War of the Twins (8 page)

Crysania felt Caramon’s questioning glance, but she kept her face smooth and expressionless, though Raistlin’s cool, casual mention of entering the dread Portal, of going into the Abyss and facing the Queen of Darkness froze her heart. She refused to meet Caramon’s eyes, therefore, and stared into the fire.

The big man sighed, then he cleared his throat. “Will you send me home?” he asked his twin.

“If that is where you wish to go.”

“Yes,” Caramon said, his voice deep and stern. “I want to go back to Tika and to … talk to Tanis.” His voice broke. “I’ll have to … to explain, somehow, about Tas dying … back there in Istar.…”

“In the name of the gods, Caramon,” Raistlin snapped, making an irritated motion with his slender hand, “I thought we had seen some glimmer of an adult lurking in that hulking body of yours! You will undoubtedly return to find Tasslehoff sitting in your kitchen, regaling Tika with one stupid story after another, having robbed you blind in the meantime!”

“What?” Caramon’s face grew pale, his eyes widened.

“Listen to me, my brother!” Raistlin hissed, pointing a finger at Caramon. “The kender doomed himself when he disrupted
Par-Salian’s spell. There is a very good reason for the prohibition against those of his race and the races of dwarves and gnomes traveling back in time. Since they were created by accident, through a quirk of fate and the god, Reorx’s, carelessness, these races are not within the flow of time, as are humans, elves, and ogres—those races first created by the gods.

“Thus, the kender could have altered time, as he was quick to realize when I inadvertently let slip that fact. I could not allow that to happen! Had he stopped the Cataclysm, as he intended, who knows what might have occurred? Perhaps we might have returned to our own time to find the Queen of Darkness reigning supreme and unchallenged, since the Cataclysm was sent, in part, to prepare the world to face her coming and give it the strength to defy her—”

“So you murdered him!” Caramon interrupted hoarsely.

“I told him to get the device”—Raistlin bit the words—“I taught him how to use it, and I sent him home!”

Caramon blinked. “You did?” he asked suspiciously.

Raistlin sighed and laid his head back into the cushions of the chair. “I did, but I don’t expect you to believe me, my brother.” His hands plucked feebly at the black robes he wore. “Why should you, after all?”

“You know,” said Crysania softly, “I seem to remember, in those last horrible moments before the earthquake struck, seeing Tasslehoff. He … he was with me … in the Sacred Chamber.…”

She saw Raistlin open his eyes a slit. His glittering gaze pierced her heart and startled her, distracting her thoughts for a moment.

“Go on,” Caramon urged.

“I—I remember … he had the magical device. At least I think he did. He said something about it.” Crysania put her hand to her forehead. “But I can’t think what it was. It-it’s all so dreadful and confused. But—I’m certain he said he had the device!”

Raistlin smiled slightly. “Surely, you will believe Lady Crysania, my brother?” He shrugged. “A cleric of Paladine will not lie.”

“So Tasslehoff’s home? Right now?” Caramon said, trying to assimilate this startling information. “And, when I go back, I’ll find him—”

“—safe and sound and loaded down with most of your personal possessions,” Raistlin finished wryly. “But, now, we must turn our attention to more pressing matters. You are right, my brother. We need food and warm clothing, and we are not likely to find either here. The time we have come forward to is about one hundred years after the Cataclysm. This Tower”—he waved his hand—“has been deserted all those years. It is now guarded by the creatures of darkness called forth by the curse of the magic-user whose body is still impaled upon the spikes of the gates below us. The Shoikan Grove has grown up around it, and there are none on Krynn who dare enter.

“None except myself, of course. No, no one can get inside. But the guardians will not prevent one of us—you, my brother, for example—from leaving. You will go into Palanthas and buy food and clothing. I could produce it with my magic, but I dare not expend any unnecessary energy between now and when I—that is Crysania and I—enter the Portal.”

Caramon’s eyes widened. His gaze went to the soot-blackened window, his thoughts to the horrifying stories of the Shoikan Grove beyond.

“I will give you a charm to guard you, my brother,” Raistlin added in exasperation, seeing the frightened look on Caramon’s face. “A charm will be necessary, in fact, but not to aid your way through the Grove. It is far more dangerous in here. The guardians obey me, but they hunger for your blood. Do not set foot outside this room without me. Remember that. You, too, Lady Crysania.”

“Where is this … this Portal?” Caramon asked abruptly.

“In the laboratory, above us, at the top of the Tower,” Raistlin replied. “The Portals were kept in the most secure place the wizards could devise because, as you can imagine, they are extremely dangerous!”

“It’s like wizards to go tampering with what they should best leave alone,” Caramon growled. “Why in the name of the
gods did they create a gateway to the Abyss?”

Placing the tips of his fingers together, Raistlin stared into the fire, speaking to the flames as if they were the only ones with the power to understand him.

“In the hunger for knowledge, many things are created. Some are good, that benefit us all. A sword in your hands, Caramon, champions the cause of righteousness and truth and protects the innocent. But a sword in the hands of, say, our beloved sister, Kitiara, would split the heads of the innocent wide open if it suited her. Is this the fault of the sword’s creator?”

“N—” Caramon began, but his twin ignored him.

“Long ago, during the Age of Dreams, when magic-users were respected and magic flourished upon Krynn, the five Towers of High Sorcery stood as beacons of light in the dark sea of ignorance that was this world. Here, great magics were worked, benefiting all. There were plans for greater still. Who knows but that now we might have been riding on the winds, soaring the skies like dragons. Maybe even leaving this wretched world and inhabiting other worlds, far away … far away.…”

His voice grew soft and quiet. Caramon and Crysania held very still, spellbound by his tone, caught up in the vision of his magic.

He sighed. “But that was not to be. In their desire to hasten their great works, the wizards decided they needed to communicate directly with each other, from one Tower to another, without the need for cumbersome teleportation spells. And so, the Portals were constructed.”

“They succeeded?” Crysania’s eyes shone with wonder.

“They succeeded!” Raistlin snorted. “Beyond their wildest dreams”—his voice dropped—“their worst nightmares. For the Portals could not only provide movement in one step between any of the far-flung Towers and fortresses of magic—but also into the realms of the gods, as an inept wizard of my own order discovered to his misfortune.”

Raistlin shivered, suddenly, and drew his black robes more tightly around him, huddling close to the fire.

“Tempted by the Queen of Darkness, as only she can tempt mortal man when she chooses”—Raistlin’s face grew pale—“he used the Portal to enter her realm and gain the prize she offered him nightly, in his dreams,” Raistlin laughed, bitter, mocking laughter. “Fool! What happened to him, no one knows. But he never returned through the Portal. The Queen, however, did. And with her, came legions of dragons—”

“The first Dragon Wars!” Crysania gasped.

“Yes, brought upon us by one of my own kind with no discipline, no self-control. One who allowed himself to be seduced—” Breaking off, Raistlin stared broodingly into the fire.

“But, I never heard that!” Caramon protested. “According to the legends, the dragons came together—”

“Your history is limited to bedtime tales, my brother!” Raistlin said impatiently. “And just proves how little you know of dragons. They are independent creatures, proud, self-centered, and completely incapable of coming together to cook dinner, much less coordinate any sort of war effort. No, the Queen entered the world completely that time, not just the shadow she was during our war with her. She waged war upon the world, and it was only through Huma’s great sacrifice that she was driven back.”

Raistlin paused, hands to his lips, musing. “Some say that Huma did
not
use the Dragonlance to physically destroy her, as the legend goes. But, rather, the lance had some magical property allowing him to drive her back into the Portal and seal it shut. The fact that he
did
drive her back proves that—in this world—she is vulnerable.” Raistlin stared fixedly into the flames. “Had there been someone—someone of
true
power at the Portal when she entered, someone capable of destroying her utterly instead of simply driving her back—then history might well have been rewritten.”

No one spoke. Crysania stared into the flames, seeing, perhaps, the same glorious vision as the archmage. Caramon stared at his twin’s face.

Raistlin’s gaze suddenly left the flames, flashing into focus with a clear, cold intensity. “When I am stronger, tomorrow, I will ascend to the laboratory alone”—his stern glance swept
over both Caramon and Crysania—“and begin my preparations. You, lady, had best start communing with your god.”

Crysania swallowed nervously. Shivering, she drew her chair nearer the fire. But suddenly Caramon was on his feet, standing before her. Reaching down, his strong hands gripped her arms, forcing her to look up into his eyes.

“This is madness, lady,” he said, his voice soft and compassionate. “Let me take you from this dark place! You’re frightened—you have reason to be afraid! Maybe not everything Par-Salian said about Raistlin was true. Maybe everything I thought about him wasn’t true, either. Perhaps I’ve misjudged him. But I see this clearly, lady. You’re frightened and I don’t blame you! Let Raistlin do this thing alone! Let
him
challenge the gods—if that’s what he wants! But you don’t have to go with him! Come home! Let me take you back to our time, away from here.”

Raistlin did not speak, but his thoughts echoed in Crysania’s mind as clearly as if he had.
You heard the Kingpriest! You said yourself that you know his mistake! Paladine favors you. Even in this dark place, he grants your prayers. You are his chosen! You will succeed where the Kingpriest failed! Come with me, Crysania. This is our destiny!

“I am frightened,” Crysania said, gently disengaging Caramon’s hands from her arms. “And I am truly touched by your concern. But this fear of mine is a weakness in me that I must combat. With Paladine’s help, I will overcome it—before I enter the Portal with your brother.”

“So be it,” Caramon said heavily, turning away.

Raistlin smiled, a dark, secret smile that was not reflected in either his eyes or his voice.

“And now, Caramon,” he said caustically, “if you are quite through meddling in matters you are completely incapable of comprehending, you had best prepare for your journey. It is midmorning, now. The markets—such as they are in these bleak times—are just opening.” Reaching into a pocket in his black robes, Raistlin withdrew several coins and tossed them at his brother. “That should be sufficient for our needs.”

Caramon caught the coins without thinking. Then he hesitated, staring at his brother with the same look Crysania had seen him wear in the Temple at Istar, and she remembered thinking,
what terrible hate … what terrible love!

Finally, Caramon lowered his gaze, stuffing the money into his belt.

“Come here to me, Caramon,” Raistlin said softly.

“Why?” he muttered, suddenly suspicious.

“Well, there is the matter of that iron collar around your neck. Would you walk the streets with the mark of slavery still? And then there is the charm.” Raistlin spoke with infinite patience. Seeing Caramon hesitate still, he added, “I would not advise you leave this room without it. Still, that is your decision—”

Glancing over at the pallid faces, who were still watching intently from the shadows, Caramon came to stand before his brother, his arms crossed before his chest. “Now what?” he growled.

“Kneel down before me.”

Caramon’s eyes flashed with anger. A bitter oath burned on his lips, but, his eyes going furtively to Crysania, he choked back and swallowed his words.

Raistlin’s pale face appeared saddened. He sighed. “I am exhausted, Caramon. I do not have the strength to rise. Please—”

His jaw clenched, Caramon slowly lowered himself, bending knee to floor so that he was level with his frail, black-robed twin.

Raistlin spoke a soft word. The iron collar split apart and fell from Caramon’s neck, landing with a clatter on the floor.

“Come nearer,” Raistlin said.

Swallowing, rubbing his neck, Caramon did as he was told. though he stared at his brother bitterly. “I’m doing this for Crysania,” he said, his voice taut. “If it were just you and me, I’d let you rot in this foul place!”

Reaching out his hands, Raistlin placed them on either side of his twin’s head with a gesture that was tender, almost caressing. “Would you, my brother?” the mage asked so softly
it was no more than a breath. “Would you leave me? Back there, in Istar—would you truly have killed me?”

Caramon only stared at him, unable to answer. Then, Raistlin bent forward and kissed his brother on the forehead. Caramon flinched, as though he had been touched with a redhot iron.

Raistlin released his grip.

Caramon stared at him in anguish. “I don’t know!” he murmured brokenly. “The gods help me—I don’t know!”

With a shuddering sob, he covered his face with his hands. His head sank into his brother’s lap.

Raistlin stroked his brother’s brown, curling hair. “There, now, Caramon,” he said gently. “I have given you the charm. The things of darkness cannot harm you, not so long as I am here.”

aramon stood in the doorway to the study, peering out into the darkness of the corridor beyond—a darkness that was alive with whispers and eyes. Beside him was Raistlin, one hand on his twin’s arm, the Staff of Magius in his other.