Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

Lord Soth stood far from the fire’s light, hidden in the shadows. Kit could not see him, but she was aware of his presence—as was Raistlin. The mage sat opposite his half-sister in a large chair behind a gigantic desk of black wood, carved so cunningly that the creatures decorating it seemed to watch Kitiara with their wooden eyes.

Squirming uncomfortably, she drank her wine, too fast. Although well accustomed to strong drink, she was beginning to feel giddy, and she hated that feeling. It meant she was losing control. Angrily, she thrust the glass away from her, determined to drink no more.

“This plan of yours is crazy!” she told Raistlin irritably. Not liking the gaze of those golden eyes upon her, Kitiara stood up and began to pace the room. “It’s senseless! A waste of time. With your help, we could rule Ansalon, you and I. In fact”—Kitiara turned suddenly, her face alight with eagerness—“with your power we could rule the world! We don’t need Lady Crysania or our hulking brother—”

“'Rule the world,’ ” Raistlin repeated softly, his eyes burning. “Rule the world? You still don’t understand, do you, my dear sister? Let me make this as plain as I know how.” Now it was his turn to stand up. Pressing his thin hands upon the desk, he leaned toward her, like a snake.

“I don’t give a damn about the world!” he said softly. “I could rule it tomorrow if I wanted it! I don’t.”

“You don’t want the world.” Kit shrugged, her voice bitter with sarcasm. “Then that leaves only—”

Kitiara almost bit her tongue. She stared at Raistlin in wonder. In the shadows of the room, Lord Soth’s flaming eyes blazed more brightly than the fire.

“Now you understand.” Raistlin smiled in satisfaction and resumed his seat once more. “Now you see the importance of this Revered Daughter of Paladine! It was fate brought her to me, just when I was nearing the time for my journey.”

Kitiara could only stare at him, aghast. Finally, she found her voice. “How—how do you know she will follow you? Surely you didn’t tell her!”

“Only enough to plant the seed in her breast.” Raistlin smiled, looking back to that meeting. Leaning back, he put his thin fingers to his lips. “My performance was, frankly, one of my best. Reluctantly I spoke, my words drawn from me by her goodness and purity. They came out, stained with blood, and she was mine... lost through her own pity.” He came back to the present with a start. “She will come,” he said coldly, sitting forward once more. “She and that buffoon of a brother. He will serve me unwittingly, of course. But then, that’s how he does everything.”

Kitiara put her hand to her head, feeling her blood pulse. It was not the wine, she was cold sober now. It was fury and frustration. He could help me! she thought angrily. He is truly as powerful as they said. More so! But he’s insane. He’s lost his mind... Then, unbidden, a voice spoke to her from somewhere deep inside.

What if he isn’t insane? What if he really means to go through with this?

Coldly, Kitiara considered his plan, looking at it carefully from all angles. What she saw horrified her. No. He could not win! And, worse, he would probably drag her down with him!

These thoughts passed through Kit’s mind swiftly, and none of them showed on her face. In fact, her smile grew only more charming. Many were the men who had died, that smile their last vision.

Raistlin might have been considering that as he looked at her intently. “You can be on a winning side for a change, my sister.”

Kitiara’s conviction wavered. If he could pull it off, it would be glorious! Glorious! Krynn would be hers.

Kit looked at the mage. Twenty-eight years ago, he had been a newborn baby, sick and weakly, a frail counterpart to his strong, robust twin brother.

“Let ’im die. ’Twill be best in the long run,” the midwife had said. Kitiara had been a teenager then. Appalled, she heard her mother weepingly agree.

But Kitiara had refused. Something within her rose to the challenge. The baby would live! She would make him live, whether he wanted to or not. “My first fight,” she used to tell people proudly, “was with the gods. And I won!”

And now! Kitiara studied him. She saw the man. She saw—in her mind’s eye—that whining, puking baby. Abruptly, she turned away.

“I must get back,” she said, pulling on her gloves. “You will contact me upon your return?”

“If I am successful, there will be no need to contact you,” Raistlin said softly. “You will know!”

Kitiara almost sneered but caught herself quickly. Glancing at Lord Soth, she prepared to leave the room. “Farewell then, my brother.” Controlled as she was, she could not keep an edge of anger from her voice. “I am sorry you do not share my desire for the good things of this life! We could have done much together, you and I!”

“Farewell, Kitiara,” Raistlin said, his thin hand summoning the shadowy forms of those who served him to show his guests to the door. “Oh, by the way,” he added as Kit stood in the doorway, “I owe you my life, dear sister. At least, so I have been told. I just wanted to let you know that—with the death of Lord Ariakas, who would, undoubtedly, have killed you—I consider my debt paid. I owe you nothing!”

Kitiara stared into the mage’s golden eyes, seeking threat, promise, what? But there was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. And then, in an instant, Raistlin spoke a word of magic and vanished from her sight.

The way out of Shoikan Grove was not difficult. The guardians had no care for those who left the Tower. Kitiara and Lord Soth walked together, the death knight moving soundlessly through the Grove, his feet leaving no impression on the leaves that lay dead and decaying on the ground. Spring did not come to Shoikan Grove.

Kitiara did not speak until they had passed the outer perimeter of trees and once more stood upon the solid paving stones of the city of Palanthas. The sun was rising, the sky brightening from its deep night blue to a pale gray. Here and there, those Palanthians whose business called for them to rise early were waking. Far down the street, past the abandoned buildings that surrounded the Tower, Kitiara could hear marching feet, the changing of the watch upon the wall. She was among the living once again.

She drew a deep breath, then, “He must be stopped,” she said to Lord Soth.

The death knight made no comment, one way or the other.

“It will not be easy, I know,” Kitiara said, drawing the dragonhelm over her head and walking rapidly toward Skie, who had reared his head in triumph at her approach. Patting her dragon lovingly upon his neck, Kitiara turned to face the death knight.

“But we do not have to confront Raistlin directly. His scheme hinges upon Lady Crysania. Remove her, and we stop him. He need never know I had anything to do with it, in fact. Many have died, trying to enter the Forest of Wayreth. Isn’t that so?”

Lord Soth nodded, his flaming eyes flaring slightly.

“You handle it. Make it appear to be... fate,” Kitiara said. “My little brother believes in that, apparently.” She mounted her dragon. “When he was small, I taught him that to refuse to do my bidding meant a whipping. It seems he must learn that lesson again!”

At her command, Skie’s powerful hind legs dug into the pavement, cracking and breaking the stones. He leaped into the air, spread his wings, and soared into the morning sky. The people of Palanthas felt a shadow lift from their hearts, but that was all they knew. Few saw the dragon or its rider leave.

Lord Soth remained standing upon the fringes of Shoikan Grove.

“I, too, believe in fate, Kitiara,” the death knight murmured. “The fate a man makes himself.”