liked it, found it attractive—found him attractive! Never complained or nagged, not like Tika. Why couldn’t she take him as he was? Struggling into a clean shirt he found at the foot of the bed, Caramon felt very sorry for himself. No one understood him … Iife was hard … he was going through a bad time just now … but that would change … just wait … someday—tomorrow maybe.…

  Lurching out of the bedroom, trying to appear nonchalant, Caramon walked unsteadily across the neat, clean living room and collapsed into a chair at the eating table. The chair creaked beneath his great weight. Tika turned around.

  Catching her glance, Caramon sighed. Tika was mad—again. He tried grinning at her, but it was a sickly grin and didn’t help. Her red curls bouncing in anger, she whirled around and disappeared through a door into the kitchen. Caramon winced as he heard heavy iron pots bang. The sound brought the dwarves and their hammers back. Within a few moments, Tika returned, carrying a huge dish of sizzling bacon, fried maize cakes, and eggs. She slammed the plate down in front of him with such force the cakes leaped three inches into the air.

  Caramon winced again. He wondered briefly about eating—considering the queasy state of his stomach—then grouchily reminded his stomach who was boss. He was starved, he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Tika flounced down in a chair next to him. Glancing up, he saw her green eyes blazing. Her freckles stood out clearly against her skin—a certain sign of fury.

  “All right,” Caramon growled, shoveling food into his mouth. “What’d I do now?”

  “You don’t remember.” It was a statement.

  Caramon cast about hastily in the foggy regions of his mind. Something stirred vaguely. He was supposed to have been somewhere last night. He’d stayed home all day, getting ready. He’d promised Tika … but he’d grown thirsty. His flask was empty. He’d just go down to the Trough for a quick nip, then to … where … why …

  “I had business to attend to,” Caramon said, avoiding Tika’s gaze.

  “Yes, we saw your business,” Tika snapped bitterly. “The business that made you pass out right at Tanis’s feet!”

  “Tanis!” Caramon dropped his fork. “Tanis … last night …” With a heartsick moan, the big man let his aching head sink into his hands.

  “You made quite a spectacle of yourself,” Tika continued, her voice choked. “In front of the entire town, plus half the elves in Krynn. Not to mention our old friends.” She
was weeping quietly now. “Our best friends.…”

  Caramon moaned again. Now he was crying, too. “Why? Why?” he blubbered. “Tanis, of all of them …” His self-recriminations were interrupted by a banging on the front door.

  “Now what?” Tika muttered, rising and wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her blouse. “Maybe it’s Tanis, after all.” Caramon lifted his head. “Try at least to look like the man you once were.” Tika said under her breath as she hurried to the door.

  Throwing the bolt, she unlatched it. “Otik?” she said in astonishment. “What are—Whose food?”

  The rotund, elderly innkeeper stood in the doorway, a plate of steaming food in his hand. He peered past Tika.

  “Isn’t she here?” he asked, startled.

  “Isn’t who here?” Tika replied, confused. “There’s no one here.”

  “Oh, dear,” Otik’s face grew solemn. Absently, he began to eat the food from the plate. “Then I guess the stableboy was right. She’s gone. And after I fixed this nice breakfast.”

  “Who’s gone?” Tika demanded in exasperation, wondering if he meant Dezra.

  “Lady Crysania. She’s not in her room. Her things aren’t there, either. And the stableboy said she came this morning, told him to saddle her horse, and left. I thought—”

  “Lady Crysania!” Tika gasped. “She’s gone off, by herself. Of course, she would.…”

  “What?” asked Otik, still munching.

  “Nothing,” Tika said, her face pale. “Nothing Otik. Uh, you better get back to the Inn. I’ll—I may be a little late today.”

  “Sure, Tika,” Otik said kindly, having seen Caramon hunched over the table. “Get there when you can.” Then he left, eating as he walked. Tika shut the door behind him.

  Seeing Tika return, and knowing he was in for a lecture, Caramon rose clumsily to his feet. “I’m not feeling too good,” he said. Lurching across the floor, he staggered into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Tika could hear the sound of wracking sobs from inside.