The Second Generation

Though Palin wore the White Robes of good, he knew that there were those in the order who did not trust him and who, perhaps, never would. He carried his uncle’s staff—the powerful Staff of Magius, given to him under mysterious circumstances in the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas. Rumors were already buzzing among the conclave as to how Palin could have acquired the staff. It had, after all, been locked in a room sealed with a powerful curse. No, whatever he accomplished, Palin knew deep within himself, he would accomplish as his uncle had—studying, working, and fighting alone.

But that was in the future. For the time being, he supposed, he must be content to travel with his brothers. His father, Caramon, who, with his own twin brother, Raistlin, had been a hero in the War of the Lance, was adamant on that point. Palin had never been out in the world. He’d been sheltered by his books, immersed in his studies. If he went on this journey to Sancrist, he was to submit to Tanin’s authority, placing himself under his brothers' guidance and protection.

Palin swore a sacred oath to his father to obey his brothers, just as Tanin and Sturm swore to protect him. In point of fact, their deep love and affection for each other made the oath superfluous—as Caramon knew. But the big man was also wise enough to know that this first outing together would put a strain on brotherly love. Palin, the most intelligent of the brothers, was eager to prove himself—eager to the point of foolhardiness.

“Palin has to learn the worth of other people, to respect them for what they know, even if they’re not as quick-thinking as he is,” Caramon said to Tika, remembering with regret the twin who had never learned that lesson.

“And Sturm and Tanin have to learn to respect him, to realize that they can’t solve every problem with a whack of their swords. Above all, they’ve got to learn to depend on each other!” The big man shook his head. “May the gods go with them.”

He was never to know the irony of that prayer. It appeared, at the beginning of the journey, that none of these lessons was going to be learned easily. The two older boys had decided privately (certainly not mentioning this to their father) that this trip was going to “make a man” of their scholarly sibling.

But their views as to what constituted “manhood” didn’t accord with Palin’s. In fact, as far as he could see, “being a man” meant living with fleas, bad food, worse ale, and women of dubious character—something Palin considered pointing out when Tanin muttered, “Act like a man!” out of the corner of his mouth as he and Palin entered the inn.

But Palin kept his mouth shut. He and his brothers were entering a strange inn, located in what was reputedly a rough part of Sancrist. The young mage had learned enough to know that their very lives might depend on presenting a unified front to the world.

This the brothers, despite their differences, managed quite successfully. So successfully, in fact, that they had met with no trouble whatsoever on the long trip northward from Solace. The oldest two brothers were big and brawny, having inherited Caramon’s girth and strength. Experienced campaigners, they bore their battle scars proudly, and wore their swords with practiced ease. The youngest, Palin, was tall and well built, but had the slender body of one accustomed to studying rather than to wielding weapons.

Any who might consider him an easy mark, however, could look into the young man’s handsome, serious face, note the intense, penetrating gaze of the clear eyes, and think twice about interfering with him.

The Staff of Magius that Palin carried might have had something to do with this as well. Made of plain wood, adorned with a faceted crystal held fast in a dragon’s claw made of gold, the staff gave no outward, visible sign of being magical. But there was a dark, unseen aura around it, perhaps associated with its late master, that viewers invariably perceived with a sense of uneasiness.

Palin kept the staff near him always. If he wasn’t holding it, the staff rested near him, and he often reached out to touch it reassuringly.

This night, as on other nights, the sight of Tanin and Palin entering the inn did not particularly impress those within, except for one party. Seated at a grubby booth in a corner, this group immediately began to jabber among themselves, whispering and pointing. The whispering increased, growing even more excited, when Sturm came in and joined his brothers. Several members of the group nudged a person who was sitting nearest the wall, his face hidden in deep shadows.

“Aye, I see, I see!” grumbled the man. “You think they’ll do, do you?”

The others at the table nodded and chattered among themselves enthusiastically. Smaller than the man in the shadows, they were just as hidden. Muffled to the eyebrows in brown robes, their features and even their hands and feet were indistinguishable.