The Second Generation

As the four approached the semicircle of chairs where Justarius and Dalamar sat, Caramon kept a sharp eye on them. Seeing that his boys were well and acting as they were supposed to act (his oldest two tended to be a bit boisterous on occasion), the big man finally relaxed and studied the fourth figure, the one who had spoken to Justarius about faith.

He was an unusual sight. Caramon couldn’t remember having seen anything stranger, and he’d traveled most of the continent of Ansalon. This man was from Northern Ergoth, that much Caramon could tell by the black skin—the mark of that seafaring race. He was dressed like a sailor, too, except for the pouches on his belt and the white sash around his waist. His voice was that of one accustomed to shouting commands over the crashing of waves and the roaring of wind. So strong was this impression that Caramon glanced around somewhat uncertainly. He wouldn’t have been the least surprised to see a ship under full sail materialize behind him.

“Caramon Majere, I take it,” the man said, coming over to Caramon, who had risen awkwardly to his feet. Gripping Caramon’s hand with a firmness that made the big man open his eyes wide, the man grinned and introduced himself. “Dunbar Mastersmate of Northern Ergoth, head of the Order of White Robes.”

Caramon gaped. “A mage?” he said wonderingly, shaking hands.

Dunbar laughed. “Exactly your sons' reaction. Yes, I’ve been visiting with your boys instead of doing my duty here, I’m afraid. Fine lads. The oldest two have been with the knights, I understand, fighting minotaurs near Kalaman. We came close to meeting there. That’s what kept me so long.” He glanced in apology at Justarius. “My ship was in Palanthas for repairs to damage taken fighting those same pirates. I am a sea wizard,” Dunbar added by way of explanation, noticing Caramon’s slightly puzzled look. “By the gods, but your boys take after you!” He laughed, and, reaching out, shook Caramon’s hand again.

Caramon grinned back. Everything would be all right, now that these wizards understood about Raistlin. He could take his boys and go home.

Caramon suddenly became aware that Dunbar was regarding him intently, almost as if he could see the thoughts in his mind. The wizard’s face grew serious. Shaking his head slightly, Dunbar turned and walked across the chamber with rapid, rolling strides, as though on the deck of his ship, to take his seat to the right of Justarius.

“Well,” said Caramon, fumbling with the hilt of his sword, his confidence shaken by the look on the wizard’s face. All three were staring at him now, their expressions solemn. Caramon’s face hardened in resolve. “I guess that"s that. You’ve heard what I’ve had to say about.. . about Raistlin....”

“Yes,” said Dunbar. “We all heard, some of us—I believe—for the first time."

The sea wizard glanced meaningfully at Palin, who was staring at the floor.

Clearing his throat nervously, Caramon continued. “I guess we’ll be on our way.”

The wizards exchanged looks. Justarius appeared uncomfortable, Dalamar stern, Dunbar sad. But none of them said anything. Bowing, Caramon turned to leave and was just motioning to his sons when Dalamar, with an irritated gesture, rose to his feet.

“You cannot go, Caramon,” the dark elf said. “There is still much to discuss.”

“Then say what you have to say!” Caramon stated angrily, turning back around to face the wizards.

“I will say it, since these two”—he cast a scathing glance at his fellow wizards—“are squeamish about challenging such devoted faith as you have proclaimed. Perhaps they have forgotten the grave danger we faced twenty-five years ago. I haven’t.” His hand strayed to the torn robes. “I never can. My fears cannot be dispelled by a 'vision/ no matter how touching.” His lip curled derisively. “Sit down, Caramon. Sit down and hear the truth these two fear to speak.”

“I do not fear to speak it, Dalamar.” Justarius spoke in rebuking tones. “I was thinking about the story Caramon related, its bearing upon the matter—”

The dark elf snorted, but—at a piercing look from his superior—he sat back down, wrapping his black robes around him. Caramon remained standing, however, frowning and glancing from one wizard to the other. Behind him, he heard the jingle of armor as his two older boys shifted uncomfortably. This place made them nervous, just as it did him. He wanted to turn on his heel and walk out, never returning to the tower that had been the scene of so much pain and heartbreak.