Time of the Twins

Raistlin stared at him, puzzled for a moment, then suddenly began to laugh. It was horrible laughter, ugly and taunting, and Tasslehoff—still standing at the end of the hall—clasped his hands over his ears at the sound, even as he began creeping down the corridor toward it to see what was going on.

“You were going to murder Fistandantilus!” Raistlin said, regarding his brother with amusement. He laughed again at the thought. “Dear brother,” he said, “I had forgotten how entertaining you could be.”

Caramon flushed, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

“I was going to do it... for you,” he said. Walking over to the window, he pulled aside the curtain and stared moodily out into the courtyard of the Temple that shimmered with pearl and silver in Solinari’s light.

“Of course you were,” Raistlin snapped, a trace of the old bitterness creeping into his voice. “Why did you ever do anything, except for me?”

Speaking a sharp word of command, Raistlin caused a bright light to fill the room, gleaming from the Staff of Magius that leaned against the wall in a corner. The mage threw back the coverlet and rose from his bed. Walking over to the grate, he spoke another word and flames leaped up from the bare stone. Their orange light beat upon his pale, thin face and was reflected in the clear, brown eyes.

“Well, you are late, my brother,” Raistlin continued, holding his hands out to warm them at the blaze, flexing and exercising his supple fingers. “Fistandantilus is dead. By my hands.”

Caramon turned around sharply to stare at his brother, caught by the odd tone in Raistlin’s voice. But his brother remained standing by the fire, staring into the flames.

“You thought to walk in and stab him as he slept,” Raistlin murmured, a grim smile on his thin lips. “The greatest mage who ever lived—up until now.”

Caramon saw his brother lean against the mantlepiece, as if suddenly weak.

“He was surprised to see me,” said Raistlin softly. “And he mocked me, as he mocked me in the Tower. But he was afraid. I could see it in his eyes.

“‘So, little mage,’ Fistandantilus sneered, ‘and how did you get here? Did the great Par-Salian send you?’

“‘I came on my own,’ I told him. ‘I am the Master of the Tower now.’

“He had not expected that. ‘Impossible,’ he said, laughing. ‘I am the one whose coming the prophecy foretold. I am master of past and present. When I am ready, I will return to my property.’

“But the fear grew in his eyes, even as he spoke, for he read my thoughts. ‘Yes,’ I answered his unspoken words, ‘the prophecy did not work as you hoped. You intended to journey from the past to the present, using the lifeforce you wrenched from me to keep you alive. But you forgot, or perhaps you didn’t care, that I could draw upon your spiritual force! You had to keep me alive in order to keep sucking out my living juices. And—to that end—you gave me the words and taught me to use the dragon orb. When I lay dying at Astinus’s feet, you breathed air into this wretched body you had tortured. You brought me to the Dark Queen and beseeched her to give me the Key to unlock the mysteries of the ancient magic texts I could not read. And, when you were finally ready, you intended to enter the shattered husk of my body and claim it for your own.’”

Raistlin turned to face his brother, and Caramon stepped back a pace, frightened at the hatred and fury he saw burning within the eyes, brighter than the dancing flames of the fire.

“So he thought to keep me weak and frail. But I fought him! I fought him!” Raistlin repeated softly, intently, his gaze staring far away. “I used him! I used his spirit and I lived with the pain and I overcame it! ‘You are master of the past,’ I told him, ‘but you lack the strength to get into the present. I am master of the. present, about to become master of the past!’”

Raistlin sighed, his hand dropped, the light flickered in his eyes and died, leaving them dark and haunted. “I killed him,” he murmured, “but it was a bitter battle.”

“You killed him? They—they said you came back to learn from him,” Caramon stammered, confusion twisting his face.

“I did,” Raistlin said softly. “Long months I spent with him, in another guise, revealing myself to him only when I was ready. This time, I sucked him dry!”

Caramon shook his head. “That’s impossible. You didn’t leave until the same time we did, that night... At least that’s what the dark elf said—”