The Second Generation

By the gods, he’d do it! Let them try to stop him! Caramon clasped the hilt of his sword and took a step backward, glancing around at his sons. The two older boys moved to leave. Only Palin remained standing still, a grave, thoughtful expression on his face that Caramon could not read. It reminded him of someone, though. Caramon could almost hear Raistlin’s whispering voice, “Go if you want to, my dear brother. Lose yourself in the magical Forest of Wayreth, as you most surely will without me. I intend to remain ...”

No. He would not hear his son say those words. Flushing, his heart constricting painfully, Caramon seated himself heavily in the chair. “Say what you have to say,” he repeated.

“Almost thirty years ago, Raistlin Majere came to this tower to take his test,"

Justarius began. “Once inside the tower, taking his test, he was contacted by—”

“We know that,” Caramon growled.

“Some of us do,” Justarius replied. “Some of us do not.” His gaze went to Palin. “Or at least, they do not know the entire story. The Test was difficult for Raistlin—it is difficult for all of us who take it, isn’t it?”

Dalamar did not speak, but his pale face went a shade paler, and the slanted eyes were clouded. All traces of laughter had vanished from Dunbar’s face.

His gaze went to Palin, and he almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“Yes,” Justarius continued softly, absently rubbing his leg with his hand as though it pained him. “The Test is difficult, but it is not impossible. Par-Salian and the heads of the orders would not have granted Raistlin permission to take it—as young as he was—if they had not deemed it likely that he would succeed.

And he would have! Yes, Caramon! There is not a doubt in my mind or in the minds of any who were present that day and witnessed it. Your twin had the strength and the skill to succeed on his own. But he chose the easy way, the sure way—he accepted the help of an evil wizard, the greatest of our orders who ever lived—Fistandantilus.

“Fistandantilus,” Justarius repeated, his eyes on Palin. “His magic having gone awry, he died at Skullcap Mountain. But he was powerful enough to defeat death itself. His spirit survived on another plane, waiting to find a body it could inhabit. And it found that body....”

Caramon sat silently, his eyes fixed on Justarius, his face red, his jaw muscles stiff. He felt a hand on his shoulder and, glancing up, saw Palin, who had come to stand behind him. Leaning down, Palin whispered, “We can go, Father. I’m sorry. I was wrong to make you come. We don’t have to listen . ..”

Justarius sighed. “Yes, young mage, you do have to listen, I am afraid. You must hear the truth!”

Palin started, flushing at hearing his words repeated. Reaching up, Caramon gripped his son’s hand reassuringly. “We know the truth,” he growled. “That evil wizard took my brother’s soul! And you mages let him!”

“No, Caramon!” Justarius’s fist clenched, and his gray brows drew together.

“Raistlin made a deliberate choice to turn his back upon the light and embrace the darkness. Fistandantilus gave him the power to pass the Test and, in exchange, Raistlin gave Fistandantilus part of his life-force in order to help the lich’s spirit survive. That is what shattered his body—not the Test. Raistlin said it himself, Caramon! 'This is the sacrifice I made for my magic!' How many times have you heard him say those words!”

“Enough!” Scowling, Caramon stood up. “It was Par-Salian’s fault. No matter what evil my twin did after that, you mages started him down the path he eventually walked.”

Motioning to his sons, Caramon turned upon his heel and walked rapidly from the chamber, heading for what he hoped (in this strange place) was the way out.

“No!” Justarius rose unsteadily to his feet, unable to put his full weight upon his crippled left leg. But his voice was powerful, thundering through the chamber. “Listen and understand, Caramon Majere! You must, or you will regret it bitterly!”

Caramon stopped. Slowly, he turned around, but only halfway. “Is this a threat?” he asked, glaring at Justarius over his shoulder.

“No threat, at least not one we make,” Justarius said. “Think, Caramon! Don’t you see the danger? It happened once. It can happen again!”

“I don’t understand,” Caramon said stubbornly, his hand on his sword, still considering.

Like a snake uncoiling to strike, Dalamar leaned forward in his chair. “Yes, you do!” His voice was soft and lethal. “You understand. Don’t ask for us to tell you details, for we cannot. But know this—by certain signs we have seen and certain contacts we have made in realms beyond this one, we have reason to believe that Raistlin lives—much as did Fistandantilus. He seeks a way back into this world. He needs a body to inhabit. And you, his beloved twin, have thoughtfully provided him with one—young, strong, and already trained in magic.”