Time of the Twins

“Bah! Ladonna, you think!” Par-Salian snapped. “Time is a great flowing river, vaster and wider than any river we know. Throw a pebble into the rushing water—does the water suddenly stop? Does it begin to flow backward? Does it turn in its course and flow another direction? Of course not! The pebble creates a few ripples on the surface, perhaps, but then it sinks. The river flows onward, as it has ever done.”

“What are you saying?” Ladonna asked, regarding Par-Salian warily.

“That Caramon and Crysania are pebbles, my dear. They will no more affect the flow of time than two rocks thrown into the Thon-Tsalarian would affect its course. They are pebbles—” he repeated.

“We underestimate Raistlin, Dalamar says,” Ladonna interrupted. “He must be fairly certain of his success, or he would not take this risk. He is no fool, Par-Salian.”

“He is certain of acquiring the magic. In that we cannot stop him. But that magic will be meaningless to him without the cleric. He needs Crysania.” The white-robed mage sighed. “And that is why we must send her back in time.”

“I fail to see—”

“She must die, Ladonna!” Par-Salian snarled. “Must I conjure a vision for you? She must be sent back to a time when all clerics passed from this land. Raistlin said that we would have to send her back. We would have no choice. As he himself said—this is the one way we can thwart his plans! It is his greatest hope—and his greatest fear. He needs to take her with him to the Gate, but he needs her to come willingly! Thus he plans to shake her faith, disillusion her enough so that she will work with him.” Par-Salian waved his hand irritably. “We are wasting time. He leaves in the morning. We must act at once.”

“Then keep her here!” Ladonna said scornfully. “That seems simple enough.”

Par-Salian shook his head. “He would simply return for her. And—by then he will have the magic. He will have the power to do what he chooses.”

“Kill her.”

“That has been tried and failed. Besides, could even you, with your arts, kill her while she is under Paladine’s protection!”

“Perhaps the god will prevent her going, then?”

“No. The augury I cast was neutral. Paladine has left the matter in our hands. Crysania is nothing but a vegetable here, nor will ever be anything more, since none alive today have the power to restore her. Perhaps Paladine intends her to die in a place and time where her death will have meaning so that she may fulfill her life’s cycle.”

“So you will send her to her death,” Ladonna murmured, looking at Par-Salian in amazement. “Your white robes will be stained red with blood, my old friend.”

Par-Salian slammed his hands upon the table, his face contorted in agony. “I don’t enjoy this, damn it! But what can I do? Can’t you see the position I’m in? Who sits now as the Head of the Black Robes?”

“I do,” Ladonna replied.

“Who sits as the Head if he returns victorious?”

Ladonna frowned and did not answer.

“Precisely. My days are numbered, Ladonna. I know that. Oh”—he gestured—“my powers are still great. Perhaps they have never been greater. But every morning when I awake, I feel the fear. Will today be the day it fails? Every time I have trouble recalling a spell, I shiver. Someday, I know, I will not be able to remember the correct words.” He closed his eyes. “I am tired, Ladonna, very tired. I want to do nothing more than stay in this room, near this warm fire, and record in these books the knowledge I have acquired through the years. Yet I dare not step down now, for I know who would take my place.”

The old mage sighed. “I will choose my successor, Ladonna,” he said softly. “I will not have my position wrested from my hands. My stake in this is greater than any of yours.”

“Perhaps not,” Ladonna said, staring at the flames. “If he returns victorious, there will no longer be a Conclave. We shall all be his servants.” Her hand clenched. “I still oppose this, Par-Salian! The danger is too great! Let her remain here, let Raistlin learn what he can from Fistandantilus. We can deal with him when he returns! He is powerful, of course, but it will take him years to master the arts that Fistandantilus knew when he died! We can use that time to arm ourselves against him! We can—”

There was rustling in the shadows of the room. Ladonna started and turned, her hand darting immediately to a hidden pocket in her robe.

“Hold, Ladonna,” said a mild voice. “You need not waste your energies on a shield spell. I am no Creature from Beyond, as Par-Salian has already stated.” The figure stepped into the light of the fire, its red robes gleaming softly.

Ladonna settled back with a sigh, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes that would have made an apprentice start back in alarm. “No, Justarius,” she said coolly, “you are no Creature from Beyond. So you managed to hide yourself from me? How clever you have become, Red Robe.” Twisting around in her chair, she regarded Par-Salian with scorn. “You are getting old, my friend, if you required help to deal with me!”