Time of the Twins

Kitiara did not answer. Her anger was gone, leaving a hollow place in the pit of her stomach that was rapidly filling up again with fear. She did not trust herself to speak. But she kept walking, her eyes now focused grimly on the path ahead of her. All around her now, she could see the fingers digging through the soil, seeking the living flesh they both craved and hated. Pale, hollow visages glared at her from the trees, black and shapeless things flitted about her, filling the cold, clammy air with a foul scent of death and decay.

But, though the gloved hand that held the jewel shook, it never wavered. The fleshless fingers did not stop her. The faces with their gaping mouths howled in vain for her warm blood. Slowly, the oak trees continued to part before Kitiara, the branches bending back out of the way.

There, standing at the trail’s end, was Raistlin.

“I should kill you, you damned bastard!” Kitiara said through numb lips, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I am overjoyed to see you, too, my sister,” Raistlin replied in his soft voice.

It was the first time brother and sister had met in over two years. Now that she was out from among the darkness of the trees, Kitiara could see her brother, standing in Solinari’s pale light. He was dressed in robes of the finest black velvet. Hanging from his slightly stooped, thin shoulders, they fell in soft folds around his slender body. Silver runes were stitched about the hood that covered his head, leaving all but his golden eyes in shadow. The largest rune was in the center—an hourglass. Other silver runes sparkled in the moons’ light upon the cuffs of his wide, full sleeves. He leaned upon the Staff of Magius, its crystal, which flamed into light only upon Raistlin’s command—dark and cold, clutched in a golden dragon’s claw.

“I should kill you!” Kitiara repeated, and, before she was quite aware of what she did, she cast a glance at the death knight, who seemed to form out of the darkness of the grove. It was a glance, not of command, but of invitation—an unspoken challenge.

Raistlin smiled, the rare smile that few ever saw. It was, however, lost in the shadows of his hood.

“Lord Soth,” he said, turning to greet the death knight.

Kitiara bit her lip as Raistlin’s hourglass eyes studied the undead knight’s armor. Here were still the graven symbols of a Knight of Solamnia—the Rose and the Kingfisher and the Sword—but all were blackened as if the armor burned in a fire.

“Knight of the Black Rose,” continued Raistlin, “who died in flames in the Cataclysm before the curse of the elfmaid you wronged dragged you back to bitter life.”

“Such is my tale,” the death knight said without moving. “And you are Raistlin, master of past and present, the one foretold.”

The two stood, staring at each other, both forgetting Kitiara, who—feeling the silent, deadly contest being waged between the two—forgot her own anger, holding her breath to witness the outcome.

“Your magic is strong,” Raistlin commented. A soft wind stirred the branches of the oak trees, caressed the black folds of the mage’s robes.

“Yes,” said Lord Soth quietly. “I can kill with a single word. I can hurl a ball of fire into the midst of my enemies. I rule a squadron of skeletal warriors, who can destroy by touch alone. I can raise a wall of ice to protect those I serve. The invisible is discernible to my eyes. Ordinary magic spells crumble in my presence.”

Raistlin nodded, the folds of his hood moving gently.

Lord Soth stared at the mage without speaking. Walking close to Raistlin, he stopped only inches from the mage’s frail body. Kitiara’s breath came fast.

Then, with a courtly gesture, the cursed Knight of Solamnia placed his hand over that portion of his anatomy that had once contained his heart.

“But I bow in the presence of a master,” Lord Soth said.

Kitiara chewed her lip, checking an exclamation.

Raistlin glanced over at her quickly, amusement flashing in his golden, hourglass eyes.

“Disappointed, my dear sister?”

But Kitiara was well accustomed to the shifting winds of fate. She had scouted out the enemy, discovered what she needed to know. Now she could proceed with the battle. “Of course not, little brother,” she answered with the crooked smile that so many had found so charming. “After all, it was you I came to see. It’s been too long since we visited. You look well.”

“Oh, I am, dear sister,” Raistlin said. Coming forward, he put his thin hand upon her arm. She started at his touch, his flesh felt hot, as though he burned with fever. But—seeing his eyes intent upon her, noting every reaction—she did not flinch. He smiled.

“It has been so long since we saw each other last. What, two years? Two years ago this spring, in fact,” he continued, conversationally, holding Kitiara’s arm within his hand. His voice was filled with mockery. “It was in the Temple of the Queen of Darkness at Neraka, that fateful night when my queen met her downfall and was banished from the world—”