Test of the Twins

by Margaret Weis

  “I very nearly lost you.”

  Reaching up, but without opening his eyes, he grabbed hold of the cleric’s arms, clinging to her desperately. “What do I look like? Tell me! I’ve changed, haven’t I?”

  “You are as you were when I first met you in the Great Library,” Crysania said, her voice still firm, too firm—tight, tense.

  Yes, thought Raistlin, I am as I was. Which means I have returned to the present. He felt the old frailty, the old weakness, the burning pain in his chest, and with it the choking huskiness of the cough, as though cobwebs were being spun in his lungs. He had but to look, he knew, and he would see the gold-tinged skin, the white hair, the hourglass eyes.…

  Shoving Crysania away, he rolled over onto his stomach, clenching his fists in fury, sobbing in anger and fear.

  “Raistlin!” True terror was in Crysania’s voice now. “What is it? Raistlin, where are we? What’s wrong?”

  “I succeeded,” he snarled. Opening his eyes, he saw her face, withering in his sight. “I succeeded. We are in the Abyss.”

  Her eyes opened wide, her lips parted. Fear mingled with joy.

  Raistlin smiled bitterly. “And my magic is gone.”

  Startled, Crysania stared at him. “I don’t understand—”

  Twisting in agony, Raistlin screamed at her. “My magic is gone! I am weak, helpless, here—in her realm!” Suddenly, recollecting that she might be listening, watching, enjoying, Raistlin froze. His scream died in the blood-tinged froth upon his lips. He looked about, warily.

  “But, no, you haven’t defeated me!” he whispered. His hand closed over the Staff of Magius, lying at his side. Leaning upon it heavily, he struggled to his feet. Crysania gently put her strong arm around him, helping him stand.

  “No,” he murmured, staring into the vastness of the empty Plains, into the pink, empty sky, “I know where you are! I sense it! You are in Godshome. I know the lay of the land. I know how to move about, the kender gave me the key in his feverish ramblings. The land below mirrors the land above. I will seek you out, though the journey be long and treacherous.

  “Yes!”—he looked all around him—“I feel you probing my mind, reading my thoughts, anticipating all I say and do. You think it will be easy to defeat me! But I sense your confusion, too. There is one with me whose mind you cannot touch! She defends and protects me, do you not, Crysania?”

  “Yes, Raistlin,” Crysania replied softly, supporting the archmage.

  Raistlin took a step, another, and another. He leaned upon Crysania, he leaned upon his staff. And still, each step was an effort, each breath he drew burned. When he looked about this world, all he saw was emptiness.

  Inside him, all was emptiness. His magic was gone.

  Raistlin stumbled. Crysania caught him and held onto him, clasping him close, tears running down her cheeks.

  He could hear laughter.…

  Maybe I should give up now! he thought in bitter despair. I am tired, so very tired. And without my magic, what am I?

  Nothing. Nothing but a weak, wretched child.…

  CHAPTER

  3

  or long moments after Dalamar’s pronouncement, there was silence in the room. Then the silence was broken by the scratching of a pen as Astinus recorded the dark elf’s words in his great book.

  “May Paladine have mercy,” Elistan murmured. “Is she with him?”

  “Of course,” Dalamar snapped irritably, revealing a nervousness that all the skills of his Art could not hide. “How else do you think he succeeded? The Portal is locked to all except the combined forces of a Black-Robed wizard of such powers as his and a White-Robed cleric of such faith as hers.”

  Tanis glanced from one to the other, confused. “Look,” he said angrily, “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Who are you talking about? Raistlin? What’s he done? Does it have something to do with Crysania? And what about Caramon? He’s vanished, too. Along with Tas! I—”

  “Get a grip on the impatient human half of your nature, Half-Elven,” Astinus remarked, still writing in firm, black strokes. “And you, Dark Elf, begin at the beginning instead of in the middle.”

  “Or the end, as the case may be,” Elistan remarked in a low voice.

  Moistening his lips with the wine, Dalamar—his gaze still on the fire—related the strange tale that Tanis, up until now, had only known in part. Much the half-elf could have guessed, much astounded him, much filled him with horror.

  “Lady Crysania was captivated by Raistlin. And, if the truth be told, he was attracted to her, I believe. Who can tell with him? Ice water is too hot to run in his veins. Who knows how long he has plotted this, dreamed of this? But, at last, he was ready. He planned a journey, back in time, to seek the one thing he lacked—the knowledge of the greatest wizard who has ever lived—Fistandantilus.

  “He set a trap for Lady Crysania, planning to lure her back in time with him, as well as his twin brother—”

  “Caramon?” asked Tanis in astonishment.

  Dalamar ignored him. “But something unforeseen occurred. The Shalafi’s half-sister, Kitiara, a Dragon Highlord.…”

  Blood pounded in Tanis’s head, dimming his vision and obscuring his hearing. He felt that same blood pulse in his face. He had the feeling his skin might be burning to the touch, so hot was it.

  Kitiara!

  She stood before him, dark eyes flashing, dark hair curling about her face, her lips slightly parted in that charming, crooked smile, the light gleaming off her armor.…

  She looked down on him from the back of her blue dragon, surrounded by her minions, lordly and powerful, strong and ruthless.…

  She lay in his arms, languishing, loving, laughing.…

  Tanis sensed, though he could not see, Elistan’s sympathetic but pitying gaze. He shrank from the stern, knowing look of Astinus. Wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shame, his own wretchedness, Tanis did not notice that Dalamar, too, was having trouble with his countenance which was pale, rather than flushed. He did not hear the dark elf’s voice quiver when he spoke the woman’s name.

  After a struggle, Tanis regained control of himself and was able to continue listening. But he felt, once again, that old pain in his heart, the pain he had thought forever vanished. He was happy with Laurana. He loved her more deeply and tenderly than he had supposed it possible for a man to love a woman. He was at peace with himself. His life was rich, full. And now he was astonished to discover the darkness still inside of him, the darkness he thought he had banished forever.

  “At Kitiara’s command, the death knight, Lord Soth, cast a spell upon Lady Crysania, a spell that should have killed her. But Paladine interceded. He took her soul to dwell with him, leaving the shell of her body behind. I thought the Shalafi was defeated. But, no. He turned this betrayal of his sister’s into an advantage. His twin brother, Caramon, and the kender, Tasslehoff, took Lady Crysania to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, hoping that the mages would be able to cure her. They could not, of course, as Raistlin well knew. They could only send her back in time to the one period in the history of Krynn when there lived a Kingpriest powerful enough to call upon Paladine to restore the woman’s soul to her body. And this, of course, was exactly what Raistlin wanted.”

  Dalamar’s fist clenched. “I told the mages so! Fools! I told them they were playing right into his hands.”

  “You told them?” Tanis felt master of himself enough now to ask this question. “You betrayed him, your Shalafi?” He snorted in disbelief.

  “It is a dangerous game I play, Half-Elven.” Dalamar looked at him now, his eyes alight from within, like the burning embers of the fire. “I am a spy, sent by the Conclave of Mages to watch Raistlin’s every move. Yes, you may well look astonished. They fear him—all of the Orders fear him, the White, the Red, the Black. Most especially the Black, for we know what our fate will be should he rise to power.”

  As Tanis stared, the dark elf lifted his hand and slowly parted the front closure of his
black robes, laying bare his breast. Five oozing wounds marred the surface of the dark elf’s smooth skin. “The mark of his hand,” Dalamar said in an expressionless tone. “My reward for my treachery.”

  Tanis could see Raistlin laying those thin, golden fingers upon the young dark elf’s chest, he could see Raistlin’s face—without feeling, without malice, without cruelty, without any touch of humanity whatsoever—and he could see those fingers burn through the flesh of his victim. Shaking his head, feeling sickened, Tanis sank back in his chair, his gaze on the floor.

  “But they would not listen to me,” Dalamar continued. “They grasped at straws. As Raistlin had foreseen, their greatest hope lay in their greatest fear. They decided to send Lady Crysania back in time, ostensibly so that the Kingpriest could aid her. That is what they told Caramon, for they knew he would not go otherwise. But, in reality, they sent her back to die or to at least disappear as did all other clerics before the Cataclysm. And they hoped that Caramon, when he went back into time and learned the truth about his twin—learned that Raistlin was, in reality, Fistandantilus—that he would be forced to kill his brother.”

  “Caramon?” Tanis laughed bitterly, then scowled again in anger. “How could they do such a thing? The man is sick! The only thing Caramon can kill now is a bottle of dwarf spirits! Raistlin’s already destroyed him. Why didn’t they—”

  Catching Astinus’s irritated glance, Tanis subsided. His mind reeled in turmoil. None of this made sense! He looked over at Elistan. The cleric must have known much of this already. There was no look of shock or surprise on his face—even when he heard that the mages had sent Crysania back to die. There was only an expression of deep sorrow.

  Dalamar was continuing. “But the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, disrupted Par-Salian’s spell and accidentally traveled back in time with Caramon. The introduction of a kender into the flow of time made it possible for time to be altered. What happened back there, in Istar, we can only surmise. What we do know is that Crysania did not die. Caramon did not kill his brother. And Raistlin was successful in obtaining the knowledge of Fistandantilus. Taking Crysania and Caramon with him, he moved forward in time to the one period when he would possess, in Crysania, the only true cleric in the land. He traveled to the one period in our history when the Queen of Darkness would be most vulnerable and unable to stop him.

  “As Fistandantilus did before him, Raistlin fought the Dwarfgate War, and so obtained access to the Portal that stood, then, in the magical fortress of Zhaman. If history had repeated itself, Raistlin should have died at that Portal, for thus did Fistandantilus meet his doom.”

  “We counted on this,” Elistan murmured, his hands plucking feebly at the bedclothes that covered him. “Par-Salian said that there was no way Raistlin could change history—”

  “That wretched kender!” Dalamar snarled. “Par-Salian should have known, he should have realized the miserable creature would do exactly what he did—leap at a chance for some new adventure! He should have taken our advice and smothered the little bastard—”

  “Tell me what’s happened to Tasslehoff and Caramon,” Tanis interrupted coldly. “I don’t care what’s become of Raistlin or—and I apologize, Elistan—Lady Crysania. She was blinded by her own goodness. I am sorry for her, but she refused to open her eyes and see the truth. I care about my friends. What has become of them?”

  “We do not know,” Dalamar said. He shrugged. “But if I were you, I would not look to see them again in this life, Half-Elven.… They would be of little use to the Shalafi.”

  “Then you have told me all I need to hear,” Tanis said, rising, his voice taut with grief and fury. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll seek out Raistlin and I’ll—”

  “Sit down, Half-Elven,” Dalamar said. He did not raise his voice, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Tanis’s hand reach for the hilt of his sword, only to remember that—since he was visiting the Temple of Paladine—he had not worn it. More furious still, not trusting himself to speak, Tanis bowed to Elistan, then to Astinus, and started for the door.

  “You will care what becomes of Raistlin, Tanis Half-Elven,” Dalamar’s smooth voice intercepted him, “because it affects you. It affects all of us. Do I speak truly, Revered Son?”

  “He does, Tanis,” Elistan said. “I understand your feelings, but you must put them aside!”

  Astinus said nothing, the scratching of his pen was the only indication that the man was in the room. Tanis clenched his fists, then, with a vicious oath that caused even Astinus to glance up, the half-elf turned to Dalamar. “Very well, then. What could Raistlin possibly do that would further hurt and injure and destroy those around him?”

  “I said when I began that our worst fears were realized,” Dalamar replied, his slanted, elven eyes looking into the slightly slanted eyes of the half-elf.

  “Yes,” snapped Tanis impatiently, still standing.

  Dalamar paused dramatically. Astinus, looking up again, raised his gray eyebrows in mild annoyance.

  “Raistlin has entered the Abyss. He and Lady Crysania will challenge the Queen of Darkness.”

  Tanis stared at Dalamar in disbelief. Then he burst out laughing. “Well,” he said, shrugging, “it seems I have little to worry about. The mage has sealed his own doom.”

  But Tanis’s laughter fell flat. Dalamar regarded him with cool, cynical amusement, as if he might have expected this absurd response from a half-human. Astinus snorted and kept writing. Elistan’s frail shoulders slumped. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against his pillows.

  Tanis stared at all of them. “You can’t consider this a serious threat!” he demanded. “By the gods, I have stood before the Queen of Darkness! I have felt her power and her majesty—and that was when she was only partially in this plane of existence.” The half-elf shuddered involuntarily. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet her on her own … her own …”

  “You are not alone, Tanis,” said Elistan wearily. “I, too, have conversed with the Dark Queen.” He opened his eyes, smiling wanly. “Does that surprise you? I have had my trials and temptations as have all men.”

  “Once only has she come to me.” Dalamar’s face paled, and there was fear in his eyes. He licked his lips. “And that was to bring me these tidings.”

  Astinus said nothing, but he had ceased to write. Rock itself was more expressive than the historian’s face.

  Tanis shook his head in wonder. “You’ve met the Queen, Elistan? You acknowledge her power? Yet you still think that a frail and sickly wizard and an old-maid cleric can somehow do her harm?”

  Elistan’s eyes flashed, his lips tightened, and Tanis knew he had gone too far. Flushing, he scratched his beard and started to apologize, then stubbornly snapped his mouth shut. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled, walking back and throwing himself down in his chair.

  “Well, how in the Abyss do we stop him?” Realizing what he’d said, Tanis’s flush deepened. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t mean to make this a joke. Everything I’m saying seems to be coming out wrong. But, damn it, I don’t understand! Are we supposed to stop Raistlin or cheer him on?”

  “You cannot stop him.” Dalamar interposed coolly as Elistan seemed about to speak. “That we mages alone can do. Our plans for this have been underway for many weeks now, ever since we first learned of this threat. You see, Half-Elven, what you have said is—in part—correct. Raistlin knows, we all know, that he cannot defeat the Queen of Darkness on her own plane of existence. Therefore, it is his plan to draw her out, to bring her back through the Portal and into the world—”

  Tanis felt as if he had been punched hard in the stomach. For a moment, he could not draw a breath. “That’s madness,” he managed to gasp finally, his hands curling over the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the strain. “We barely defeated her at Neraka as it was! He’s going to bring her back into the world?”

  “Unless he can be stopped,” Dalamar
continued, “which is my duty, as I have said.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Tanis demanded, leaning forward. “Why have you brought us here? Are we to sit around and watch? I—”

  “Patience, Tanis!” Elistan interrupted. “You are nervous and afraid. We all share these feelings.”

  With the exception of that granite-hearted historian over there, Tanis thought bitterly—

  “But nothing will be gained by rash acts or wild words.” Elistan looked over at the dark elf and his voice grew softer. “I believe that we have not yet heard the worst, is that true, Dalamar?”

  “Yes, Revered Son,” Dalamar said, and Tanis was surprised to see a trace of emotion flicker in the elf’s slanted eyes. “I have received word that Dragon Highlord Kitiara”—the elf choked slightly, cleared his throat, and continued speaking more firmly—“Kitiara is planning a full-scale assault on Palanthas.”

  Tanis sank back in his chair. His first thought was one of bitter, cynical amusement—I told you so, Lord Amothus. I told you so, Porthios. I told you, all of you who want to crawl back into your nice, warm little nests and pretend the war never happened. His second thoughts were more sobering. Memories returned—the city of Tarsis in flames, the dragonarmies taking over Solace, the pain, the suffering … death.

  Elistan was saying something, but Tanis couldn’t hear. He leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to think. He remembered Dalamar talking about Kitiara, but what was it he had said? It drifted on the fringes of his consciousness. He had been thinking about Kit. He hadn’t been paying attention. The words were vague.…

  “Wait!” Tanis sat up, suddenly remembering. “You said Kitiara was furious with Raistlin. You said she was just as frightened of the Queen reentering the world as we are. That was why she ordered Soth to kill Crysania. If that’s true, why is she attacking Palanthas? That doesn’t make sense! She grows in strength daily in Sanction. The evil dragons have congregated there and we have reports that the draconians who were scattered after the war have also been regrouping under her command. But Sanction is a long way from Palanthas. The lands of the Knights of Solamnia lie in between. The good dragons will rise up and fight if the evil ones take to the skies again. Why? Why would she risk all she has gained? And for what—”