Time of the Twins

Raistlin shook his head irritably. “Time to you, my brother, is a journey from sunrise to sunset. Time to those of us who have mastered its secrets is a journey beyond suns. Seconds become years, hours—millennia. I have walked these halls as Fistandantilus for months now. These last few weeks I have traveled to all the Towers of High Sorcery—those still standing, that is—to study and to learn. I have been with Lorac, in the elven kingdom, and taught him to use the dragon orb—a deadly gift, for one as weak and vain as he. It will snare him, later on. I have spent long hours with Astinus in the Great Library. And, before that, I studied with the great Fistandantilus. Other places I have visited, seeing horrors and wonders beyond your imagining. But, to Dalamar, for example, I have been gone no more than a day and a night. As have you.”

This was beyond Caramon. Desperately, he sought to grab at some fraction of reality.

“Then... does this mean that you’re... all right, now? I mean, in the present? In our time?” He gestured. “Your skin isn’t gold anymore, you’ve lost the hourglass eyes. You look... like you did when you were young, and we rode to the Tower, seven years ago. Will you be like that when we go back?”

“No, my brother,” Raistlin said, speaking with the patience one uses explaining things to a child. “Surely Par-Salian explained this? Well, perhaps not. Time is a river. I have not changed the course of its flow. I have simply climbed out and jumped in at a point farther upstream. It carries me along its course. I—”

Raistlin stopped suddenly, casting a sharp glance at the door. Then, with a swift motion of his hand, he caused the door to burst open and Tasslehoff Burrfoot tumbled inside, falling down face first.

“Oh, hullo,” Tas said, cheerfully picking himself up off the floor. “I was just going to knock.” Dusting himself off, he turned eagerly to Caramon. “I have it figured out! You see—it used to be Fistandantilus becoming Raistlin becoming Fistandantilus. Only now it’s Fistandantilus becoming Raistlin becoming Fistandantilus, then becoming Raistlin again. See?”

No, Caramon did not. Tas turned around to the mage. “Isn’t that right, Raist—”

The mage didn’t answer. He was staring at Tasslehoff with such a queer, dangerous expression in his eyes that the kender glanced uneasily at Caramon and took a step or two nearer the warrior—just in case Caramon needed help, of course.

Suddenly Raistlin’s hand made a swift, slight, summoning motion. Tasslehoff felt no sensation of movement, but there was a blurring in the room for half a heartbeat, and then he was being held by his collar within inches of Raistlin’s thin face.

“Why did Par-Salian send you?” Raistlin asked in a soft voice that “shivered” the kender’s skin, as Flint used to say.

“Well, he thought Caramon needed help, of course and—” Raistlin’s grip tightened, his eyes narrowed. Tas faltered. “Uh, actually, I don’t think he, uh, really intended to s-send me.” Tas tried to twist his head around to look beseechingly at Caramon, but Raistlin’s grip was strong and powerful, nearly choking the kender. “It—it was, more or less, an accident, I guess, at least as far as he was c-concerned. And I could t-talk better if you’d let me breathe... every once in awhile.”

“Go on!” Raistlin ordered, shaking Tas slightly.

“Raist, stop—” Caramon began, taking a step toward him, his brow furrowed.

“Shut up!” Raistlin commanded furiously, never taking his burning eyes off the kender. “Continue.”

“There—there was a ring someone had dropped... well, maybe not dropped—” Tas stammered, alarmed enough by the expression in Raistlin’s eyes into telling the truth, or as near as was kenderly possible. “I-I guess I was sort of going into someone else’s room, and it f-fell in—into my pouch, I suppose, because I don’t know how it got there, but when th—the red-robed man sent Bupu home, I knew I was next. And I couldn’t leave Caramon! So I-I said a prayer to F-Fizban—I mean Paladine—and I put the ring on and—poof!”—Tas held up his hands—“I was a mouse!”

The kender paused at this dramatic moment, hoping for an appropriately amazed response from his audience. But Raistlin’s eyes only dilated with impatience and his hand twisted the kender’s collar just a bit more, so Tas hurried on, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

“And so I was able to hide,” he squeaked, not unlike the mouse he had been, “and sneaked into Par-Salian’s labra-labora-lavaratory—and he was doing the most wonderful things and the rocks were singing and Crysania was lying there all pale and Caramon looked terrified and I couldn’t let him go alone—so... so...” Tas shrugged and looked at Raistlin with disarming innocence, “here I am...”

Raistlin continued clutching him for a moment, devouring him with his eyes, as if he would strip the skin from his bones and see inside his very soul. Then, apparently satisfied, the mage let the kender drop to the floor and turned back to stare into the fire, his thoughts abstracted.