Time of the Twins

A city that has turned its back upon the world and sits gazing, with admiring eyes, into its mirror.

Who had described it thus? Kitiara, seated upon the back of her blue dragon, Skie, pondered idly as she flew within sight of the city walls. The late, unlamented Dragon Highlord Ariakas, perhaps. It sounded pretentious enough, like something he would say. But he had been right about the Palanthians, Kit was forced to admit. So terrified were they of seeing their beloved city laid waste, they had negotiated a separate peace with the Highlords. It wasn’t until right before the end of the war—when it was obvious they had nothing to lose—that they had reluctantly joined with others to fight the might of the Dark Queen.

Because of the heroic sacrifice of the Knights of Solamnia, the city of Palanthas was spared the destruction that had laid other cities—such as Solace and Tarsis—to waste. Kit, flying within arrow shot of the walls, sneered. Now, once more, Palanthas had turned her eyes to her mirror, using the new influx of prosperity to enhance her already legendary charm.

Thinking this, Kitiara laughed out loud as she saw the stir upon the Old City walls. It had been two years since a blue dragon had flown above the walls. She could picture the chaos, the panic. Faintly, on the still night air, she could hear the beating of drums and the clear calls of trumpets.

Skie, too, could hear. His blood stirred at the sounds of war, and he turned a blazing red eye round to Kitiara, begging her to reconsider.

“No, my pet,” Kitiara called, reaching down to pat his neck soothingly. “Now is not the time! But soon—if we prove successful! Soon, I promise you!”

Skie was forced to content himself with that. He achieved some satisfaction, however, by breathing a bolt of lightning from his gaping jaws, blackening the stone wall as he soared past, keeping just out of arrow range. The troops scattered like ants at his coming, the dragonfear sweeping over them in waves.

Kitiara flew slowly, leisurely. None dared touch her—a state of peace existed between her armies in Sanction and the Palanthians, though there were some among the Knights who were trying to persuade the free peoples of Ansalon to unite and attack Sanction where Kitiara had retreated following the war. But the Palanthians couldn’t be bothered. The war was over, the threat gone.

“And daily I grow in strength and in might,” Kit said to them as she flew above the city, taking it all in, storing it in her mind for future reference.

Palanthas is built like a wheel. All of the important buildings—the palace of the reigning lord, government offices, and the ancient homes of the nobles—stand in the center. The city revolves around this hub. In the next circle are built the homes of the wealthy guildsmen—the “new” rich—and the summer homes of those who live outside the city walls. Here, too, are the educational centers, including the Great Library of Astinus. Finally, near the walls of Old City, is the marketplace and shops of every type and description.

Eight wide avenues lead out from the center of Old City, like spokes on the wheel. Trees line these avenues, lovely trees, whose leaves are like golden lace all year long. The avenues lead to the seaport to the north and to the seven gates of Old City Wall.

Surrounding the wall, Kit saw New City, built just like Old City, in the same circular pattern. There are no walls around New City, since walls “detract from the overall design,” as one of the lords put it.

Kitiara smiled. She did not see the beauty of the city. The trees were nothing to her. She could look upon the dazzling marvels of the seven gates without a catch in her throat—well, perhaps, a small one. How easy it would be, she thought with a sigh, to capture!

Two other buildings attracted her interest. One was a new one being built in the center of the city—a Temple, dedicated to Paladine. The other building was her destination. And, on this one, her gaze rested thoughtfully.

It stood out in such vivid contrast to the beauty of the city around it that even Kitiara’s cold, unfeeling gaze noted it. Thrusting up from the shadows that surrounded it like a bleached fingerbone, it was a thing of darkness and twisted ugliness, all the more horrible because once it must have been the most wonderful building in Palanthas—the ancient Tower of High Sorcery.

Shadow surrounded it by day and by night, for it was guarded by a grove of huge oak trees, the largest trees growing on Krynn, some of the more well-traveled whispered in awe. No one knew for certain because there were none, even of the kender race which fears little on this world, who could walk in the trees’ dread darkness.

“The Shoikan Grove,” Kitiara murmured to an unseen companion. “No living being of any race dared enter it. Not until he came—the master of past and of present.” If she said this with a sneer in her voice, it was a sneer that quivered as Skie began to circle nearer and nearer that patch of blackness.