Time of the Twins

“Dinner!” Opening her eyes, Bupu jumped to her feet. Glancing around eagerly, she caught sight of the twenty robed figures, sitting silently, their hooded faces invisible.

Bupu let out a scream like a tortured rabbit. With a convulsive leap, she threw herself at Caramon and wrapped her arms around his ankle in a deathlike grip. Aware of the glittering eyes watching him, Caramon tried to shake her loose, but it was impossible. She clung to him like a leech, shivering, peering at the mages in terror. Finally, Caramon gave up.

The old man’s face creased in what might have been a smile.

Tas saw Caramon look down self-consciously at his smelly clothes. He saw the big man finger his unshaven jowls and run a hand through his tangled hair. Embarrassed, he flushed uncomfortably. Then his expression hardened. When he spoke, it was with simple dignity.

“Par-Salian,” Caramon said, the words booming out too loudly in the vast, shadowy hall, “do you remember me?”

“I remember you, warrior,” said the mage. His voice was soft, yet it carried in the chamber. A dying whisper would have carried in that chamber.

He said nothing more. None of the other mages spoke. Caramon shifted uncomfortably. Finally he gestured at Lady Crysania. “I have brought her here, hoping you could help her. Can you? Will she be all right?”

“Whether she will be all right or not is not in our hands,” Par-Salian answered. “It is beyond our skill to care for her. In order to protect her from the spell the death knight cast upon her—a spell that surely would have meant her death—Paladine heard her last prayer and sent her soul to dwell in his peaceful realms.”

Caramon’s head bowed. “It’s my fault,” he said huskily. “I—I failed her. I might have been able—”

“To protect her?” Par-Salian shook his head. “No, warrior, you could not have protected her from the Knight of the Black Rose. You would have lost your own life trying. Is that not true, kender?”

Tas, suddenly finding the gaze of the old man’s blue eyes upon him felt tingling sparks shoot through his body. “Y-Yes,” he stammered. “I-I saw him—it.” Tasslehoff shuddered.

“This from one who knows no fear,” Par-Salian said mildly. “No, warrior, do not blame yourself. And do not give up hope for her. Though we ourselves cannot restore her soul to her body, we know of those who can. But, first, tell me why Lady Crysania sought us out. For we know she was searching for the Forest of Wayreth.”

“I’m not sure,” Caramon mumbled.

“She came because of Raistlin,” Tas chimed in helpfully. But his voice sounded shrill and discordant in the hall. The name rang out eerily. Par-Salian frowned, Caramon turned to glare at him. The mages’ hooded heads shifted slightly, as if they were glancing at each other, their robes rustled softly. Tas gulped and fell silent.

“Raistlin,” the name hissed softly from Par-Salian’s lips. He stared at Caramon intently. “What does a cleric of good have to do with your brother? Why did she undertake this perilous journey for his sake?”

Caramon shook his head, unwilling or unable to talk.

“You know of his evil?” Par-Salian pursued sternly.

Caramon stubbornly refused to answer, his gaze was fixed on the stone floor.

“I know—” Tas began, but Par-Salian made a slight movement with his hand and the kender hushed.

“You know that now we believe he intends to conquer the world?” Par-Salian continued, his relentless words hitting Caramon like darts. Tas could see the big man flinch. “Along with your half-sister, Kitiara—or the Dark Lady, as she is known among her troops—Raistlin has begun to amass armies. He has dragons, flying citadels. And in addition we know—”

A sneering voice rang through the hall. “You know nothing, Great One. You are a fool!”

The words fell like drops of water into a still pond, causing ripples of movement to spread among the mages. Startled, Tas turned, searching for the source of the strange voice, and saw, behind him, a figure emerging from the shadows. Its black robes rustled as it walked past them to face Par-Salian. At that moment, the figure removed its hood.

Tas felt Caramon stiffen. “What is it?” the kender whispered, unable to see.

“A dark elf!” Caramon muttered.

“Really?” Tas said, his eyes brightening. “You know, in all the years I’ve lived on Krynn, I’ve never seen a dark elf.” The kender started forward only to be caught by the collar of his tunic.

Tas squawked in irritation, as Caramon dragged him back, but neither Par-Salian nor the black-robed figure appeared to notice the interruption.

“I think you should explain yourself, Dalamar,” Par-Salian said quietly. “Why am I a fool?”

“Conquer the world!” Dalamar sneered. “He does not plan to conquer the world! The world means nothing to him. He could have the world tomorrow, tonight, if he wanted it!”

“Then what does he want?” This question came from a red-robed mage seated near Par-Salian.

Tas, peering out around Caramon’s arm, saw the delicate, cruel features of the dark elf relax in a smile—a smile that made the kender shiver.