Time of the Twins

Seeing Denubis’s haggard face fill with doubt, Quarath sat forward, regarding his cleric with a frown. “Very well, Denubis, if you must know—there were some very strange circumstances regarding the young woman’s discovery. Not the least of which is that it was instituted, we understand, by the Dark One.”

Denubis swallowed and sank back into his seat. The room no longer seemed hot. He shivered. “That is true,” he said miserably, passing his hand over his face. “He met me—”

“I know!” Quarath snapped. “He told me. The young woman will stay here with us. She is a Revered Daughter. She wears the medallion of Paladine. She, also, is somewhat confused, but that is to be expected. We can keep an eye on her. But I’m certain you realize how impossible it is that we allow that young man to simply wander off. In the Elder Days, they would have tossed him in a dungeon and thought no more of it. We are more enlightened than that. We will provide a decent home for him and be able to watch over him at the same time.”

Quarath makes it sound like a charitable act, selling a man into slavery, Denubis thought in confusion. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am wrong. As he says, I am a simple man. Dizzily, he rose from his chair. The rich food he had eaten sat in his stomach like a cobblestone. Mumbling an apology to his superior, he started toward the door. Quarath rose, too, a conciliatory smile on his face.

“Come visit with me again, Revered Son,” he said, standing by the door. “And do not fear to question us. That is how we learn.”

Denubis nodded numbly, then paused. “I—I have one more question, then,” he said hesitantly. “You mentioned the Dark One. What do you know of him? I mean, why is he here? He—he frightens me.”

Quarath’s face was grave, but he did not appear displeased at this question. Perhaps he was relieved that Denubis’s mind had turned to another subject. “Who knows anything of the ways of magic-users,” he answered, “except that their ways are not our ways, nor yet the ways of the gods. It was for that reason the Kingpriest felt compelled to rid Ansalon of them, as much as was possible. Now they are holed up in their one remaining Tower of High Sorcery in that cast-off Forest of Wayreth. Soon, even that will disappear as their numbers dwindle, since we have closed the schools. You heard about the cursing of the Tower at Palanthas?”

Denubis nodded silently.

“That terrible incident!” Quarath frowned. “It just goes to show you how the gods have cursed these wizards, driving that one poor soul to such madness that he impaled himself upon the gates, bringing down the wrath of the gods and sealing the Tower forever, we suppose. But, what were we discussing?”

“Fistandantilus,” Denubis murmured, sorry he had brought it up. Now he wanted only to get back to his room and take his stomach powder.

Quarath raised his feathery eyebrows. “All I know of him is that he was here when I came, some one hundred years ago. He is old—older even than many of my kindred, for there are few even of the eldest of my race who can remember a time when his name was not whispered. But he is human and therefore must use his magic arts to sustain his life. How, I dare not imagine.” Quarath looked at Denubis intently. “You understand now, of course, why the Kingpriest keeps him at court’?”

“He fears him?” Denubis asked innocently.

Quarath’s porcelain smile became fixed for a moment, then it was the smile of a parent explaining a simple matter to a dull child. “No, Revered Son,” he said patiently. “Fistandantilus is of great use to us. Who knows the world better? He has traveled its width and breadth. He knows the languages, the customs, the lore of every race on Krynn. His knowledge is vast. He is useful to the Kingpriest, and so we allow him to remain here, rather than banish him to Wayreth, as we have banished his fellows.”

Denubis nodded. “I understand,” he said, smiling weakly. “And... and now, I must go. Thank you for your hospitality, Revered Son, and for clearing up my doubts. I-I feel much better now.”

“I am glad to have been able to help,” Quarath said gently. “May the gods grant you restful sleep, my son.”

“And you as well,” Denubis murmured the reply, then left, hearing, with relief, the door shut behind him.

The cleric walked hurriedly past the Kingpriest’s audience chamber. Light welled from the door, the sound of the sweet, musical voice tugged at his heart as he went by, but he feared he might be sick and so resisted the temptation to return.

Longing for the peace of his quiet room, Denubis walked quickly through the Temple. He became lost once, taking a wrong turn in the crisscrossing corridors. But a kindly servant led him back the direction he needed to take to reach the part of the Temple where he lived.