The Second Generation

“Yes.” Palin swallowed his tears. Wiping his face, he rose unsteadily to his feet, keeping his gaze on his uncle’s eyes. “I—I’m sorry. What must I do?”

“Use . . . the staff. Touch the locks around . . . my wrists.... Hurry! The ... queen ...”

“Where—where is the Dark Queen?” Palin stammered. Stepping carefully past the pool of blood, he came to stand near his uncle and, reaching up, touched the glowing crystal of the staff to the first of the manacles that held Raistlin bound to the wall.

Exhausted, near death, his uncle could speak no longer, but his words came to Palin’s mind. Your coming forced her to leave. She was not prepared to face one such as you. But that will not last long. She will return. Both o/MS ... must begone

Palin touched the other manacle and, freed of his chains, Raistlin slumped forward, his body falling into the arms of the young man. Catching hold of his uncle, his horror lost in his pity and compassion, Palin gently laid the torn, bleeding body on the ground.

“But how can you go anywhere?” Palin murmured. “You are dying”

“Yes”, Raistlin answered wordlessly, his thin lips twisting in a grim smile. In a few moments, I will die, as I have died countless mornings before this. When nightfalls, I will return to life and spend the night looking forward to the dawn, when the queen will come and tear my flesh, ending my life in tortured pain once more.

“What can I do?” Palin cried helplessly. “How can I help you?”

“You are helping already,” Raistlin said aloud, his voice growing stronger. His hand moved feebly. “Look...”

Reluctantly, Palin glanced down at his uncle’s terrible wound. It was closing! The flesh was mending! The young man stared in astonishment. If he had been a high-ranking cleric of Paladine, he could have performed no greater miracle. “What is happening? How—?” he asked blankly.

“Your goodness, your love,” whispered Raistlin. “So might my brother have saved me if he had possessed the courage to enter the Abyss himself."

His lip curled in bitterness. “Help me stand ...”

Palin swallowed, but said nothing as he helped the arch-mage rise to his feet. What could he say? Shame filled his soul, shame for his father. Well, he would make up for it.

“Give me your arm, Nephew. I can walk. Come, we must reach the portal before the queen returns.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” Palin put his arm around Raistlin’s body, feeling the strange, unnatural heat that radiated from it warm his own chilled flesh.

“I must. I have no choice.” Leaning upon Palin, the arch-mage gathered his torn black robes about him, and the two walked forward as fast as they could through the shifting sand toward where the portal stood in the center of the red-tinged landscape.

But before he had gone very far, Raistlin stopped, his frail body wracked by coughing until he gasped for air.

Standing beside him, holding him, Palin looked at his uncle in concern.

“Here,” he offered. “Take your staff. It will aid your steps—”

Raistlin’s hourglass eyes went to the staff in the young man’s hand.

Reaching out his slender, golden-skinned hand, he touched the smooth wood, stroking it lovingly. Then, looking at Palin, he smiled and shook his head.

“No, Nephew,” he said in his soft, shattered voice. “The staff is yours, a gift from your uncle. It would have been yours someday,” he added, speaking almost to himself. “I would have trained you myself, gone with you to watch the Test. I would have been proud... so proud...” Then, he shrugged, his gaze going to Palin. “What am I saying? I am proud of you, my nephew. So young, to do this, to enter the Abyss—”

As if to remind them where they were and the danger they were in, a shadow fell upon them as of dark wings, hovering overhead.

Palin looked up fearfully. Then his gaze went to the portal that seemed farther away than he remembered. He gasped. “We can’t outrun her!”

“Wait!” Raistlin paused for breath, color coming back to his face. “We don’t need to run. Look at the portal, Palin. Concentrate on it. Think of it as being right in front of you.”

“I don’t understand.” Palin looked at Raistlin, confused.

“Concentrate!” the archmage snarled.

The shadow was growing increasingly dark. Looking at the portal, Palin tried to do as he was told, but he kept seeing his father’s face, the dragon ripping his uncle’s flesh.... The shadow over them grew still darker, darker than night, as dark as his own fear.

“Don’t be afraid.” His uncle’s voice came to him through the darkness. “Concentrate.”

The disciplined training in magic came to Palin’s aid. Thus was he forced to concentrate on the words to a spell. Closing his eyes, the young man shut everything out—his fear, his horror, his sorrow—and envisioned the portal in his mind, standing directly before him.

“Excellent, young one,” came Raistlin’s soft voice.

Palin blinked, startled. The portal was right where he had envisioned it, just a step or two away.