The Second Generation

Shivering with cold and a fear he could not control, a fear fed by the trees, Palin looked at his father with new respect. Driven by love for his twin, Caramon had dared enter the Shoikan Grove, and had very nearly paid for his love with his life.

He must be thinking of that, Palin thought, for his father’s face was pale and grim. Beads of sweat stood upon his forehead. “Let’s get out of here,"

Caramon said harshly, his eyes carefully avoiding the sight of the cursed trees.

“Go inside, or something....”

“Very well,” replied Dalamar. Though his face was hidden once again by the shadows of his hood, Palin had the impression the dark elf was smiling.

“Although there is no hurry. We must wait until nightfall, when the silver moon, Solinari, beloved of Paladine, the black moon, Nuitari, favored by the Dark Queen, and Lunitari, the red moon of Gilean, are in the sky together. Raistlin will draw upon the black moon for his power. Others—who might need it—may draw upon Solinari—if they choose....” He did not look at Palin as he spoke, but the young man felt himself flush.

“What do mean—draw upon its power?” Caramon demanded angrily, grabbing hold of Dalamar. “Palin’s not a mage, not yet. You said you would deal with everything—”

“I am aware of my words,” Dalamar interrupted. He neither moved nor spoke, but suddenly Caramon snatched his hand back with a gasp of pain. “And I will deal with .. . what must be dealt with. But things strange and unexpected may happen this night. It is well to be prepared.” Dalamar regarded Caramon coolly. “And do not interfere with me again. Come, Palin. You may need my assistance to enter these gates.”

Dalamar held out his hand. Glancing back at his father, Palin saw his eyes fixed on him. Don’t go in there, his anguished gaze pleaded. If you do, I will lose you....

Lowering his own eyes in confusion, pretending he hadn’t read the message that had been as clear as the very first words his father taught him, Palin turned away and laid his hand hesitantly upon the dark elf’s arm. The black robes were soft and velvety to the touch. He could feel the hard muscles and, beneath, the fine, delicate bone structure of the elf, almost fragile to the touch, yet strong and steady and supportive.

An unseen hand opened the gates that had once, long ago, been made of fluted silver and gold but were now black and twisted, guarded by shadowy beings. Drawing Palin with him, Dalamar stepped through them.

Searing pain pierced the young man. Clutching his heart, Palin doubled over with a cry.

Dalamar stopped Caramon’s advance with a look. “You cannot aid him,” the dark elf said. “Thus the Dark Queen punishes those not loyal to her who tread upon this sacred ground. Hold on to me, Palin. Hold on to me tightly and keep walking. Once we are inside, this will subside.”

Gritting his teeth, Palin did as he was told, moving forward with halting footsteps, both hands gripping Dalamar’s arm.

It was well the dark elf led him on for, left on his own, Palin would have fled this place of darkness. Through the haze of pain, he heard soft words whisper, “Why enter? Death alone awaits you! Are you anxious to look upon his grinning face? Turn back, foolish one! Turn back. Nothing is worth this...."

Palin moaned. How could he have been so blind? Dalamar had been right... the price was too high

“Courage, Palin!” Dalamar’s voice blended with the whispering words.

The tower was crushing Palin beneath the weight of its dark, magical power, pressing the life from his body. Still he kept walking, though he could barely see the stones beneath his feet through a blood-red film blurring his eyes. Was this how he felt when he first came? Palin asked himself in agony. But no, of course not. Raistlin had worn the Black Robes when he first entered the tower.

He came in the fullness of his power. Master of Past and Present. For him, the gates had opened.... All dark and shadowy things bowed in homage. Thus went the legend.... For him, the gates had opened.... With a sob, Palin collapsed upon the threshold of the tower.

“Feeling better?” Dalamar asked as Palin raised himself dizzily from the couch on which he lay. “Here, a sip of wine. It is elven, a fine vintage. I have it 'shipped' to me from Silvanesti, unknown to the Silvanesti elves, of course. This was the first wine made following the land’s destruction. It has a dark, faintly bitter taste—as of tears. Some of my people, I am told, cannot drink it without weeping.” Pouring a glassful, Dalamar held the deep purple-hued liquid out to Palin. “I find, in fact, that even when I drink it, a feeling of sadness comes over me.”