Test of the Twins

by Margaret Weis

  “The citadel is not our gravest danger,” Tanis said. Closing his eyes, he tried to stop the room from spinning. What was the matter with him? Getting old, he supposed. Too old for this.

  “It isn’t?” Lord Amothus appeared to be on the verge of collapse from this additional blow but—nobleman that he was—he was doing his best to regain his shattered composure.

  “Most assuredly Lord Soth rides with Highlord Kitiara.”

  “A death knight!” Sir Markham murmured with a slight smile. Lord Amothus paled so visibly that Charles, returning with the food, set it down at once and hurried to his master’s side.

  “Thank you, Charles,” Amothus said in a stiff, unnatural voice. “A little brandy, perhaps.”

  “A lot of brandy would be more to the point,” Sir Markham said gaily, draining his glass. “Might as well get good and roaring drunk. Not much use staying sober. Not against a death knight and his legions.…” The young knight’s voice trailed off.

  “You gentlemen should eat now,” Charles said firmly, having made his master more comfortable. A sip of brandy brought some color back to Amothus’s face. The smell of the food made Tanis realize that he was hungry, and so he did not protest when Charles, bustling about efficiently, brought over a table and served the meal.

  “Wh-what does it all mean?” Lord Amothus faltered, spreading his napkin on his lap automatically. “I—I’ve heard of this death knight before. My great-great-great grandfather was one of the nobles who witnessed Soth’s trial in Palanthas. And this Soth was the one who kidnapped Laurana, wasn’t he, Tanis?”

  The half-elf’s face darkened. He did not reply.

  Amothus raised his hands appealingly. “But what can he do against a city?”

  Still no one replied. There was, however, no need. Amothus looked from the grim, exhausted face of the half-elf to the young knight, who was smiling bitterly as he methodically stabbed tiny holes in the lace tablecloth with his knife. The lord had his answer.

  Rising to his feet, his breakfast untouched, his napkin slipping unnoticed from his lap to the floor, Amothus walked across the sumptuously appointed room to stand before a tall window made of hand-cut glass, crafted in an intricate design. A large oval pane in the center framed a view of the beautiful city of Palanthas. The sky above it was dark and filled with the strange, churning clouds. But the storm above only seemed to intensify the beauty and apparent serenity of the city below.

  Lord Amothus stood there, his hand resting upon a satin curtain, looking out into the city. It was market day. People passed the palace on their way to the market square, chatting together about the ominous sky, carrying their baskets, scolding their playful children.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Tanis,” Amothus said finally, a break in his voice. “You’re thinking of Tarsis and Solace and Silvanesti and Kalaman. You’re thinking of your friend who died at the High Clerist’s Tower. You’re thinking of all those who died and suffered in the last war while we in Palanthas remained untouched, unaffected.”

  Still Tanis did not respond. He ate in silence.

  “And you, Sir Markham—” Amothus sighed. “I heard you and your knights laughing the other day. I heard the comments about the people of Palanthas carrying their money bags into battle, planning to defeat the enemy by tossing coins and yelling, ‘Go away! Go away.’ ”

  “Against Lord Soth, that will do quite as well as swords!” With a shrug and a short, sardonic laugh, Markham held out his brandy snifter for Charles to refill.

  Amothus rested his head against the window pane. “We never thought war would come to us! It never has! Through all the Ages, Palanthas has remained a city of peace, a city of beauty and light. The gods spared us, even during the Cataclysm. And now, now that there is peace in the world, this comes to us!” He turned around, his pale face drawn and anguished. “Why? I don’t understand?”

  Tanis shoved his plate away. Leaning back, he stretched, trying to ease the cramps in his muscles. I am getting old, he thought, old and soft. I miss my sleep at night. I miss a meal and grow faint. I miss days long past. I miss friends long gone. And I’m sick and tired of seeing people die in some stupid, senseless war! Heaving a sigh, he rubbed his bleary eyes and then, resting his elbows on the table, let his head sink into his hands.

  “You talk of peace. What peace?” he asked. “We’ve been behaving like children in a house where mother and father have fought constantly for days and now, at last, they’re quiet and civil. We smile a lot and try to be merry and eat all our vegetables and tiptoe around, scared of making a sound. Because we know, if we do, the fighting will start all over again. And we call this peace!” Tanis laughed bitterly. “Speak one false word, my lord, and Porthios will have the elves on your neck. Stroke your beard the wrong way, and the dwarves will bar the gates to the mountain once again.”

  Glancing over at Lord Amothus, Tanis saw the man’s head bow, he saw the delicate hand brush his eyes, his shoulders slump. Tanis’s anger dwindled. Who was he angry at anyway? Fate? The gods?

  Rising tiredly to his feet, Tanis walked over to stand at the, window, looking out over the peaceful, beautiful, doomed city,

  “I don’t have the answer, my lord,” he said quietly. “If I did, I’d have a Temple built to me and a whole string of clerics following me about, I suppose. All I know is that we can’t give up. We’ve got to keep trying.”

  “Another brandy, Charles,” said Sir Markham, holding out his glass once again. “A pledge, gentlemen.” He raised his glass.

  “Here’s to trying.… Rhymes with dying.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  here came a soft knock at the door. Absorbed in his work, Tanis started. “Yes, what is it?” he called.

  The door opened. “It is Charles, my lord. You asked that I call you during the changing of the watch.”

  Turning his head, Tanis glanced out the window. He had opened it to let in some air. But the spring night was warm and sultry and no breeze stirred. The sky was dark except for the occasional streaks of the eerie pink-tinged lightning that flashed from cloud to cloud. Now that his attention was drawn to it, he could hear the chimes striking Deepwatch, he could hear the voices of the guards newly arrived on duty, he could hear the measured tread of those departing for their rest.

  Their rest would be short-lived.

  “Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said. “Step in for a moment, will you?”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  The servant entered, gently closing the door behind him. Tanis stared for a moment longer at the paper on the desk.

  Then, his lips tightening in resolve, he wrote two more lines in a firm, elven hand. Sprinkling sand upon the ink to dry it, he began to reread the letter carefully. But his eyes misted over and the handwriting blurred in his vision. Finally, giving up, he signed his name, rolled up the parchment, and sat holding it in his hand.

  “Sir,” said Charles, “are you quite well?”

  “Charles …” began Tanis, twisting a ring of steel and gold that he wore upon his finger. His voice died.

  “My lord?” Charles prompted.

  “This is a letter to my wife, Charles,” Tanis continued in a low voice, not looking at the servant. “She is in Silvanesti. This needs to get out tonight, before—”

  “I quite understand, sir,” Charles said, stepping forward and taking charge of the letter.

  Tanis flushed guiltily. “I know there are much more important documents than this that need to be going out—dispatches to the knights, and such—but—”

  “I have just the messenger, my lord. He is elven, from Silvanesti, in fact. He is loyal and, to be quite honest, sir, will be more than pleased to leave the city on some honorable assignment.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Tanis sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “If something were to happen, I want her to know—”

  “Of course you do, my lord. Perfectly understandable. Do not give it another thought. Your seal, perhaps, however
?”

  “Oh, yes, certainly.” Removing the ring, Tanis pressed it into the hot wax that Charles dripped onto the parchment, imprinting in the sealing wax the image of an aspen leaf.

  “Lord Gunthar has arrived, my lord. He is meeting with Lord Markham right now.”

  “Lord Gunthar!” Tanis’s brow cleared. “Excellent. Am I—”

  “They asked to meet with you, if it is convenient, my lord,” Charles said imperturbably.

  “Oh, it’s quite convenient,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “I don’t suppose there’s been any sign of the cita—”

  “Not yet, my lord. You will find the lords in the summer breakfast parlor—now, officially, the war room.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said, amazed that he had, at last, managed to complete a sentence.

  “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  “No, thank you. I know the—”

  “Very good, my lord.” Bowing, letter in hand, Charles held the door for Tanis, then locked it behind him. After waiting a moment to see if Tanis might have any last minute desires, he bowed again and departed.

  His mind still on his letter, Tanis stood alone, thankful for the shadowy stillness of the dimly lit corridor. Then, drawing a shaking breath, he walked firmly off in search of the morning breakfast parlor—now the war room.

  Tanis had his hand on the doorknob and was just about to enter the room when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw a figure of darkness materialize out of the air.

  “Dalamar?” Tanis said in astonishment, leaving the unopened door to the war room and walking down the hallway toward the dark elf. “I thought—”

  “Tanis. You are the one I seek.”

  “Do you have news?”

  “None that you will like to hear,” Dalamar said, shrugging. “I cannot stay long, our fate teeters on the edge of a knife’s blade. But I brought you this.” Reaching into a black velvet pouch hanging at his side, he took out a silver bracelet and held it out to Tanis.

  Taking hold of the bracelet in his hand, Tanis examined it curiously. The bracelet was about four inches in width, made of solid silver. From its width and weight, Tanis guessed, it had been designed to fit on a man’s wrist. Slightly tarnished, it was set with black stones whose polished surfaces gleamed in the flickering torchlight of the corridor. And it came from the Tower of High Sorcery.

  Tanis held it gingerly. “Is it—” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to know.

  “Magical? Yes,” Dalamar replied.

  “Raistlin’s?” Tanis frowned.

  “No.” Dalamar smiled sardonically. “The Shalafi needs no such magical defenses as these. It is part of the collection of such objects in the Tower. This is very old, undoubtedly dating back to the time of Huma.”

  “What will it do?” Tanis studied the bracelet dubiously, still frowning.

  “It makes the one wearing it resistant to magic.”

  Tanis raised his head. “Lord Soth’s magic?”

  “Any magic. But, yes, it will protect the wearer from the death knight’s power words—‘kill,’ ‘stun,’ ‘blind.’ It will keep the wearer from feeling the effects of the fear he generates. And it will protect the wearer from both his spells of fire and of ice.”

  Tanis stared at Dalamar intently. “This is truly a valuable gift! It gives us a chance.”

  “The wearer may thank me when and if he returns alive!” Dalamar folded his hands within his sleeves. “Even without his magic, Lord Soth is a formidable opponent, not to mention those who follow him, who are sworn to his service with oaths death itself could not erase. Yes, Half-Elven, thank me when you return.”

  “Me?” Tanis said in astonishment. “But—I haven’t wielded a sword in over two years!” He stared at Dalamar intently, suddenly suspicious. “Why me?”

  Dalamar’s smile widened. The slanted eyes glinted in amusement. “Give it to one of the knights, half-elf. Let one of them hold it. You will understand. Remember—it came from a place of darkness. It knows one of its own.”

  “Wait!” Seeing the dark elf prepared to leave, Tanis caught hold of Dalamar’s black-robed arm. “Just one more second. You said there was news—”

  “It is not your concern.”

  “Tell me.”

  Dalamar paused, his brows came together in irritation at this delay. Tanis felt the young elf’s arm tense. He’s frightened, Tanis realized suddenly. But even as this thought crossed his mind, he saw Dalamar regain control of himself. The handsome features grew calm, expressionless.

  “The cleric, Lady Crysania, has been mortally wounded. She managed to protect Raistlin, however. He is uninjured and has gone on to find the Queen. So Her Dark Majesty tells me.”

  Tanis felt his throat constrict. “What about Crysania?” he said harshly. “Did he just leave her to die?”

  “Of course.” Dalamar appeared faintly surprised at the question. “She can be of no more use to him.”

  Looking down at the bracelet in his hand, Tanis longed to hurl it into the gleaming teeth of the dark elf. But, in time, he remembered that he could not afford the luxury of anger. What an insane, twisted situation! Incongruously, he remembered Elistan going to the Tower, bringing comfort to the archmage …

  Turning on his heel, Tanis stalked angrily away. But he gripped the bracelet tightly in his hand.

  “The magic is activated when you put it on.” Dalamar’s soft voice floated through Tanis’s haze of fury. He could have sworn the dark elf was laughing.

  “What’s the matter, Tanis?” Lord Gunthar asked as the half-elf came into the war room. “My dear fellow, you’re pale as death.…”

  “Nothing. I—I just heard some disturbing news. I’ll be all right.” Tanis drew a deep breath, then glanced at the knights. “You don’t look any too good yourselves.”

  “Another pledge?” Sir Markham said, raising his brandy snifter.

  Lord Gunthar gave him a stern, disapproving glance, which the young knight ignored as he casually quaffed his drink in a gulp.

  “The citadel has been sighted. It crossed the mountains. It will be here at dawn.”

  Tanis nodded. “About what I had figured.” He scratched his beard, then wearily rubbed his eyes. Casting a glance at the brandy bottle, he shook his head. No, it would probably just send him straight to sleep.

  “What’s that you’re holding?” Gunthar asked, reaching out his hand to take the bracelet. “Some sort of elven good-luck charm?”

  “I wouldn’t touch—” Tanis began.

  “Damnation!” Gunthar gasped, snatching his hand back. The bracelet dropped to the floor, landing on a plush, hand-woven rug. The knight wrung his hand in pain.

  Bending down, Tanis picked up the bracelet. Gunthar watched him with disbelieving eyes. Sir Markham was choking back laughter.

  “The mage, Dalamar, brought it to us. It’s from the Tower of High Sorcery,” Tanis said, ignoring Lord Gunthar’s scowl. “It will protect the wearer from the effects of magic—the one thing that will give someone a chance of getting near Lord Soth.”

  “Someone!” Gunthar repeated. He stared down at his hand. The fingers where he had touched the bracelet were burned. “Not only that, but it sent a jolt through me that nearly stopped my heart! Who in the name of the Abyss can wear such a thing?”

  “I can, for one,” Tanis returned. It came from a place of darkness. It knows one of its own. “It has something to do with you knights and holy vows to Paladine,” he muttered, feeling his face flush.

  “Bury it!” Lord Gunthar growled. “We do not need such help as those of the Black Robes would give us!”

  “It seems to me we can use all the help we can get, my lord!” Tanis snapped. “I would also remind you that, odd as it may seem, we’re all on the same side! And now, Sir Markham, what of the plans for defending the city?”

  Slipping the bracelet into a pouch, affecting not to notice Lord Gunthar’s glare, Tanis turned to Sir Markham who,
though rather startled at this sudden call, quickly rode to Tanis’s rescue with his report.

  The Knights of Solamnia were marching from the High Clerist’s Tower. It would be days, at least, before they could reach Palanthas. He had sent a messenger to alert the good dragons, but it seemed unlikely that they, too, could reach Palanthas in time.

  The city itself was on the alert. In a brief, spare speech, Lord Amothus had told the citizens what faced them. There had been no panic, a fact Gunthar found hard to believe. Oh, a few of the wealthy had tried to bribe ships’ captains to take them out, but the captains had, to a man, refused to sail into the seas under the threat of such ominous-looking storm clouds. The gates to Old City were opened. Those who wanted to flee the city and risk going out in the wilderness had, of course, been allowed to go. Not many took the chance. In Palanthas, at least the city walls and the knights afforded protection.

  Personally, Tanis thought that if the citizens had known what horrors they faced, they would have taken their chances. As it was, however, the women put aside their rich clothing and began filling every available container with water to have available to fight fires. Those who lived in New City (not protected by walls) were evacuated into Old City, whose walls were being fortified as best they could in the little time that remained. Children were bedded down in wine cellars and storm shelters. Merchants opened shops, handing out needed supplies. Armorers gave out weapons, and the forges were still burning, late into the night, for mending swords, shields, and armor.

  Looking out over the city, Tanis saw lights in most homes—people preparing for a morning that he knew from experience could never be prepared for.

  With a sigh, thinking of his letter to Laurana, he made his bitter decision. But he knew it would entail argument. He needed to lay the groundwork. Turning abruptly, he interrupted Markham. “What do you guess will be their plan of attack?” he asked Lord Gunthar.