Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

“I didn’t know this kind of metal shrinks,” Tas said with interest. “I’ll bet it has to be heated! How did you do that? Or did it just get real, real hot around here?”

“Oh, shut up!” Caramon snarled.

“I was only being helpful,” Tas said, wounded. “Anyway, oh, about Lady Crysania.” His face took on a lofty look. “I gave my sacred oath. All I can say is she wanted me to tell her everything I could remember about Raistlin. And I did. And this has to do with that. Lady Crysania’s truly a wonderful person, Tika,” Tas continued solemnly. “You might not have noticed, but I’m not very religious. Kender aren’t as a rule. But you don’t have to be religious to know that there is something truly good about Lady Crysania. She’s smart, too. Maybe even smarter than Tanis.”

Tas’s eyes were bright with mystery and importance. “I think I can tell you this much,” he said in a whisper. “She has a plan! A plan to help save Raistlin! Bupu’s part of the plan. She’s taking her to Par-Salian!”

Even Caramon looked dubious at this, and Tika was privately beginning to think maybe Riverwind and Tanis were right. Maybe Lady Crysania was mad. Still, anything that might help Caramon, might give him some hope—

But Caramon had apparently been working things out in his own mind. “You know. It’s all the fault of this Fis-Fistandoodle or whatever his name was,” he said, tugging uncomfortably at the leather straps where they bit into his flabby flesh. “You know, that mage Fizban—er—Paladine told us about. And Par-Salian knows something about that, too!” His face brightened. “We’ll fix everything. I’ll bring Raistlin back here, like we planned, Tika! He can move into the room we’ve got fixed up for him. We’ll take care of him, you and I. In our new house. It’s going to be fine, fine!” Caramon’s eyes shone. Tika couldn’t look at him. He sounded so much like the old Caramon, the Caramon she had loved...

Keeping her expression stern, she turned abruptly and headed for the bedroom. “I’ll go get the rest of your things—”

“Wait!” Caramon stopped her. “No, uh—thanks, Tika. I can manage. How about you—uh—pack us something to eat.”

“I’ll help,” Tas offered, heading eagerly for the kitchen.

“Very well,” Tika said. Reaching out, she caught hold of the kender by the topknot of hair that tumbled down his back. “Just one minute, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. You’re not going anywhere until you sit down and empty out every one of your pouches!”

Tas wailed in protest. Under cover of the confusion, Caramon hurried into the bedroom and shut the door. Without pausing, he went straight for the corner and retrieved the flask. Shaking it, he found it over half-full. Smiling to himself in satisfaction, he thrust it deep into his pack, then hastily crammed some additional clothes in on top of it.

“Now, I’m all set!” he called out cheerfully to Tika.

“I’m all set,” Caramon repeated, standing disconsolately on the porch.

He was a ludicrous sight. The stolen dragonarmor he had worn during the last months of the campaign had been completely refurbished by the big warrior when he arrived back in Solace. He had beaten the dents out, cleaned and polished and redesigned it so completely that it no longer resembled the original. He had taken a great deal of care with it, then packed it away lovingly. It was still in excellent condition. Only now, unfortunately, there was a large gap between the shining black chain mail that covered his chest and the big belt that girdled his rotund waist. Neither he nor Tas had been able to strap the metal plates that guarded his legs around his flabby thighs. He had stowed these away in his pack. He groaned when he lifted his shield and looked at it suspiciously, as if certain someone had filled it with lead weights during the last two years. His swordbelt would not fit around his sagging gut. Blushing furiously, he strapped the sword in its worn scabbard onto his back.

At this point, Tas was forced to look somewhere else. The kender thought he was going to laugh but was startled to find himself on the verge of tears.

“I look a fool,” Caramon muttered, seeing Tas turn away hurriedly. Bupu was staring at him with eyes as wide as tea-cups, her mouth hanging open.

“Him look just like my Highbulp, Phudge I.” Bupu sighed.

A vivid memory of the fat, slovenly king of the gully dwarf clan in Xak Tsaroth came to Tas’s mind. Grabbing the gully dwarf, he stuffed a hunk of bread in her mouth to shut her up. But the damage had been done. Apparently Caramon, too, remembered.

“That does it,” he snarled, flushing darkly and hurling his shield to the wooden porch where it banged and clattered loudly. “I’m not going! This was a stupid idea anyway!” He stared accusingly at Tika, then, turning around, he started for the door. But Tika moved to stand in front of him.

“No,” she said quietly. “You’re not coming back into my house, Caramon, until you come back one whole person.”

“Him more like two whole person,” mumbled Bupu in a muffled voice. Tas stuffed more bread in her mouth.

“You’re not making any sense!” Caramon snapped viciously, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Get out of my way, Tika!”

“Listen to me, Caramon,” Tika said. Her voice was soft, but penetrating; her eyes caught and held the big man’s attention. Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up at him earnestly. “You offered to follow Raistlin into darkness, once. Do you remember?”

Caramon swallowed, then nodded silently, his face pale.

“He refused,” Tika continued gently, “saying it would mean your death. But, don’t you see, Caramon—you have followed him into darkness! And you’re dying by inches! Raistlin himself told you to walk your own path and let him walk his. But you haven’t done that! You’re trying to walk both paths, Caramon. Half of you is living in darkness and the other half is trying to drink away the pain and the horror you see there.”

“It’s my fault!” Caramon began to blubber, his voice breaking. “It’s my fault he turned to the Black Robes. I drove him to it! That’s what Par-Salian tried to make me see—”

Tika bit her lip. Tas could see her face grow grim and stern with anger, but she kept it inside. “Perhaps,” was all she said. Then she drew a deep breath. “But you are not coming back to me as husband or even friend until you come back at peace with yourself.”

Caramon stared at her, looking as though he was seeing her for the first time. Tika’s face was resolute and firm, her green eyes were clear and cold. Tas suddenly remembered her fighting draconians in the Temple at Neraka that last horrible night of the War. She had looked just the same.

“Maybe that’ll be never,” Caramon said surlily. “Ever think of that, huh, my fine lady?”

“Yes,” Tika said steadily. “I’ve thought of it. Good-bye, Caramon.”

Turning away from her husband, Tika walked back through the door of her house and shut it. Tas heard the bolt slide home with a click. Caramon heard it, too, and flinched at the sound. He clenched his huge fists, and for a minute Tas feared he might break down the door. Then his hands went limp. Angrily, trying to salvage some of his shattered dignity, Caramon stomped off the porch.

“I’ll show her,” he muttered, striding off, his armor clanking and clattering. “Come back, three or four days, with that Lady Crysle-whatever. Then we’ll talk about this. She can’t do this to me! No, by all the gods! Three, four days, she’ll be begging me to come back. But maybe I will and maybe I won’t...”

Tas stood, irresolute. Behind him, inside the house, his sharp kender ears could hear grief-stricken sobbing. He knew that Caramon, between his own self-pitying ramblings and his clanking armor, could hear nothing. But what could he do?