Time of the Twins

His mind felt just like it did then. Lady Crysania admired Raistlin and pitied Caramon. Tas wasn’t certain, but that seemed all backward. Then there was Caramon who was Caramon and then wasn’t Caramon. Inns that were there one minute and gone the next. A secret magic word he was supposed to listen for so he’d know when not to listen. Then he’d made a perfectly logical, common-sense suggestion about tarbean tea and been reprimanded for blasphemy!

“After all,” he mumbled to himself, jerking at his blankets, “Paladine and I are close personal friends. He’d know what I meant.”

Sighing, the kender pillowed his head upon a rolled-up cloak. Bupu—now quite convinced that Caramon was Raistlin—was sound asleep, curled up with her head resting adoringly on the big man’s foot. Caramon himself was sitting quietly now, his eyes closed, humming a song to himself. Occasionally he would cough, and once he demanded in a loud voice that Tas bring him his spellbook so that he could study his magic. But he seemed peaceful enough. Tas hoped he would soon dose and sleep off the effects of the dwarf spirits.

The fire burned low. Lady Crysania spread out her blankets on a bed of pine needles she had gathered to keep out the damp. Tas yawned. She was certainly getting on better than he’d expected. She had chosen a good, sensible location to make camp—near the trail, a stream of clear running water close by. Just as well not to have to wander too far in these dark and spooky woods—

Spooky wood... what did that remind him of, Tas caught himself as he was slipping over the edge of sleep. Something important. Spooky wood. Spooks... talk to spooks...

“Darken Wood!” he said in alarm, sitting bolt upright.

“What?” asked Lady Crysania, wrapping her cloak around her and preparing to lie down.

“Darken Wood!” Tas repeated in alarm. He was now thoroughly awake. “We’re close to Darken Wood. We came to warn you! It’s a horrible place. You might have blundered into it. Maybe we’re in it already—”

“Darken Wood?” Caramon’s eyes flared open. He stared around him vaguely.

“Nonsense,” Lady Crysania said comfortably, adjusting beneath her head a small traveling pillow she had brought with her. “We are not in Darken Wood, not yet. It is about five miles distant. Tomorrow we will come to a path that will take us there.”

“You—you want to go there!” Tas gasped.

“Of course,” Lady Crysania said coldly. “I go there to seek the Forestmaster’s help. It would take me many long months to travel from here to the Forest of Wayreth, even on horseback. Silver dragons dwell in Darken Wood with the Forestmaster. They will fly me to my destination.”

“But the spectres, the ancient dead king and his followers—”

“—were released from their terrible bondage when they answered the call to fight the Dragon Highlords,” Lady Crysania said, somewhat sharply. “You really should study the history of the war, Tasslehoff. Especially since you were involved in it. When the human and elven forces combined to recapture Qualinesti, the spectres of Darken Wood fought with them and thus broke the dark enchantment that held them bound to dreadful life. They left this world and have been seen no more.”

“Oh,” said Tas stupidly. After glancing about for a moment, he sat back down on his bedroll. “I talked to them,” he continued wistfully. “They were very polite—sort of abrupt in their comings and goings, but very polite. It’s kind of sad to think—”

“I am quite tired,” interrupted Lady Crysania. “And I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow. I will take the gully dwarf and continue on to Darken Wood. You can take your besotted friend back home where he will—hopefully—find the help he needs. Now go to sleep.”

“Shouldn’t one of us... stay on watch?” Tas asked hesitantly. “Those rangers said—” He stopped suddenly. Those “rangers” had been in the inn that wasn’t.

“Nonsense. Paladine will guard our rest,” said Lady Crysania sharply. Closing her eyes, she began to recite soft words of prayer.

Tas gulped. “I wonder if we know the same Paladine?” he asked, thinking of Fizban and feeling very lonesome. But he said it under his breath, not wanting to be accused of blasphemy again. Lying down, he squirmed in his blankets but could not get comfortable. Finally, still wide awake, he sat back up and leaned against a tree trunk. The spring night was cool but not unpleasantly chill. The sky was clear, and there was no wind. The trees rustled with their own conversations, feeling new life running through their limbs, waking after their long winter’s sleep. Running his hand over the ground, Tas fingered the new grass poking up beneath the decaying leaves.