The mage put both hands upon the dragon orb and held it up to the light of the flaming candle. The colors swirled madly in the orb, flaring brilliantly. A powerful magical aura surrounded the mage.
Fighting his fear, Tanis tensed his body to make a last desperate attempt to stop Raistlin. But he could not move. He heard Raistlin chanting strange words. The glaring, whirling light grew so bright it pierced his head. He covered his eyes with his hands, but the light burned right through his flesh, searing his brain. The pain was intolerable. He stumbled back against the door frame, hearing Caramon cry out in agony beside him. He heard the big man’s body fall to the floor with a thud.
Then all was still, the cabin plunged into darkness. Trembling, Tanis opened his eyes. For a moment he could see nothing but the afterimage of a giant red globe imprinted on his brain. Then his eyes became accustomed to the chill dark. The candle guttered, hot wax dripping onto the wooden floor of the cabin to form a white puddle near where Caramon lay, cold and unmoving. The warrior’s eyes were wide open, staring blankly into nothingness.
Raistlin was gone.
Tika Waylan stood on the deck of the Perechon staring into the blood-red sea and trying very hard to keep from crying. You must be brave, she told herself over and over. You’ve learned to fight bravely in battle. Caramon said so. Now you must be brave about this. We’ll be together, at least, at the end. He mustn’t see me cry.
But the last four days had been unnerving for all of them. Fearful of discovery by the draconians swarming over Flotsam, the companions had remained hidden in the filthy inn. Tanis’s strange disappearance had been terrifying. They were helpless, they dared do nothing, not even inquire about him. So for long days they had been forced to stay in their rooms and Tika had been forced to be around Caramon. The tension of their strong attraction to each other, an attraction they were not able to express, was torture. She wanted to put her arms around Caramon, to feel his arms around her, his strong, muscular body pressed against hers.
Caramon wanted the same thing, she was certain. He looked at her, sometimes, with so much tenderness in his eyes that she longed to nestle close to him and share the love that she knew was in the big man’s heart.
It could never be, not as long as Raistlin hovered near his twin brother, clinging to Caramon like a frail shadow. Over and over she repeated Caramon’s words, spoken to her before they reached Flotsam.
“My commitment is to my brother. They told me, in the Tower of High Sorcery, that his strength would help save the world. I am his strength, his physical strength. He needs me. My first duty is to him, and until that changes, I can’t make any other commitments. You deserve someone who puts you first, Tika. And so I’ll leave you free to find someone like that.”
But I don’t want anyone else, Tika thought sadly. And then the tears did start to fall. Turning quickly, she tried to hide them from Goldmoon and Riverwind. They would misunderstand, think she was crying from fear. No, fear of dying was something she had conquered long ago. Her biggest fear was fear of dying alone.
What are they doing? she wondered frantically, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The ship was being carried closer and closer into that dreadful dark eye. Where was Caramon? I’ll go find them, she decided. Tanis or no Tanis.
Then she saw Tanis come slowly up out of the hatchway, half-dragging, half-supporting Caramon. One look at the big warrior’s pale face and Tika’s heart stopped beating.
She tried to call out, but she couldn’t speak. At her inarticulate scream, however, Goldmoon and Riverwind both turned around from where they had been watching the awesome maelstrom. Seeing Tanis stagger beneath his burden, Riverwind ran forward to help. Caramon walked like a man in drunken stupor, his eyes glazed and sightless. Riverwind caught hold of Caramon just as Tanis’s legs gave way completely.
“I’m all right,” Tanis said softly in answer to Riverwind’s look of concern. “Goldmoon, Caramon needs your help.”
“What is it, Tanis?” Tika’s fear gave her a voice. “What’s the matter? Where’s Raistlin? Is he—” She stopped. The half-elf’s eyes were dark with the memory of what he had seen and heard below.
“Raistlin’s gone,” Tanis said briefly.
“Gone? Where?” Tika asked, staring wildly around as if expecting to see his body in the swirling blood-colored water.
“He lied to us,” Tanis answered, helping Riverwind ease Caramon down onto a mass of coiled rope. The big warrior said nothing. He didn’t seem to see them, or anything for that matter; he just stared sightlessly out over the blood-red sea. “Remember how he kept insisting we had to go to Palanthas, to learn how to use the dragon orb? He knows how to use the orb already. And now he’s gone—to Palanthas, perhaps. I don’t suppose it matters.” Looking at Caramon, he shook his head in sorrow, then turned away abruptly and walked to the rail.
Goldmoon laid her gentle hands upon the big man, murmuring his name so softly the others could not hear it above the rush of the wind. At her touch, however, Caramon shivered, then began to shake violently. Tika knelt beside him, holding his hand in hers. Still staring straight ahead, Caramon began to cry silently, tears spilling down his cheeks from wide open, staring eyes. Goldmoon’s eyes glimmered with her own tears, but she stroked his forehead and kept calling to him as a mother calls a lost child.
Riverwind, his face stern and dark with anger, joined Tanis.
“What happened?” the Plainsman asked grimly.
“Raistlin said he—I can’t talk about it. Not now!” Tanis shook his head, shuddering. Leaning over the rail, he stared into the murky water below. Swearing softly in elven—a language the half-elf rarely used—he clutched his head with his hands.
Saddened by his friend’s anguish, Riverwind laid his hand comfortingly on the half-elf’s slumped shoulders.
“So at the end it comes to this,” the Plainsman said. “As we foresaw in the dream, the mage has gone, leaving his brother to die.”
“And as we saw in the dream, I have failed you,” Tanis mumbled, his voice low and trembling. “What have I done? This is my fault! I have brought this horror upon us!”
“My friend,” Riverwind said, moved by the sight of Tanis’s suffering. “It is not ours to question the ways of the gods—”
“Damn the gods!” Tanis cried viciously. Lifting his head to stare at his friend, he struck his clenched fist on the ship’s rail. “It was me! My choosing! How often during those nights when she and I were together and I held her in my arms, how often did I tell myself it would be so easy to stay there, with her, forever! I can’t condemn Raistlin! We’re very much alike, he and I. Both destroyed by an all-consuming passion!”
“You haven’t been destroyed, Tanis,” Riverwind said. Gripping the half-elf’s shoulders in his strong hands, the stern-faced Plainsman forced Tanis to face him. “You did not fall victim to your passion, as did the mage. If you had, you would have stayed with Kitiara. You left her, Tanis—”
“I left her,” Tanis said bitterly. “I sneaked out like a thief! I should have confronted her. I should have told her the truth about myself! She would have killed me then, but you would have been safe. You and the others could have escaped. How much easier my death would have been—But I didn’t have the courage. Now I’ve brought us to this,” the half-elf said, wrenching himself free of Riverwind’s grip. “I have failed—not only myself, but all of you.”
He glanced around the deck. Berem still stood at the helm, gripping the useless wheel in his hands, that strange look of resignation on his face. Maquesta still fought to save her ship, shrieking commands above the wind’s howl and the deep-throated roaring that issued from the depths of the maelstrom. But her crew, stunned by terror, no longer obeyed. Some wept. Some cursed. Most made no sound but stared in horrid fascination at the gigantic swirl that was pulling them inexorably into the vast darkness of the deep. Tanis felt Riverwind’s hand once again touch his shoulder. Almost angrily, he tried to withdraw, but the Plainsman was firm.
>
“Tanis, my brother, you made your choice to walk this road in the Inn of the Last Home in Solace, when you came to Goldmoon’s aid. In my pride, I would have refused your help, and both she and I would have died. Because you could not turn from us in our need, we brought the knowledge of the ancient gods into the world. We brought healing. We brought hope. Remember what the Forestmaster told us? We do not grieve for those who fulfill their purpose in life. We have fulfilled our purpose, my friend. Who knows how many lives we have touched? Who knows but that this hope will lead to a great victory? For us, it seems, the battle has ended. So be it. We lay down our swords, only that others may pick them up and fight on.”
“Your words are pretty, Plainsman,” Tanis snapped, “but tell me truthfully. Can you look on death and not feel bitterness? You have everything to live for, Goldmoon, the children not yet born to you—”
A swift spasm of pain crossed Riverwind’s face. He turned his head to hide it, but Tanis, watching him closely, saw the pain and suddenly understood. So he was destroying that, too! The half-elf shut his eyes in despair.
“Goldmoon and I weren’t going to tell you. You had enough to worry about.” Riverwind sighed. “Our baby would have been born in the autumn,” he murmured, “in the time when the leaves on the vallenwoods turn red and golden as they were when Goldmoon and I came into Solace that day, carrying the blue crystal staff. That day the knight, Sturm Brightblade, found us and brought us to the Inn of the Last Home—”
Tanis began to sob, deep racking sobs that tore through his body like knives. Riverwind put his arms around his friend and held him tightly.
“The vallenwoods we know are dead now, Tanis,” he continued in a hushed voice. “We could have shown the child only burned and rotted stumps. But now the child will see the vallenwoods as the gods meant them to be, in a land where the trees live forever. Do not grieve, my friend, my brother. You helped bring knowledge of the gods back to the people. You must have faith in those gods.”
Gently Tanis pushed Riverwind away. He could not meet the Plainsman’s eyes. Looking into his own soul, Tanis saw it twist and writhe like the tortured trees of Silvanesti. Faith? He had no faith. What were the gods to him? He had made the decisions. He had thrown away everything he ever had of value in his life—his elven homeland, Laurana’s love. He had come close to throwing away friendship, too. Only Riverwind’s strong loyalty—a loyalty that was badly misplaced—kept the Plainsman from denouncing him.
Suicide is forbidden to the elves. They consider it blasphemy, the gift of life being the most precious of all gifts. But Tanis stared into the blood-red sea with anticipation and longing.
Let death come swiftly, he prayed. Let these blood-stained waters close over my head. Let me hide in their depths. And if there are gods, if you are listening to me, I ask only one thing: keep the knowledge of my shame from Laurana. I have brought pain to too many.…
But even as his soul breathed this prayer he hoped would be his last upon Krynn, a shadow darker than the storm clouds fell across him. Tanis heard Riverwind cry out and Goldmoon scream, but their voices were lost in the roar of the water as the ship began to sink into the heart of the maelstrom. Dully, Tanis looked up to see the fiery red eyes of a blue dragon shining through the black swirling clouds. Upon the dragon’s back was Kitiara.
Unwilling to give up the prize that would win them glorious victory, Kit and Skie had fought their way through the storm, and now the dragon, wicked talons extended, dove straight for Berem. The man’s feet might have been nailed to the deck. In dreamlike helplessness he stared at the diving dragon.
Jolted to action, Tanis flung himself across the heaving deck as the blood-red water swirled around him. He hit Berem full in the stomach, knocking the man backward just as a wave broke over them. Tanis grabbed hold of something, he wasn’t sure what, and clung to the deck as it canted away beneath him. Then the ship righted itself. When he looked up, Berem was gone. Above him, he heard the dragon shriek in anger.
And then Kitiara was shouting above the storm, pointing at Tanis. Skie’s fiery gaze turned on him. Raising his arm as if he could ward off the dragon, Tanis looked up into the enraged eyes of the beast who was fighting madly to control his flight in the whipping winds.
This is life, the half-elf found himself thinking, seeing the dragon’s claws above him. This is life! To live, to be carried out of this horror! For an instant Tanis felt himself suspended in mid-air as the bottom dropped out of his world. He was conscious only of shaking his head wildly, screaming incoherently. The dragon and the water hit him at the same time. All he could see was blood.…
Tika crouched beside Caramon, her fear of death lost in her concern for him. But Caramon wasn’t even aware of her presence. He stared out into the darkness, tears coursing down his face, his hands clenched into fists, repeating two words over and over in a silent litany.
In agonizing dreamlike slowness, the ship balanced on the edge of the swirling water, as if the very wood of the vessel itself hesitated in fear. Maquesta joined her frail ship in its final desperate struggle for life, lending her own inner strength, trying to change the laws of nature by force of will alone. But it was useless. With a final, heart-breaking shudder, the Perechon slipped over the edge into the swirling, roaring darkness.
Timber cracked. Masts fell. Men were flung, screaming, from the listing decks as the blood-red blackness sucked the Perechon down into its gaping maw.
After all was gone, two words lingered like a benediction.
“My brother …”
5
The chronicler and the mage.
A stinus of Palanthas sat in his study. His hand guided the quill pen he held in firm, even strokes. The bold, crisp writing flowing from that pen could be read clearly, even at a distance. Astinus filled a sheet of parchment quickly, rarely pausing to think. Watching him, one had the impression that his thoughts flowed from his head straight into the pen and out onto the paper, so rapidly did he write. The flow was interrupted only when he dipped the quill in ink, but this, too, had become such an automatic motion to Astinus that it interrupted him as little as the dotting of an “i” or the crossing of a “t.”
The door to his study creaked opened. Astinus did not look up from his writing, though the door did not often open while he was engaged in his work. The historian could count the number of times on his fingers. One of those times had been during the Cataclysm. That had disturbed his writing, he recalled, remembering with disgust the spilled ink that had ruined a page.
The door opened and a shadow fell across his desk. But there came no sound, though the body belonging to the shadow drew in a breath as though about to speak. The shadow wavered, the sheer enormity of its offense causing the body to tremble.
It is Bertrem, Astinus noted, as he noted everything, filing the information for future reference in one of the many compartments of his mind.
This day, as above Afterwatch Hour falling 29, Bertrem entered my study.
The pen continued its steady advance over the paper. Reaching the end of a page, Astinus lifted it smoothly and placed it on top of similar pieces of parchment stacked neatly at the end of his desk. Later that night, when the historian had finished his work and retired, the Aesthetics would enter the study reverently, as clerics enter a shrine, and gather up the stacks of paper. Carefully they would take them into the great library. Here the pieces of parchment covered with the bold, firm handwriting, were sorted, categorized, and filed in the giant books labeled Chronicles, A History of Krynn by Astinus of Palanthas.
“Master …” spoke Bertrem in a shivering voice.
This day, as above Afterwatch Hour falling 30, Bertrem spoke, Astinus noted in the text.
“I regret disturbing you, Master,” said Bertrem faintly, “but a young man is dying on your doorstep.”
This day, as above Restful Hour climbing 29, a young man died on our doorstep.
“Get his name,” Astinus said without looking up or pausing in hi
s writing, “so that I may record it. Be certain as to the spelling. And find out where he’s from and his age, if he’s not too far gone.”
“I have his name, Master,” Bertrem replied. “It is Raistlin. He comes from Solace township in the land of Abanasinia.”
This day, as above Restful Hour climbing 28, Raistlin of Solace died—
Astinus stopped writing. He looked up.
“Raistlin … of Solace?”
“Yes, Master,” Bertrem replied, bowing at this great honor. It was the first time Astinus had ever looked directly at him, though Bertrem had been with the Order of Aesthetics who lived in the great library for over a decade. “Do you know him, Master? That was why I took the liberty of disturbing your work. He has asked to see you.”
“Raistlin …”
A drop of ink fell from Astinus’s pen onto the paper.
“Where is he?”
“On the steps, Master, where we found him. We thought, perhaps, one of these new healers we have heard about, the ones who worship the Goddess Mishakal, might aid him.…”
The historian glared at the blot of ink in annoyance. Taking a pinch of fine, white sand, he carefully sprinkled it over the ink to dry it so that it would not stain other sheets that would later be set upon it. Then, lowering his gaze, Astinus returned to his work.
“No healer can cure this young man’s malady,” the historian remarked in a voice that might have come from the depths of time. “But bring him inside. Give him a room.”
“Bring him inside the library?” Bertrem repeated in profound astonishment. “Master, no one has ever been admitted except those of our order—”
“I will see him, if I have time at the end of the day,” Astinus continued as if he had not heard the Aesthetic’s words. “If he is still alive, that is.”
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