Time of the Twins

“Me know nothing ’bout big, powerful wizards.” Bupu waved a grubby hand. “Me know nothing ’bout no charm spell. Me know magic is in this”—she scrabbled around in the bag, then drew forth the dead rat and waved it in Par-Salian’s direction—“and me know that man you talk ’bout here is nice man. Him nice to me.” Clutching the dead rat to her chest, Bupu stared tearfully at Par-Salian. “The others—the big man, the kender—they laugh at Bupu. They look at me like me some sort of bug.”

Bupu rubbed her eyes. There was a lump in Tas’s throat, and he felt lower than a bug himself.

Bupu continued, speaking softly. “Me know how me look.” Her filthy hands tried in vain to smooth her dress, leaving streaks of dirt down it. “Me know me not pretty, like lady lying there.” The gully dwarf snuffled, but then she wiped her hand across her nose and—raising her head—looked at Par-Salian defiantly. “But him not call me ‘creature!’ Him call me ‘little one.’ Little one,” she repeated.

For a moment, she was quiet, remembering. Then she heaved a gusty sigh. “I-I want to stay with him. But him tell me, ‘no,’ Him say he must walk roads that be dark. Him tell me, he want me to be safe. Him lay his hand on my head”—Bupu bowed her head, as if in memory—“and I feel warm inside. Then him tell me, ‘Farewell, Bupu.’ Him call me ‘little one.’”

Looking up, Bupu glanced around at the semi-circle. “Him never laugh at me,” she said, choking. “Never!” She began to cry.

The only sounds in the room, for a moment, were the gully dwarf’s sobs. Caramon put his hands over his face, overcome. Tas drew a shuddering breath and fished around for a handkerchief. After a few moments, Par-Salian rose from his stone chair and came to stand in front of the gully dwarf, who was regarding him with suspicion and hiccuping at the same time.

The great mage extended his hand. “Forgive me, Bupu,” he said gravely, “if I offended you. I must confess that I spoke those cruel words on purpose, hoping to make you angry enough to tell your story. For, only then, could we be certain of the truth.” Par-Salian laid his hand on Bupu’s head, his face was drawn and tired, but he appeared exultant. “Maybe we did not fail, maybe he did learn some compassion,” he murmured. Gently he stroked the gully dwarf’s rough hair. “No, Raistlin would never laugh at you, little one. He knew, he remembered. There were too many who had laughed at him.”

Tas couldn’t see through his tears, and he heard Caramon weeping quietly beside him. The kender blew his nose on his handkerchief, then went up to retrieve Bupu, who was blubbering into the hem of Par-Salian’s white robe.

“So this is the reason Lady Crysania made this journey?” Par-Salian asked Tas as the kender came near. The mage glanced at the still, white, cold form lying beneath the linen, her eyes staring sightlessly into the shadowy darkness. “She believes that she can rekindle the spark of goodness that we tried to light and failed?”

“Yes,” Tas answered, suddenly uncomfortable beneath the gaze of the mage’s penetrating blue eyes.

“And why does she want to attempt this?” Par-Salian persisted.

Tas dragged Bupu to her feet and handed her his handkerchief, trying to ignore the fact that she stared at it in wonder, obviously having no idea what she was supposed to do with it. She blew her nose on the hem of her dress.

“Uh, well, Tika said—” Tas stopped, flushing.

“What did Tika say?” Par-Salian asked softly.

“Tika said”—Tas swallowed—“Tika said she was doing it... because she l-loved him—Raistlin.”

Par-Salian nodded. His gaze went to Caramon. “What about you, twin?” he asked suddenly. Caramon’s head lifted, he stared at Par-Salian with haunted eyes.

“Do you love him still? You have said you would go back to destroy Fistandantilus. The danger you face will be great. Do you love your brother enough to undertake this perilous journey? To risk your life for him, as this lady has done? Remember, before you answer, you do not go back on a quest to save the world. You go back on a quest to save a soul, nothing more. Nothing less.”

Caramon’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. His face was lighted by joy, however, a happiness that sprang from deep within him. He could only nod his head.

Par-Salian turned to face the assembled Conclave.

“I have made my decision,” he began.

One of the Black Robes rose and cast her hood back. Tas saw that it was the woman who had brought him here. Anger burned in her eyes. She made a swift, slashing motion with her hand.

“We challenge this decision, Par-Salian,” she said in a low voice. “And you know that means you cannot cast the spell.”

“The Master of the Tower may cast the spell alone, Ladonna,” Par-Salian replied grimly. “That power is given to all the Masters. Thus did Raistlin discover the secret when he became Master of the Tower in Palanthas. I do not need the help of either Red or Black.”

There was a murmur from the Red Robes, as well; many looking at the Black Robes and nodding in agreement with them. Ladonna smiled.