Time of the Twins

“The anger of the gods,” Raistlin answered, and it was obvious to Tas that this wasn’t the answer Crysania had hoped for. She seemed to droop. Raistlin did not notice, but continued on. “Their fury beats upon me, as if the sun were drawing nearer and nearer to this wretched planet. Perhaps that is why you are feeling depressed and unhappy.”

“Perhaps,” murmured Crysania.

“Tomorrow is Yule,” Raistlin continued softly. “Thirteen days after that, the Kingpriest will make his demand. Already, he and his ministers plan for it. The gods know. They have sent him a warning—the vanishing of the clerics. But he did not heed it. Every day, from Yule on, the warning signs will grow stronger, clearer. Have you ever read Astinus’s Chronicles of the Last Thirteen Days? They are not pleasant reading, and they will be less pleasant to live through.”

Crysania looked at him, her face brightening. “Come back with us before then,” she said eagerly. “Par-Salian gave Caramon a magical device that will take us back to our own time. The kender told me—”

“What magical device?” Raistlin demanded suddenly, and the strange tone of his voice sent a thrill through the kender and startled Crysania. “What does it look like? How does it work?” His eyes burned feverishly.

“I-I don’t know,” Crysania faltered.

“Oh, I’ll tell you,” Tas offered, stepping out from against the wall. “Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I couldn’t help overhearing. Merry Yule to you both, by the way,” Tas extended his small hand, which no one took.

Both Raistlin and Crysania were staring at him with the same expressions worn on the faces of those who suddenly see a spider drop into their soup at dinner. Unabashed, Tas continued prattling cheerfully, putting his hand in his pocket. “What were we talking about? Oh, the magical device. Yes, well,” Tas continued more hurriedly, seeing Raistlin’s eyes narrow in an alarming fashion, “when it’s unfolded, it’s shaped like a... a sceptre and it has a... a ball at one end, all glittering with jewels. It’s about this big.” The kender spread his hands about an arm’s length apart. “That’s when it’s stretched out. Then, Par-Salian did something to it and it—”

“Collapsed in upon itself,” Raistlin finished, “until you could carry it in your pocket.”

“Why, yes!” Tas said excitedly. “That’s right! How did you know?”

“I am familiar with the object,” Raistlin replied, and Tas noticed again a strange sound to the mage’s voice, a quivering, a tenseness—fear? Or elation? The kender couldn’t tell. Crysania noticed it, too.

“What is it?” she asked.

Raistlin didn’t answer immediately, his face was suddenly a mask, unreadable, impassive, cold. “I hesitate to say,” he told her. “I must study on this matter.” Flicking a glance at the kender—“What is it you want? Or are you simply listening at keyholes?”

“Certainly not!” Tas said, insulted. “I came to talk to you, if you and Lady Crysania are finished, that is,” he amended hastily, his glance going to Crysania.

She regarded him with quite an unfriendly expression, the kender thought, then turned away from him to Raistlin. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.

“I think not,” he said. “I will not, of course, be attending the Yule party.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to go either—” Crysania began.

“You will be expected,” Raistlin said abruptly. “Besides, I have too long neglected my studies in the pleasure of your com pany.”

“I see,” Crysania said. Her own voice was cool and distant and, Tasslehoff could tell, hurt and disappointed.

“Farewell, gentlemen,” she said after a moment, when it was apparent Raistlin wasn’t going to add anything further. Bowing slightly, she turned and walked down the dark hall, her white robes seeming to take the light away as she left.

“I’ll tell Caramon you send your regards,” Tas called after her helpfully, but Crysania didn’t turn around. The kender turned to Raistlin with a sigh. “I’m afraid Caramon didn’t make much of an impression on her. But, then, he was all fuddled because of the dwarf spirits—”

Raistlin coughed. “Did you come here to discuss my brother?” he interrupted coldly, “because, if so, you can leave—”

“Oh, no!” Tas said hastily. Then he grinned up at the mage. “I came to stop the Cataclysm!”

For the first time in his life, the kender had the satisfaction of seeing his words absolutely stun Raistlin. It was not a satisfaction he enjoyed long, however. The mage’s face went white and stiff, his mirrorlike eyes seemed to shatter, allowing Tas to see inside, into those dark, burning depths the mage kept hidden. Hands as strong as the claws of a predatory bird sank into the kender’s shoulders, hurting him. Within seconds, Tas found himself thrown inside Raistlin’s room. The door slammed shut with a shattering bang.

“What gave you this idea?” Raistlin demanded.

Tas shrank backward, startled, and glanced around the room uneasily, his kender instincts telling him he better look for someplace to hide.