Time of the Twins

He was a ludicrous sight. The stolen dragonarmor he had worn during the last months of the campaign had been completely refurbished by the big warrior when he arrived back in Solace. He had beaten the dents out, cleaned and polished and redesigned it so completely that it no longer resembled the original. He had taken a great deal of care with it, then packed it away lovingly. It was still in excellent condition. Only now, unfortunately, there was a large gap between the shining black chain mail that covered his chest and the big belt that girdled his rotund waist. Neither he nor Tas had been able to strap the metal plates that guarded his legs around his flabby thighs. He had stowed these away in his pack. He groaned when he lifted his shield and looked at it suspiciously, as if certain someone had filled it with lead weights during the last two years. His swordbelt would not fit around his sagging gut. Blushing furiously, he strapped the sword in its worn scabbard onto his back.

At this point, Tas was forced to look somewhere else. The kender thought he was going to laugh but was startled to find himself on the verge of tears.

“I look a fool,” Caramon muttered, seeing Tas turn away hurriedly. Bupu was staring at him with eyes as wide as tea-cups, her mouth hanging open.

“Him look just like my Highbulp, Phudge I.” Bupu sighed.

A vivid memory of the fat, slovenly king of the gully dwarf clan in Xak Tsaroth came to Tas’s mind. Grabbing the gully dwarf, he stuffed a hunk of bread in her mouth to shut her up. But the damage had been done. Apparently Caramon, too, remembered.

“That does it,” he snarled, flushing darkly and hurling his shield to the wooden porch where it banged and clattered loudly. “I’m not going! This was a stupid idea anyway!” He stared accusingly at Tika, then, turning around, he started for the door. But Tika moved to stand in front of him.

“No,” she said quietly. “You’re not coming back into my house, Caramon, until you come back one whole person.”

“Him more like two whole person,” mumbled Bupu in a muffled voice. Tas stuffed more bread in her mouth.

“You’re not making any sense!” Caramon snapped viciously, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Get out of my way, Tika!”

“Listen to me, Caramon,” Tika said. Her voice was soft, but penetrating; her eyes caught and held the big man’s attention. Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up at him earnestly. “You offered to follow Raistlin into darkness, once. Do you remember?”

Caramon swallowed, then nodded silently, his face pale.

“He refused,” Tika continued gently, “saying it would mean your death. But, don’t you see, Caramon—you have followed him into darkness! And you’re dying by inches! Raistlin himself told you to walk your own path and let him walk his. But you haven’t done that! You’re trying to walk both paths, Caramon. Half of you is living in darkness and the other half is trying to drink away the pain and the horror you see there.”

“It’s my fault!” Caramon began to blubber, his voice breaking. “It’s my fault he turned to the Black Robes. I drove him to it! That’s what Par-Salian tried to make me see—”

Tika bit her lip. Tas could see her face grow grim and stern with anger, but she kept it inside. “Perhaps,” was all she said. Then she drew a deep breath. “But you are not coming back to me as husband or even friend until you come back at peace with yourself.”

Caramon stared at her, looking as though he was seeing her for the first time. Tika’s face was resolute and firm, her green eyes were clear and cold. Tas suddenly remembered her fighting draconians in the Temple at Neraka that last horrible night of the War. She had looked just the same.

“Maybe that’ll be never,” Caramon said surlily. “Ever think of that, huh, my fine lady?”

“Yes,” Tika said steadily. “I’ve thought of it. Good-bye, Caramon.”

Turning away from her husband, Tika walked back through the door of her house and shut it. Tas heard the bolt slide home with a click. Caramon heard it, too, and flinched at the sound. He clenched his huge fists, and for a minute Tas feared he might break down the door. Then his hands went limp. Angrily, trying to salvage some of his shattered dignity, Caramon stomped off the porch.

“I’ll show her,” he muttered, striding off, his armor clanking and clattering. “Come back, three or four days, with that Lady Crysle-whatever. Then we’ll talk about this. She can’t do this to me! No, by all the gods! Three, four days, she’ll be begging me to come back. But maybe I will and maybe I won’t...”

Tas stood, irresolute. Behind him, inside the house, his sharp kender ears could hear grief-stricken sobbing. He knew that Caramon, between his own self-pitying ramblings and his clanking armor, could hear nothing. But what could he do?

“I’ll take care of him, Tika!” Tas shouted, then, grabbing Bupu, they hurried along after the big man. Tas sighed. Of all the adventures he had been on, this one was certainly starting out all wrong.

5

Palanthas—fabled city of beauty.