Time of the Twins

Feeling it, holding it, watching the sunlight sparkle on its radiant jewels, Tas sighed with longing. This was the most exquisite, marvelous, fantastic thing he’d ever seen in his life. He wanted it most desperately. Without thinking, his little body rose and was heading for his pouches when he caught himself.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot, said a voice that sounded uncomfortably like Flint’s, this is Serious Business you’re meddling with. This is the Way Home. Par-Salian himself, the Great Par-Salian gave it to Caramon in a solemn ceremony. It belongs to Caramon. It’s his, you have no right to it!

Tas shivered. He had certainly never thought thoughts like these before in his life. Dubiously, he glanced at the device. Perhaps it was putting these uncomfortable thoughts in his head!

He decided he didn’t want any part of them. Hurriedly, he carried the device over and put it in Caramon’s chest. Then, as an extra precaution, he locked the chest and stuffed the key in Caramon’s clothes. Even more miserable, he returned to his bed.

The sunlight had just about disappeared and the kender was growing more and more anxious when he heard a noise outside. The door was kicked open violently.

“Caramon!” Tas cried in horror, springing to his feet.

The two burly humans dragged the big man in over the doorstep and flung him down on the bed. Then, grinning, they left, slamming the door shut behind them. There was a low, moaning sound from the bed.

“Caramon!” Tas whispered. Hurriedly grabbing up the water pitcher, he dumped some water in the bowl and carried it over to the big warrior’s bedside. “What did they do?” he asked softly, moistening the man’s lips with water.

Caramon moaned again and shook his head weakly. Tas glanced quickly at the big man’s body. There were no visible wounds, no blood, no swelling, no purple welts or whip-lash marks. Yet he had been tortured, that much was obvious. The big man was in agony. His body was covered with sweat, his eyes had rolled back in his head. Every now and then, various muscles in his body twitched spasmodically and a groan of pain escaped his lips.

“Was... was it the rack?” Tas asked, gulping. “The wheel, maybe? Thumb-screws?” None of those left marks on the body, at least so he had heard.

Caramon mumbled a word.

“What?” Tas bent near him, bathing his face in water. “What did you say? Cali—cali—what’? I didn’t catch that.” The kender’s brow furrowed. “I never heard of a torture called cali-something,” he muttered. “I wonder what it could be.”

Caramon repeated it, moaning again.

“Cali... cali... calisthenics!” Tas said triumphantly. Then he dropped the water pitcher onto the floor. “Calisthenics? That’s not torture!”

Caramon groaned again.

“That’s exercises, you big baby!” Tas yelled. “Do you mean I’ve been waiting here, worried sick, imagining all sorts of horrible things, and you’ve been out doing exercises!”

Caramon had just strength enough to raise himself off the bed. Reaching out one big hand, he gripped Tas by the collar of his shirt and dragged him over to stare him in the eye.

“I was captured by goblins once,” Caramon said in a hoarse whisper, “and they tied me to a tree and spent the night tormenting me. I was wounded by draconians in Xak Tsaroth. Baby dragons chewed on my leg in the dungeons of the Queen of Darkness. And, I swear to you, that I am in more pain now than I have ever been in my life! Leave me alone, and let me die in peace.”

With another groan, Caramon’s hand dropped weakly to his side. His eyes closed. Smothering a grin, Tas crept back to his bed.

“He thinks he’s in pain now,” the kender reflected, “wait until morning!”

Summer in Istar ended. Fall came, one of the most beautiful in anyone’s memory. Caramon’s training began, and the warrior did not die, though there were times when he thought death might be easier. Tas, too, was strongly tempted on more than one occasion to put the big, spoiled baby out of his misery. One of these time had been during the night, when Tas had been awakened by a heartbreaking sob.

“Caramon?” Tas said sleepily, sitting up in bed.

No answer, just another sob.

“What is it?” Tas asked, suddenly concerned. He got out of bed and trotted across the cold, stone floor. “Did you have a dream?”

He could see Caramon nod in the moonlight.

“Was it about Tika?” asked the tenderhearted kender, feeling tears come to his own eyes. at the sight of the big man’s grief. “No. Raistlin? No. Yourself? Are you afraid—”

“A muffin!” Caramon sobbed.

“What?” Tas asked blankly.

“A muffin!” Caramon blubbered. “Oh, Tas! I’m so hungry. And I had a dream about this muffin, like Tika used to bake, all covered with sticky honey and those little, crunchy nuts...”

Picking up a shoe, Tas threw it at him and went back to bed in disgust.