Time of the Twins

Trying to compose herself, Crysania glanced down, scanning the page, though she had no idea what she sought. Then, her attention was captured. Device of Time Journeying read one of the entries and, beside it, was pictured a device similar to the one the kender had described.

“This is it?” she asked, looking up at Raistlin. “The device Par-Salian gave Caramon to get us back?”

The mage nodded, his eyes reflecting the yellow light of the staff.

“Read,” he repeated softly.

Curious, Crysania scanned the text. There was little more than a paragraph, describing the device, the great mage—now long forgotten—who had designed and built it—the requirements for its use. Much of the description was beyond her understanding, dealing with things arcane. She grasped at bits and pieces—

...will carry the person already under a time spell forward or backward... must be assembled correctly and the facets turned in the prescribed order... will transport one person only, the person to whom it is given at the time the spell is cast... device’s use is restricted to elves, humans, ogres... no spell word required...

Crysania came to the end and glanced up at Raistlin uncertainly. He was watching her with a strange, expectant look. There was something there he was waiting for her to find. And, deep within, she felt a disquiet, a fear, a numbness, as if her heart understood the text more quickly than her brain.

“Again,” Raistlin said.

Trying to concentrate, though she was now once more aware of the storm outside that seemed to be growing in intensity,Crysania looked back at the text.

And there it was. The words leaped out at her, reaching for her throat, choking her.

Transport one person only...

Transport one person only!

Crysania’s legs gave way. Fortunately, Raistlin moved a chair behind her or she might have fallen to the floor.

For long moments she stared into the room. Though lit by lightning and the magical light of the staff, it had, for her, grown suddenly dark.

“Does he know?” she asked finally, through numb lips.

“Caramon?” Raistlin snorted. “Of course not. If they had told him, he would have broken his fool neck trying to get it to you and would beg you on his knees to use it and give him the privilege of dying in your stead. I can think of little else that would make him happier.

“No, Lady Crysania, he would have used it confidently, with you standing beside him as well as the kender, no doubt. And he would have been devastated when they explained to him why he returned alone. I wonder how Par-Salian would have managed that,” Raistlin added with a grim smile. “Caramon is quite capable of tearing that Tower down around their ears. But that is neither here nor there.”

His gaze caught hers, though she would have avoided it. He compelled her, by the force of his will, to look into his eyes. And, once again, she saw herself, but this time alone and terribly frightened.

“They sent you back here to die, Crysania,” Raistlin said in a voice that was little more than a breath, yet it penetrated to Crysania’s very core, echoing louder in her mind than the thunder. “This is the good you tell me about? Bah! They live in fear, as does the Kingpriest! They fear you as they fear me. The only path to good, Crysania, is my path! Help me defeat the evil. I need you...”

Crysania closed her eyes. She could see once again, vividly, Par-Salian’s handwriting on the note she had found—your life or your soul—gain one and you will lose the other! There are many ways back for you, one of which is through Caramon. He had purposely misled her! What other way existed, besides Raistlin’s? Is this what—the mage meant? Who could answer her? Was there anyone, anyone in this bleak and desolate world she could trust?

Her muscles twitching, contracting, Crysania pushed herself up from her chair. She did not look at Raistlin, she stared ahead at nothing. “I must go...” she muttered brokenly, “I must think...”

Raistlin did not try to stop her. He did not even stand. He spoke no word—until she reached the door.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Tomorrow...”

15

It took all of Caramon’s strength, plus that of two of the Temple guards, to force the great doors of the Temple open and let him out into the storm. The wind hit him full force, driving the big man back against the stone wall and pinning him there for an instant, as if he were no bigger than Tas. Struggling, Caramon fought against it and finally won, the gale force relenting enough to allow him to continue down the stairs.