Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

“Washit?” he mumbled, trying to focus his eyes.

“Draconians!” Tasslehoff screeched, hopping around like a small demon, waving his firebrand and his knife with such vigor that he actually succeeded in keeping his enemies at bay.

“Draconians?” Caramon muttered, staring around in disbelief. Then he caught a glimpse of a twisted reptilian face in the light of the dying fire. His eyes opened wide. “Draconians!” he snarled. “Tanis! Sturm! Come to me! Raistlin—your magic! We’ll take them.”

Yanking his sword from its scabbard, Caramon plunged ahead with a rumbling battle cry—and fell flat on his face.

Bupu clung to his foot.

“Oh, no!” Tas groaned.

Caramon lay on the ground, blinking and shaking his head in wonder, trying to figure out what hit him. Bupu, rudely awakened, began to howl in terror and pain, then bit Caramon on the ankle.

Tas started forward to help the fallen warrior—at least drag Bupu off him—when he heard a cry. Lady Crysania! Damn! He’d forgotten about her! Whirling around, he saw the cleric struggling with one of the dragonmen.

Tas hurtled forward and stabbed viciously at the draconian. With a shriek, it let loose of Crysania and fell backward, its body turning to stone at Tas’s feet. Just in time, the kender remembered to retrieve his knife or the stony corpse would have kept it fast.

Tas dragged Crysania back with him toward the fallen Caramon, who was trying to shake the gully dwarf off his leg. The draconians closed in. Glancing about feverishly, Tas saw they were surrounded by the creatures. But why weren’t they attacking full force? What were they waiting for?

“Are you all right?” he managed to ask Crysania.

“Yes,” she said. Though very pale, she appeared calm and—if frightened—was keeping her fear under control. Tas saw her lips move—presumably in silent prayer. The kender’s own lips tightened.

“Here, lady,” he said, shoving the firebrand in her hand. “I guess you’re going to have to fight and pray at the same time.”

“Elistan did. So can I,” Crysania said, her voice shaking only slightly.

Shouted commands rang out from the shadows. The voice wasn’t draconian. Tas couldn’t make it out. He only knew that just hearing it gave him cold chills. But there wasn’t time to wonder about it. The draconians, their tongues flicking out of their mouths, jumped for them. Crysania lashed out with the smoldering brand clumsily, but it was enough to make the draconians hesitate. Tas was still trying to pry Bupu off Caramon. But it was a draconian who, inadvertantly, came to their aid. Shoving Tas backward, the dragonman laid a clawed hand on Bupu.

Gully dwarves are noted throughout Krynn for their extreme cowardice and total unreliability in battle. But—when driven into a corner—they can fight like rabid rats.

“Glupsludge!” Bupu screamed in anger and, turning from gnawing on Caramon’s ankle, she sank her teeth into the scaly hide of the draconian’s leg.

Bupu didn’t have many teeth, but what she did have were sharp, and she bit into the draconian’s green flesh with a relish occasioned by the fact that she hadn’t eaten much dinner.

The draconian gave a hideous yell. Raising its sword, it was about to end Bupu’s days upon Krynn when Caramon—bumbling around trying to see what was going on—accidentally sliced off the creature’s arm. Bupu sat back, licking her lips, and looked about eagerly for another victim.

“Hurrah! Caramon!” Tas cheered wildly, his small knife stabbing here and there as swiftly as a striking snake. Lady Crysania smashed one draconian with her firebrand, crying out the name of Paladine. The creature pitched over.

There were only two or three draconians still standing that Tas could see, and the kender began to feel elated. The creatures lurked just outside the firelight, eyeing the big warrior, Caramon, warily as he staggered to his feet. Seen only in the shadows, he still cut the menacing figure he had in the old days. His sword blade gleamed wickedly in the red flames.

“Get ’em, Caramon!” Tas yelled shrilly. “Clunk their heads—”

The kender’s voice died as Caramon turned slowly to face him, a strange look on his face.

“I’m not Caramon,” he said softly. “I’m his twin, Raistlin. Caramon’s dead. I killed him.” Glancing down at the sword in his hand, the big warrior dropped it as if it stung him. “What am I doing with cold steel in my hands?” he asked harshly. “I can’t cast spells with a sword and shield!”

Tasslehoff choked, casting an alarmed glance at the draconians. He could see them exchanging shrewd looks. They began to move forward slowly, though they all kept their gazes fixed upon the big warrior, probably suspecting a trap of some sort.

“You’re not Raistlin! You’re Caramon!” Tas cried in desperation, but it was no use. The man’s brain was still pickled in dwarf spirits. His mind completely unhinged, Caramon closed his eyes, lifted his hands, and began to chant.

“Antsnests silverash bookarah,” he murmured, weaving back and forth.

The grinning face of a draconian loomed up before Tas. There was a flash of steel, and the kender’s head seemed to explode in pain...

Tas was on the ground. Warm liquid was running down his face, blinding him in one eye, trickling into his mouth. He tasted blood. He was tired... very tired...

But the pain was awful. It wouldn’t let him sleep. He was afraid to move his head, afraid if he did it might separate into two pieces. And so he lay perfectly still, watching the world from one eye.

He heard the gully dwarf screaming on and on, like a tortured animal, and then the screams suddenly ended. He heard a deep cry of pain, a smothered groan, and a large body crashed to the ground beside him. It was Caramon, blood flowing from his mouth, his eyes wide open and staring.

Tas couldn’t feel sad. He couldn’t feel anything except the terrible pain in his head. A huge draconian stood over him, sword in hand. He knew that the creature was going to finish him off. Tas didn’t care. End the pain, he pleaded. End it quickly.

Then there was a flurry of white robes and a clear voice calling upon Paladine. The draconian disappeared abruptly with the sound of clawed feet scrambling through the brush. The white robes knelt beside him, Tas felt the touch of a gentle hand upon his head, and heard the name of Paladine again. The pain vanished. Looking up, he saw the cleric’s hand touch Caramon, saw the big man’s eyelids flutter and close in peaceful sleep.

It’s all right! Tas thought in elation. They’ve gone! We’re going to be all right. Then he felt the hand tremble. Regaining some of his senses as the cleric’s healing powers flooded through his body, the kender raised his head, peering ahead with his good eye.

Something was coming. Something had called off the draconians. Something was walking into the light of the fire.

Tas tried to cry out a warning, but his throat closed. His mind tumbled over and over. For a moment, too frightened and dizzy to think clearly, he thought someone had mixed up adventures on him.

He saw Lady Crysania rise to her feet, her white robes sweeping the dirt near his head. Slowly, she began backing away from the thing that stalked her. Tas heard her call to Paladine, but the words fell from lips stiff with terror.

Tas himself wanted desperately to close his eyes. Fear and curiosity warred in his small body. Curiosity won out. Peering out of his one good eye, Tas watched the horrible figure draw nearer and nearer to the cleric. The figure was dressed in the armor of a Solamnic Knight, but that armor was burned and blackened. As it drew near Crysania, the figure stretched forth an arm that did not end in a hand. It spoke words that did not come from a mouth. Its eyes flared orange, its transparent legs strode right through the smoldering ashes of the fire. The chill of the regions where it was forced to eternally dwell flowed from its body, freezing the very marrow in Tas’s bones.