The Second Generation

“I know,” said Dalamar with a soft sigh. “But it was only illusion. The Guardian stands before the door, which is still sealed. It will be, for all eternity. You never even went inside the laboratory, much less the Abyss.”

“But I saw him enter—” Caramon protested.

“All part of the illusion. I alone saw through it. I helped create it, in fact. It was designed to be very real to you, Palin. You will never forget it. The Test is meant not only to judge your skill as a magic-user but, more importantly, to teach you something about yourself. You had two things to discover—the truth about your uncle, and the truth about yourself.”

Know the truth about yourself... Raistlin’s voice echoed.

Palin smoothed the fabric of his white robes with his hands. “I know now where my loyalties lie,” he said softly, remembering that bitter moment standing before the portal. “As the sea wizard said, I will serve the world and, in so doing, serve myself.”

Smiling, Dalamar rose to his feet. “And now, I know you are eager to return to your home and your family, young mage. I will detain you no longer. I almost regret that you did not make another choice, Palin,” the dark elf said with a shrug. “I would have enjoyed having you as my apprentice. But you will make a worthy adversary. I am honored to have been a part of your success."

Dalamar extended his hand.

“Thank you,” said Palin, flushing. Taking Dalamar’s hand in his, he clasped it gratefully. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Caramon, leaving the window to come stand beside his son. He, too, gripped Dalamar’s hand in his, the elf’s slender fingers completely engulfed in the big man’s grip. “I—I guess I will let you use... that magic of yours... to send us back to Solace. Tika’ll be worried sick—”

“Very well,” Dalamar said, exchanging smiles with Palin. “Stand close together. Farewell, Palin. I will see you at the Tower of Wayreth.”

There came a soft knock upon the door.

Dalamar frowned. “What is it?” he asked irritably. “I gave instructions that we were not to be disturbed!”

The door opened by itself, apparently. Two white eyes gleamed from out of the darkness. “Forgive me, master,” said the specter, “but I have been instructed to give the young mage a parting gift.”

“Instructed? By whom?” Dalamar’s eyes flashed. “Justarius? Has he dared set foot in my tower without my permission—”

“No, master,” said the specter, floating into the room. The chill gaze went to Palin. Slowly the specter approached the young mage, its fleshless hand outstretched. Caramon moved swiftly to stand in front of his son.

“No, Father,” said Palin firmly, putting a restraining hand on his father’s sword arm. “Stand aside. It means me no harm. What is it you have for me?” the young mage asked the specter, who came to a halt only inches from him.

In answer, the fleshless hand traced an arcane symbol in the air. The Staff of Magius appeared, held fast in the skeletal fingers.

Caramon gasped and took a step backward. Dalamar regarded the specter coldly. “You have failed in your duties!” The dark elf’s voice rose in anger. “By our Dark Queen, I will send you to the eternal torment of the Abyss for this!”

“I have not failed in my duty,” the Guardian replied, its hollow tone reminding Palin fearfully of the realm he had entered—if only in illusion. “The door to the laboratory remains locked and spellbound. The key is here, as you can see.” The Guardian held out its other hand, showing a silver key lying in the bony palm. “All is as it was, undisturbed. No living being has entered.”

“Then who—” Dalamar began in fury. Suddenly, his voice dropped, and his face went ashen. “No living being . . .” Shaken, the dark elf sank back into his seat, staring at the staff with wide eyes.

“This is yours, Palin, as was promised,” the specter said, handing the staff to the young mage.

Reaching out, Palin took hold of the staff with a shaking hand. At his touch, the crystal on the top flared into light, blazing with a cool, clear radiance, filling the dark room with a bright, silvery light.

“A gift from the true Master of the Tower. With it,” the specter added in its chill tones, “goes his blessing.”

The white eyes lowered in reverence, then they were gone.

Holding the staff in his hand, Palin looked wonderingly at his father.

Blinking rapidly, Caramon smiled through his tears. “Let’s go home,"

he said quietly, putting his arm around his son.

Book 3: Wanna Bet