The Second Generation

Dalamar’s words sank into Caramon’s flesh like poisoned fangs. “Your son..."

Chapter Four

Justarius resumed his seat, easing himself into the great stone chair carefully. Smoothing the folds of his red robes about him with hands that looked remarkably young for his age, he spoke to Caramon, though his eyes were on the white-robed young man standing at his father’s side. “Thus you see, Caramon Majere, that we cannot possibly let your son—Raistlin’s nephew—continue to study magic and take the Test without first making certain that his uncle cannot use this young man to gain entry back into the world.”

“Especially,” added Dunbar gravely, “since the young man’s loyalties to one particular order have yet to be established.”

“What do you mean?” Caramon frowned. “Take the Test? He’s a long way from taking the Test. And as for his loyalties, he chose to wear the White Robes—”

“You and Mother chose that I wear the White Robes,” Palin said evenly, his eyes staring straight ahead, avoiding his father. When only hurt silence answered him, Palin made an irritated gesture. “Oh, come now, Father. You know as well as I do that you wouldn’t have considered letting me study magic under any other conditions. I knew better than to even ask!”

“But the young man must declare the allegiance that is in his heart. Only then can he use the true power of his magic. And he must do this during his test,” Dunbar said gently.

“Test! What is this talk of the Test! I tell you, he hasn’t even made up his mind whether or not to take the damn thing. And if I have anything to say about it—” Caramon stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze going to his son’s face. Palin stared at the ground, his cheeks flushed, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Well, never mind that,” Caramon muttered, drawing a deep breath. Behind him, he could hear his other two sons shuffling nervously, the rattle of Tanin’s sword, Sturm’s soft cough. He was acutely aware, too, of the wizards watching him, especially of Dalamar’s cynical smile. If only he and Palin could be alone! He’d have a chance to explain. Caramon sighed. It was something they should have talked about before this, he supposed. But he kept hoping....

Turning his back on the wizards, he faced his son. “What other loyalty would you choose, Palin?” he asked belatedly, trying to make amends.

“You’re a good person, Son! You enjoy helping people, serving others! White seems obvious....”

“I don’t know whether I enjoy serving others or not,” Palin cried impatiently, losing control. “You thrust me into this role, and look where it has gotten me! You admit yourself that I am not as strong or skilled in magic as my uncle was at my age. That was because he devoted his life to study! He let nothing interfere with it. It seems to me a man must put the magic first, the world second....”

Closing his eyes in pain, Caramon listened to his son’s words, but he heard them spoken by another voice—a soft, whispering voice, a shattered voice: a

man must put the magic first, the world second. By doing anything else, he

limits himself and his potential—He felt a hand grasp his arm. “Father, I’m sorry,” Palin said softly. “I would have discussed it with you, but I knew how much it would hurt you. And then there’s Mother.” The young man sighed. “You know Mother....”

“Yes,” said Caramon in a choked voice, reaching out and grasping his son in his big arms, “I know your mother.” Clearing his throat, he tried to smile.

“She might have thrown something at you—she did me once—most of my armor, as I recall. But her aim is terrible, especially when if s someone she loves.”

Caramon couldn’t go on for a moment, but stood holding his son. Looking over his shoulder at the wizards, he asked harshly, “Is this necessary right now? Let us go home and talk about it. Why can’t we wait—”

“Because this night there is a rare occurrence,” Justarius answered. “The silver moon, the black, and the red are all three in the sky at the same time. The power of magic is stronger this night than it has been in a century. If Raistlin has the ability to call upon the magic and escape the Abyss—it could be on a night like this.”

Caramon bowed his head, his hand stroking his son’s auburn hair. Then, his arm around Palin’s shoulder, he turned to face the wizards, his face grim.

“Very well,” he said huskily, “what do you want us to do?”

“You must return with me to the tower in Palanthas,” said Dalamar. “And there, we will attempt to enter the portal.”

“Let us ride as far as the Shoikan Grove with you, Father,” Tanin pleaded.

“Yes!” added Sturm eagerly. “You’ll need us, you know you will. The road between here and Palanthas is open—the knights see to that—but we’ve had reports from Porthios of draconian parties lying in ambush—”