The Second Generation

Palin watched helplessly as his uncle writhed in pain. The young man could still hear that mocking laughter dinning in his ears. When the spasm passed, and he could breathe, Raistlin lifted his head and, with a weak motion of his hand, beckoned Palin near.

Palin saw blood upon the cloth in his uncle’s hand and upon Raistlin’s ashen lips. Loathing and horror came over the young man, but he drew nearer anyway, compelled by a terrible fascination to kneel beside his uncle.

“Know this, Palin!” Raistlin whispered, speaking with an effort, his words barely audible. “I sacrificed ... myself ... for... myself.” Sinking back into his chair, he gasped for breath. When he could move, he reached out a shaking, bloodstained hand and caught hold of Palin’s white robes. “I saw ... what I must... become ... if I succeeded. Nothing! That... was... all. Dwindle ... to... nothing. The world ... dead.... This way”—his hand gestured feebly at the wall, the gruesome pool beneath it; his eyes gleamed feverishly—“there was... still... a chance ... for me ... to return ....”

“No!” Palin cried, struggling to free himself from Raistlin’s grasp. “I don’t believe you!”

“Why not?” Raistlin shrugged. His voice grew stronger. “You told them yourself. Don’t you remember, Palin? 'A man must put the magic first, the world second....' That's what you said to them in the tower. The world doesn’t matter to you any more than it does to me! Nothing matters—your brothers, your father! The magic! The power! That’s all that means anything to either of us!”

“I don’t know!” Palin cried brokenly, his hands clawing at Raistlin’s. “I can’t think! Let me go! Let me go....” His fingers fell nervelessly from Raistlin’s wrists, his head sank into his hands. Tears filled his eyes.

“Poor young one,” Raistlin said. Laying his hand on Palin’s head, he drew it gently into his lap and stroked the auburn hair soothingly.

Wracking sobs tore at Palin’s body. He was bereft, alone. Lies, all lies! Everyone had lied to him—his father, the mages, the world! What did it matter, after all? The magic. That was all he had. His uncle was right. The burning touch of those slender fingers; the soft black velvet, wet with his tears, beneath his cheek; the smell of rose petals and spice.. . .That would be his life. . . . That and this bitter emptiness within, an emptiness that all the world could not fill. . . .

“Weep, Palin,” Raistlin said softly. “Weep as I wept once, long, long ago. Then you will realize, as I did, that it does no good. No one hears you, sobbing in the night alone.”

Palin lifted his tearstained face suddenly, staring into Raistlin’s eyes.

“At last you understand.” Raistlin smiled. His hand stroked back the wet hair from Palin’s eyes. “Get hold of yourself, young one. It is time for us to go, before the Dark Queen comes. There is much to be done—”

Palin regarded Raistlin calmly, though the young man’s body still shuddered from his sobs, and he could see his uncle only through a blur of tears. “Yes,” he said. “At last I understand. Too late, it seems. But I understand. And you are wrong, Uncle,” he murmured brokenly. “Someone did hear you crying in the night. My father.”

Rising to his feet, Palin brushed his hand across his eyes, keeping his gaze steadfastly on his uncle. “I am going to close the portal.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Raistlin said with a sneer. “I won’t let you! You know that!”

“I know,” said Palin, drawing a shivering breath. “You will stop me—”

“I will kill you!”

“You will... kill me....” Palin continued, his voice faltering only slightly.

Turning around, he reached out for the Staff of Magius, which stood against the desk beside Raistlin’s chair. The light of the crystal beamed white and cold as his hand closed over it.

“What a waste!” Raistlin hissed, twisting out of his chair. “Why die in such a meaningless gesture? For it will be meaningless, I assure you, my dear nephew. I will do all I planned. The world will be mine! You will be dead—and who will know or care?”

“You will,” said Palin in a low voice.

Turning his back on his uncle, Palin walked with firm, steady steps to stand before the portal. The shadow was deeper and darker, making the wall within the Abyss stand out by hideous contrast. Palin could feel the evil now, feel it seeping through the portal like water flowing into a wrecked ship. He thought of the Dark Queen, able to enter the world at last. Once more, the flames of war would sweep across the land as the forces of good rose to stop her. He saw his father and mother die by his uncle’s hand, his brothers fall victim to their uncle’s magic. He saw them dressed in dragon scale armor, riding evil dragons into battle, leading troops of hideous beings spawned of darkness.