Time of the Twins

“But, Caramon, I really think you should come look at her! There’s not a mark on her body!”

“I don’t want to look at her! She’s dead! It’s my fault! We’ll bury her here, then I’ll go back to Solace, go back to digging my own grave—”

“Caramon!”

“Go find some flowers and leave me be!”

Dalamar saw the big man tear up the moist dirt with his bare hands, hurling it aside while tears streamed down his face. The kender remained beside the woman’s body, irresolute, his face covered with dried blood, his expression a mixture of grief and doubt.

“No mark, no wound, draconians coming out of nowhere...” Raistlin frowned thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, he knelt beside the Live One, who shrank away from him. “Speak. Tell me everything. I must know. Why wasn’t I summoned earlier?”

“Th-the d-draco k-kill, M-master,” the Live One’s voice bubbled in agony. “B-but the b-big m-man k-kill, too. Th-then b-big d-dark c-come! E-eyes of f-fire. I-I s-scared. I-I f-fraid f-fall in wa-water...”

“I found the Live One lying at the edge of the pool,” Dalamar reported coolly, “when one of the others told me something strange was going on. I looked into the water. Knowing of your interest in this human female, I thought you—”

“Quite right,” Raistlin murmured, cutting off Dalamar’s explanation impatiently. The mage’s golden eyes narrowed, his thin lips compressed. Feeling his anger, the poor Live One dragged its body as far from the mage as possible. Dalamar held his breath. But Raistlin’s anger was not directed at them.

“'Big dark, eyes of fire’—Lord Soth! So, my sister, you betray me,” Raistlin whispered. “I smell your fear, Kitiara! You coward! I could have made you queen of this world. I could have given you wealth immeasurable, power unlimited. But no. You are, after all, a weak and petty-minded worm!”

Raistlin stood quietly, pondering, staring into the still pond. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, lethal. “I will not forget this, my dear sister. You are fortunate that I have more urgent, pressing matters at hand, or you would be residing with the phantom lord who serves you!” Raistlin’s thin fist clenched, then—with an obvious effort—he forced himself to relax. “But, now, what to do about this? I must do something before my brother plants the cleric in a flower bed!”

“Shalafi, what has happened?” Dalamar ventured, greatly daring. “This—woman. What is she to you? I do not understand.”

Raistlin glanced at Dalamar irritably and seemed about to rebuke him for his impertinence. Then the mage hesitated. His golden eyes flared once with a flash of inner light that made Dalamar cringe, before returning to their flat, impassive stare.

“Of course, apprentice. You shall know everything. But first—”

Raistlin stopped. Another figure had entered the scene in the forest they watched so intently. It was a gully dwarf, bundled in layers and layers of bright, gaudy clothing, a huge bag dragging behind her as she walked.

“Bupu!” Raistlin whispered, the rare smile touching his lips. “Excellent. Once more you shall serve me, little one.”

Reaching out his hand, Raistlin touched the still water. The Live Ones around the pool cried out in horror, for they had seen many of their own kind stumble into that dark water, only to shrivel and wither and become nothing more than a wisp of smoke, rising with a shriek into the air. But Raistlin simply murmured soft words, then withdrew his hand. The fingers were white as marble, a spasm of pain crossed his face. Hurriedly, he slid his hand into a pocket of his robe.

“Watch,” he whispered exultantly.

Dalamar stared into the water, watching the gully dwarf approach the still, lifeless form of the woman.

“Me help.”

No, Bupu!”

“You no like my magic! Me go home. But first me help pretty lady.”

“What in the name of the Abyss—” Dalamar muttered.

“Watch!” Raistlin commanded.

Dalamar watched as the gully dwarf’s small, grubby hand dove into the bag at her side. After fumbling about for several moments, it emerged with a loathsome object—a dead, stiff lizard with a leather thong wrapped around its neck. Bupu approached the woman and—when the kender tried to stop her—thrust her small fist into his face warningly. With a sigh and a sideways glance at Caramon, who was digging furiously, his face a mask of grief and blood, the kender stepped back. Bupu plopped down beside the woman’s lifeless form and carefully placed the dead lizard on the unmoving chest.

Dalamar gasped.

The woman’s chest moved, the white robes shivered. She began breathing, deeply and peacefully.

The kender let out a shriek.

“Caramon! Bupu’s cured her! She’s alive! Look!”

“What the—” The big man stopped digging and stumbled over, staring at the gully dwarf in amazement and fear.

“Lizard cure,” Bupu said in triumph. “Work every time.”