The Second Generation

In the darkness, Raistlin could not see the staff he leaned upon, but he didn’t need to. He knew every curve of the wood, every tiny imperfection in the grain. Lovingly he caressed it, his delicate fingers touching the golden dragon’s claw, running over each facet of the cold, dark crystal it held.

Raistlin’s eyes stared into the darkness, stared into the future he could glimpse by the light of the black moon.

“He will be great in the Art,” he said with quiet pride. “The greatest that has yet lived. He will bring honor and renown to our profession. Because of him, magic will live and flourish in the world.” The archmage’s voice lowered.

“Whatever happiness and joy was in my life, Palin, came from the magic. “To the magic, I give you ”

Raistlin held the staff an instant longer, pressing the smooth wood against his cheek. Then, with a word of command, he sent it from him. It vanished, swallowed up by the endless night. His head bowed in weariness, Raistlin laid his hand upon the velvet curtain and sank again into sleep, becoming one with the darkness and the silence and the dust.

Chapter Eleven

Palin came slowly to consciousness. His first reaction was one of terror.

The fiery jolt that had burned and blasted his body had not killed him! There would be another. Raistlin would not let him live. Moaning, Palin huddled against the cold stone floor, waiting fearfully to hear the sound of magical chanting, to hear the crackle of sparks from those thin fingertips, to feel once again the searing, exploding pain....

All was quiet. Listening intently, holding his breath, his body shivering in fear, Palin heard no sound.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He was in darkness, such deep darkness that nothing whatever was visible, not even his own body.

“Raistlin?” Palin whispered, raising his head cautiously from the damp stone floor. “Uncle?”

“Palin!” a voice shouted.

Palin’s heart stilled in fear. He could not breathe.

“Palin!” the voice shouted again, a voice filled with love and anguish.

Palin gasped in relief and, falling back against the stone floor, sobbed in joy.

He heard booted footsteps clambering up stairs. Torchlight lit the darkness. The footsteps halted, and the torchlight wavered as though the hand holding it shook. Then the footsteps were running, the torchlight burned above him.

“Palin! My son!” and Palin was in his father’s arms.

“What have they done to you?” Caramon cried in a choked voice as he lifted his son’s body from the floor and cradled it against his strong breast.

Palin could not speak. He leaned his head against his father’s chest, hearing the heart beating rapidly from the exertion of climbing the tower stairs, smelling the familiar smells of leather and sweat, letting—for one last moment—his father’s arms shelter and protect him. Then, with a soft sigh, Palin raised his head and looked into his father’s pale, anguished face.

“Nothing, Father,” he said softly, gently pushing himself away. “I’m all right. Truly.” Sitting up, he looked around, confused. “But where are we?”

“Out—outside that... that place,” Caramon growled. He let go of his son, but watched him dubiously, anxiously.

“The laboratory,” murmured Palin, puzzled, his gaze going to the closed door and the two, white, disembodied eyes that hovered before it.

The young man started to stand.

“Careful!” said Caramon, putting his arm around his son again.

“I told you, Father. I’m all right,” Palin said firmly, shaking off his father’s help and getting to his feet without assistance. “What happened?” He looked at the sealed laboratory door.

The two eyes of the specter stared back at him unblinking, unmoving.

“You went in . . . there,” Caramon said, his brow creasing into a frown as his gaze shifted to the sealed door as well. “And . . . the door slammed shut! I tried to get in ... Dalamar cast some sort of spell on it, but it wouldn’t open. Then more of those ... those things” —he gestured at the eyes with a scowl—“came and I. . . I don’t remember much after that. When I came to, I was with Dalamar in the study....”

“Which is where we will return now,” said a voice behind them, “if you will honor me by sharing my breakfast.”

“The only place we’re going now,” said Caramon in a stern, low voice as he turned to face the dark elf, who had materialized behind them, “is home. And no more magic!” he snarled, glaring at Dalamar. “We’ll walk, if need be. Neither my son nor I are ever coming back to one of these cursed towers again—”

Without a glance at Caramon, Dalamar walked past the big man to Palin, who was standing silently next to his father, his hands folded in the sleeves of his white robes, his eyes downcast as was proper in the presence of the high-ranking wizard.

Dalamar reached out his hands and clasped the young man by the shoulders.

“"Quithain, Magus,” the dark elf said with a smile, leaning forward to kiss Palin on the cheek as was the elven custom.