Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

“You listening?” Bupu asked, panting along after him.

“No,” Tas said, sighing.

“Why not?”

“You told me not to!” Tas shouted in exasperation.

“But how you know when to no listen if you no listen?” Bupu demanded angrily. “You try to steal secret magic word! Me go home.”

The gully dwarf came to a dead stop, turned around, and trotted back down the path. Tas skidded to a halt. He could see Caramon now, clinging to a tree, conjuring up a host of dragons, by the sounds of it. The big man looked like he would stay put for a while at least. Cursing under his breath, the kender turned and ran after the gully dwarf.

“Stop, Bupu!” he cried frantically, catching hold of a handful of filthy rags that he mistook for her shoulder. “I swear, I’d never steal your secret magic word!”

“You stole it!” she shrieked, waving the dead rat at him. “You said it!”

“Said what?” Tasslehoff asked, completely baffled.

“Secret magic word! You say!” Bupu screamed in outrage.

“Here! Look!” Holding out the dead rat, she pointed ahead of them, down the trail, and yelled, “I say secret magic word now—secret magic word! There. Now we see some hot magic.”

Tas put his hand to his head. He felt giddy.

“Look! Look!” Bupu shouted in triumph, pointing a grubby finger. “See? I start fire. Secret magic word never fail. Umphf. Some bad magic-user—him.”

Glancing down the path, Tas blinked. There were flames visible ahead of them on the trail.

“I’m definitely going back to Kenderhome,” Tas mused quietly to himself. “I’ll get a little house... or maybe move in with the folks for a few months until I feel better.”

“Who’s out there?” called a clear, crystalline voice.

Relief flooded over Tasslehoff. “It’s a campfire!” he babbled, nearly hysterical with joy. And the voice! He hurried foward, running through the darkness toward the light. “It’s me—Tasslehoff Burrfoot. I’ve—oof!”

The “oof” was occasioned by Caramon plucking the kender off of his feet, lifting him in his strong arms, and clapping his hand over Tas’s mouth.

“Shhhh,” whispered Caramon close to Tas’s ear. The fumes from his breath made the kender’s head swim. “There’s shomeone out there!”

“Mpf blsxtchscat!” Tas wriggled frantically, trying to loosen Caramon’s hold. The kender was slowly being smothered to death.

“That’s who I thought it was,” Caramon whispered, nodding to himself solemnly as his hand clamped even more firmly over the kender’s mouth.

Tas began to see bright blue stars. He fought desperately, tearing at Caramon’s hands with all his strength, but it would have been the end of the kender’s brief but exciting life had not Bupu suddenly appeared at Caramon’s feet.

“Secret magic word!” she shrieked, thrusting the dead rat into Caramon’s face. The distant firelight was reflected in the corpse’s black eyes and glittered off the sharp teeth fixed in a perpetual grin.

“Ayiii!” Caramon screamed and dropped the kender. Tas fell heavily to the ground, gasping for breath.

“What is going on out there?” said a cold voice.

“We’ve come... to rescue you...” said Tasslehoff, standing up dizzily.

A white-robed figure cloaked in furs appeared on the path in front of them. Bupu looked up at it in deep suspicion.

“Secret magic word,” said the gully dwarf, waving the dead rat at the Revered Daughter of Paladine.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not wildly grateful,” said Lady Crysania to Tasslehoff as they sat around the fire later that evening.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Tasslehoff said, sitting hunched in misery on the ground. “I made a mess of things. I generally do,” he continued woefully. “Ask anyone. I’ve often been told I drive people crazy—but this is the first time I ever did it for real!”

Snuffling, the kender’ cast an anxious gaze at Caramon. The big man sat near the fire, huddled in his cape. Still under the influence of the potent dwarf spirits, he was now sometimes Caramon and sometimes Raistlin. As Caramon, he ate voraciously, cramming food into his mouth with gusto. He then regaled them with several bawdy ballads—to the delight of Bupu, who clapped along out of time and came in strong on the choruses. Tas was torn by a strong desire to giggle wildly or crawl beneath a rock and die in shame.

But, the kender decided with a shudder, he would take Caramon—bawdy songs and all—over Caramon/Raistlin. The transformation occurred suddenly, right in the middle of a song, in fact. The big man’s frame collapsed, he began to cough, then—looking at them with narrow eyes—he coldly ordered himself to shut up.

“You didn’t do this to him,” Lady Crysania said to Tas, regarding Caramon with a cool gaze. “It is the drink. He is gross, thick-headed, and obviously lacking in self-control. He has let his appetites rule him. Odd, isn’t it, that he and Raistlin are twins’? His brother is so much in control, so disciplined, intelligent, and refined.”

She shrugged. “Oh, there is no doubt this poor man is to be greatly pitied.” Standing up, she walked over to where her horse was tethered and began to unstrap her bedroll from its place behind her saddle. “I shall remember him in my prayers to Paladine.”

“I’m sure prayers won’t hurt,” Tas said dubiously, “but I think some strong tarbean tea might be better just now.”

Lady Crysania turned and regarded the kender with a reproving stare. “I am certain you did not mean to blaspheme. Therefore I will take your statement in the sense it was uttered. Do endeavor to look at things with a more serious attitude, however.”

“I was serious,” Tas protested. “All Caramon needs is a few mugs of good, thick tarbean tea—”

Lady Crysania’s dark eyebrows rose so sharply that Tas fell silent, though he hadn’t the vaguest idea what he had said to upset her. He began to unpack his own blankets, his spirits just about as low as he could ever remember them being. He felt just as he had when he had ridden dragonback with Flint during the Battle of Estwilde Plains. The dragon had soared into the clouds, then it dove out, spinning round and round. For a few moments, up had been down, sky had been below, ground above, and then—whoosh! into a cloud, and everything was lost in the haze.

His mind felt just like it did then. Lady Crysania admired Raistlin and pitied Caramon. Tas wasn’t certain, but that seemed all backward. Then there was Caramon who was Caramon and then wasn’t Caramon. Inns that were there one minute and gone the next. A secret magic word he was supposed to listen for so he’d know when not to listen. Then he’d made a perfectly logical, common-sense suggestion about tarbean tea and been reprimanded for blasphemy!

“After all,” he mumbled to himself, jerking at his blankets, “Paladine and I are close personal friends. He’d know what I meant.”

Sighing, the kender pillowed his head upon a rolled-up cloak. Bupu—now quite convinced that Caramon was Raistlin—was sound asleep, curled up with her head resting adoringly on the big man’s foot. Caramon himself was sitting quietly now, his eyes closed, humming a song to himself. Occasionally he would cough, and once he demanded in a loud voice that Tas bring him his spellbook so that he could study his magic. But he seemed peaceful enough. Tas hoped he would soon dose and sleep off the effects of the dwarf spirits.

The fire burned low. Lady Crysania spread out her blankets on a bed of pine needles she had gathered to keep out the damp. Tas yawned. She was certainly getting on better than he’d expected. She had chosen a good, sensible location to make camp—near the trail, a stream of clear running water close by. Just as well not to have to wander too far in these dark and spooky woods—