Time of the Twins

“Indeed, Great One,” she said, “I know this. You do not need us for the casting of the spell, but you need us nonetheless. You need our cooperation, Par-Salian, our silent cooperation—else the shadows of our magic will rise and blot out the light of the silver moon. And you will fail.”

Par-Salian’s face grew cold and gray. “What of the life of this woman?” he demanded, gesturing at Crysania.

“What is the life of a cleric of Paladine to us?” Ladonna sneered. “Our concerns are far greater and not to be discussed among outsiders. Send these away”—she motioned at Caramon—“and we will meet privately.”

“I believe that is wise, Par-Salian,” said the red-robed mage mildly. “Our guests are tired and hungry, and they would find our family disagreements most boring.”

“Very well,” Par-Salian said abruptly. But Tas could see the white-robed mage’s anger as he turned to face them. “You will be summoned.”

“Wait!” Caramon shouted, “I demand to be present! I—”

The big man stopped, nearly strangling himself. The Hall was gone, the mages were gone, the stone chairs were gone. Caramon was yelling at a hat stand.

Dizzily, Tas looked around. He and Caramon and Bupu were in a cozy room that might have come straight from the Inn of the Last Home. A fire burned in the grate, comfortable beds stood at one end. A table laden with food was near the fire, the smells of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat made his mouth water. Tas sighed in delight.

“I think this is the most wonderful place in the whole world,” he said.

14

The old, white-robed mage sat in a study that was much like Raistlin’s in the Tower of Palanthas, except that the books which lined Par-Salian’s shelves were bound in white leather. The silver runes traced upon their spines and covers glinted in the light of a crackling fire. To anyone entering, the room seemed hot and stuffy. But Par-Salian was feeling the chill of age enter his bones. To him, the room was quite comfortable.

He sat at his desk, his eyes staring into the flames. He started slightly at a soft knock upon his door, then, sighing, he called softly, “Enter.”

A young, white-robed mage opened the door, bowing to the black-robed mage who walked past him—as was proper to one of her standing. She accepted the homage without comment. Casting her hood aside, she swept past him into Par-Salian’s chamber and stopped, just inside the doorway. The white-robed mage gently shut the door behind her, leaving the two heads of their Orders alone together.

Ladonna cast a quick, penetrating glance about the room. Much of it was lost in shadow, the fire casting the only light. Even the drapes had been closed, blotting out the moons’ eerie glow. Raising her hand, Ladonna murmured a few, soft words. Several items in the room began to gleam with a weird, reddish light indicating that they had magical properties—a staff leaning up against the wall, a crystal prism on Par-Salian’s desk, a branched candelabra, a gigantic hourglass, and several rings on the old man’s fingers among others. These did not seem to alarm Ladonna, she simply looked at each and nodded. Then, satisfied, she sat down in a chair near the desk. Par-Salian watched her with a slight smile on his lined face.

“There are no Creatures from Beyond lurking in the corners, Ladonna, I assure you,” the old mage said dryly. “Had I wanted to banish you from this plane, I could have done so long ago, my dear.”

“When we were young?” Ladonna cast aside her hood. Iron-gray hair, woven into an intricate braid coiled about her head, framed a face whose beauty seemed enhanced by the lines of age that appeared to have been drawn by a masterful artist, so well did they highlight her intelligence and dark wisdom. “That would have been a contest indeed, Great One.”

“Drop the title, Ladonna,” Par-Salian said. “We have known each other too long for that.”

“Known each other long and well, Par-Salian,” Ladonna said with a smile. “Quite well,” she murmured softly, her eyes going to the fire.

“Would you go back to our youth, Ladonna?” Par-Salian asked.

She did not answer for a moment, then she looked up at him and shrugged. “To trade power and wisdom and skill for what? Hot blood? Not likely, my dear. What about you?”

“I would have answered the same twenty years ago,” Par-Salian said, rubbing his temples. “But now... I wonder.”

“I did not come to relive old times, no matter how pleasant,” Ladonna said, clearing her throat, her voice suddenly stern and cold. “I have come to oppose this madness.” She leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing. “You are not serious, I hope, Par-Salian? Even you cannot be soft-hearted or soft-headed enough to send that stupid human back in time to try and stop Fistandantilus? Think of the danger! He could change history! We could all cease to exist!”