Time of the Twins

Quarath was an unusual man in many respects, not the least of which was that, though highly ambitious, he knew the limits of his own abilities. He needed the Kingpriest, he had no desire to take his place. Quarath was content to bask in the light of his master, all the while extending his own control and authority and power over the world—all in the name of the church.

And, as he extended his own authority, so he extended the power of his race. Imbued with a sense of their superiority over all others, as well as with a sense of their own innate goodness, the elves were a moving force behind the church.

It was unfortunate, Quarath felt, that the gods had seen fit to create other, weaker races. Races such as humans, who—with their short and frantic lives—were easy targets for the temptations of evil. But the elves were learning to deal with this. If they could not completely wipe out the evil in the world (and they were working on it), then they could at least bring it under control. It was freedom that brought about evil—freedom of choice. Especially to humans, who continually abused this gift. Give them strict rules to follow, make it clear what was right and what was wrong in no uncertain terms, restrict this wild freedom that they misused. Thus, Quarath believed, the humans would fall in line. They would be content.

As for the other races on Krynn, gnomes and dwarves and (sigh) kender, Quarath (and the church) was rapidly forcing them into small, isolated territories where they could cause little trouble and would, in time, probably die out. (This plan was working well with the gnomes and the dwarves, who hadn’t much use for the rest of Krynn anyhow. Unfortunately, however, the kender didn’t take to it at all and were still happily wandering about the world, causing no end of trouble and enjoying life thoroughly.)

All of this passed through Quarath’s mind as he ate his lunch and began to make his plans. He would do nothing in haste about this Lady Crysania. That was not his way, nor the way of the elves, for that matter. Patience in all things. Watch. Wait. He needed only one thing now, and that was more information. To this end, he rang a small golden bell. The young acolyte who had taken Denubis to the Kingpriest appeared so swiftly and quietly at the summons that he might have slipped beneath the door instead of opening it.

“What is your bidding, Revered Son?”

“Two small tasks,” Quarath said without looking up, being engaged in writing a note. “Take this to Fistandantilus. It has been some time since he was my guest at dinner, and I desire to talk with him.”

“Fistandantilus is not here, my lord,” said the acolyte. “In fact, I was on my way to report this to you.”

Quarath raised his head in astonishment.

“Not here?”

“No, Revered Son. He left last night, or so we suppose. At least that was the last anyone saw of him. His room is empty, his things gone. It is believed, from certain things he said, that he has gone to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. Rumor has it that the wizards are holding a Conclave there, though none know for certain.”

“A Conclave,” Quarath repeated, frowning. He was silent a moment, tapping the paper with the tip of the quill. Wayreth was faraway... still, perhaps it was not far enough... Cataclysm... that odd word that had been used in the letter. Could it be possible that the magic-users were plotting some devastating catastrophe? Quarath felt chilled. Slowly, he crumpled the invitation he had been penning.

“Have his movements been traced?”

“Of course, Revered Son. As much as is possible with him. He has not left the Temple for months, apparently. Then, yesterday, he was seen in the slave market.”

“The slave market?” Quarath felt the chill spread throughout his body. “What business did he have there?”

“He bought two slaves, Revered Son.”

Quarath said nothing, interrogating the cleric with a look.

“He did not purchase the slaves himself, my lord. The purchase was made through one of his agents.”

“Which slaves?” Quarath knew the answer.

“The ones that were accused of assaulting the female cleric, Revered Son.”

“I gave orders that those two were to be sold either to the dwarf or the mines.”

“Barak did his best and, indeed, the dwarf bid for them, my lord. But the Dark One’s agents outbid him. There was nothing Barak could do. Think of the scandal. Besides, his agent sent them to the school anyway—”

“Yes,” Quarath muttered. So, it was all falling into place. Fistandantilus had even had the temerity to purchase the young man, the assassin! Then he had vanished. Gone to report, undoubtedly. But why should the mages bother with assassins? Fistandantilus himself could have murdered the Kingpriest on countless occasions. Quarath had the unpleasant impression that he had inadvertently walked from a clear, well-lighted path into a dark and treacherous forest.