The Second Generation

“I am sorry to disappoint you, warriors,” said Dalamar, a slight smile upon his lips, “but we will not be using the roads between here and Palanthas. Conventional roads, that is,” he amended.

Both the young men looked confused. Glancing warily at the dark elf, Tanin frowned as though he suspected a trick.

Palin patted Tanin’s arm. “He means magic, my brother. Before you and Sturm reach the front entryway, Father and I will be standing in Dalamar’s study in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas—the tower my uncle claimed as his own,” he added softly. Palin had not meant anyone to hear his last words, but—glancing around—he caught Dalamar’s intense, knowing gaze. Flushing in confusion, the young man fell silent.

“Yes, that’s where we’ll be,” muttered Caramon, his face darkening at the thought. “And you two will be on your way home,” he added, eyeing his older sons sternly. “You have to tell your mother—”

“I’d rather face ogres,” said Tanin gloomily.

“Me, too,” Caramon said with a grin that ended in a sigh. Leaning down suddenly to make certain his pack was cinched tightly, he kept his face carefully in the shadows. “Just make certain she’s not standing where she can get hold of the crockery,” he said, keeping his voice carefully light.

“She knows me. She’s been expecting this. In fact, I think she knew when we left,” Palin said, remembering his mother’s tender hug and cheery smile as she stood at the door to the inn, waving at them with an old towel.

Glancing behind him as they had been riding out of town, Palin recalled seeing that towel cover his mother’s face, Dezra’s arms going around her comfortingly.

“Besides,” said Caramon, standing up to glare at his older two sons, his tone now severe, “you both promised Porthios you’d go to Qualinesti and help the elves handle those draconian raiding parties. You know what Porthios is like. It took him ten years to even speak to us. Now he’s showing signs of being friendly. I won’t have sons of mine going back on their word, especially to that stiff-necked elf. No offense,” he said, glancing at Dalamar.

“None taken,” said the dark elf. “I know Porthios. And now—”

“We’re ready,” interrupted Palin, an eager look on his face as he turned to Dalamar. “I’ve read about this spell you’re going to cast, of course, but I’ve never seen it done. What components do you use? And do you inflect the first syllable of the first word, or the second? My master says—”

Dalamar coughed gently. “You are giving away our secrets, young one,” he said in smooth tones. “Come, speak your questions to me in private."

Placing his delicate hand upon Palin’s arm, the dark elf drew the young man away from his father and brothers.

“Secrets?” said Palin, mystified. “What do you mean? It doesn’t matter if they hear—”

“That was an excuse,” Dalamar said coldly. Standing in front of the young man, he looked at Palin intently, his eyes dark and serious. “Palin, don’t do this. Return home with your father and brothers.”

“What do you mean?” Palin asked, staring at Dalamar in confusion. “I can’t do that. You heard Justarius. They won’t let me take my test or even keep on studying until we know for certain that Raistlin is ... is ...”

“Don’t take the Test,” Dalamar said swiftly. “Give up your studies. Go home. Be content with what you are.”

“No!” Palin said angrily. “What do you take me for? Do you think I’d be happy entertaining at country fairs, pulling rabbits out of hats and golden coins out of fat men’s ears? I want more than that!”

“The price of such ambition is great, as your uncle dis covered.”

“And so are the rewards!” Palin returned. “I have made up my mind ...”

“Young one”—Dalamar leaned close to the young man, placing his cold hand upon Palin’s arm. His voice dropped to a whisper so soft that Palin wasn’t certain he heard its words spoken or in his mind—“why do you think they are sending you—truly?” His gaze went to Justarius and Dunbar, who were standing apart, conferring together. 'To somehow enter the portal and find your uncle—or what's left of him? No”— Dalamar shook his head—“that is impossible. The room is locked. One of the Guardians stands constant watch with instructions to let no one in, to kill any who tries. They know that, just as they know Raistlin lives! They are sending you to the tower—his tower—for one reason. Do you recall the old legend about using a young goat to net a dragon?”

Staring at Dalamar in disbelief, Palin’s face suddenly drained of all color. Licking his ashen lips, he tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry, his throat tight.

“I see you understand,” Dalamar said coolly, folding h is hands in the sleeves of his black robes. “The hunter tethers the young goat in front of the dragon’s lair. While the dragon devours the goat, the hunters sneak up on him with their nets and their spears. They catch the dragon. Unfortunately, it is a bit late for the goat.. . . Do you still insist on going?”