Time of the Twins

“Thanks to your treachery,” Kitiara snapped, trying, unsuccessfully, to break free of his grip. Raistlin kept his hand upon Kitiara’s arm. Though taller and stronger than the frail mage, and seemingly capable of breaking him in two with her bare hands, Kitiara—nevertheless—found herself longing to pull away from that burning touch, yet not daring to move.

Raistlin laughed and, drawing her with him, led her to the outer gates of the Tower of High Sorcery.

“Shall we talk of treachery, dear sister? Didn’t you rejoice when I used my magic to destroy Lord Ariakas’s shield of protection, allowing Tanis Half-Elven the chance to plunge his sword into the body of your lord and master? Did not I—by that action—make you the most powerful Dragon Highlord in Krynn?”

“A lot of good it has done me!” Kitiara returned bitterly. “Kept almost a prisoner in Sanction by the foul Knights of Solamnia, who rule the lands all about! Guarded day and night by golden dragons, my every move watched. My armies scattered, roaming the land...”

“Yet you came here,” Raistlin said simply. “Did the gold dragons stop you? Did the Knights know of your leaving?”

Kitiara stopped on the path leading to the tower, staring at her brother in amazement. “Your doing?”

“Of course!” Raistlin shrugged. “But, we will talk of these matters later, dear sister,” he said as they walked. “You are cold and hungry. The Shoikan Grove shakes the nerves of the most stalwart. Only one other person has successfully passed through its borders, with my help, of course. I expected you to do well, but I must admit I was a bit surprised at the courage of Lady Crysania—”

“Lady Crysania!” Kitiara repeated, stunned. “A Revered Daughter of Paladine! You allowed her—here?”

“I not only allowed her, I invited her,” Raistlin answered imperturbably. “Without that invitation and a charm of warding, of course, she could never have passed.”

“And she came?”

“Oh, quite eagerly, I assure you.” Now it was Raistlin who paused. They stood outside the entrance to the Tower of High Sorcery. Torchlight from the windows shone upon his face. Kitiara could see it clearly. The lips were twisted in a smile, his flat golden eyes shone cold and brittle as winter sunlight. “Quite eagerly,” he repeated softly.

Kitiara began to laugh.

Late that night, after the two moons had set, in the still dark hours before the dawn, Kitiara sat in Raistlin’s study, a glass of dark-red wine in her hands, her brows creased in a frown.

The study was comfortable, or so it seemed to look upon. Large, plush chairs of the best fabric and finest construction stood upon hand-woven carpets only the wealthiest people in Krynn could afford to own. Decorated with woven pictures of fanciful beasts and colorful flowers, they drew the eye, tempting the viewer to lose himself for long hours in their beauty. Carved wooden tables stood here and there, objects rare and beautiful—or rare and ghastly—ornamented the room.

But its predominant feature were the books. It was lined with deep wooden shelves, holding hundreds and hundreds of books. Many were similar in appearance, all bound with a nightblue binding, decorated with runes of silver. It was a comfortable room, but, despite a roaring fire blazing in a huge, gaping fireplace at one end of the study, there was a bone-chilling cold in the air. Kitiara was not certain, but she had the feeling it came from the books.

Lord Soth stood far from the fire’s light, hidden in the shadows. Kit could not see him, but she was aware of his presence—as was Raistlin. The mage sat opposite his half-sister in a large chair behind a gigantic desk of black wood, carved so cunningly that the creatures decorating it seemed to watch Kitiara with their wooden eyes.

Squirming uncomfortably, she drank her wine, too fast. Although well accustomed to strong drink, she was beginning to feel giddy, and she hated that feeling. It meant she was losing control. Angrily, she thrust the glass away from her, determined to drink no more.

“This plan of yours is crazy!” she told Raistlin irritably. Not liking the gaze of those golden eyes upon her, Kitiara stood up and began to pace the room. “It’s senseless! A waste of time. With your help, we could rule Ansalon, you and I. In fact”—Kitiara turned suddenly, her face alight with eagerness—“with your power we could rule the world! We don’t need Lady Crysania or our hulking brother—”

“'Rule the world,’ ” Raistlin repeated softly, his eyes burning. “Rule the world? You still don’t understand, do you, my dear sister? Let me make this as plain as I know how.” Now it was his turn to stand up. Pressing his thin hands upon the desk, he leaned toward her, like a snake.

“I don’t give a damn about the world!” he said softly. “I could rule it tomorrow if I wanted it! I don’t.”

“You don’t want the world.” Kit shrugged, her voice bitter with sarcasm. “Then that leaves only—”