Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

She even took time to look around the bedroom, and she couldn’t help but admire its beauty and splendor. But she did think, however, that it seemed rather out of place in a Temple devoted to the gods, if that was truly where she was. Her bedroom in her parent’s home in Palanthas had not been half so splendid, and it had been furnished with every luxury money could buy.

Her mind went suddenly to what Raistlin had shown her—the poverty and want so near the Temple—and she flushed uncomfortably.

“Perhaps this is a guest room,” Crysania said to herself, speaking out loud, finding the familiar sound of her own voice comforting. “After all, the guest rooms in our new Temple are certainly designed to make our guests comfortable. Still”—she frowned, her gaze going to a costly golden statue of a dryad, holding a candle in her golden hands—“that is extravagant. It would feed a family for months.”

How thankful she was he couldn’t see this! She would speak to the Head of this Order, whoever he was. (Surely she must have been mistaken, thinking he said he was the Kingpriest!)

Having made up her mind to action, feeling her head clear, Crysania removed the night clothes she had been wearing and put on the white robes she found laid out neatly at the foot of her bed.

What quaint, old-fashioned robes, she noticed, slipping them over her head. Not at all like the plain, austere white robes worn by those of her Order in Palanthas. These were heavily decorated. Golden thread sparkled on the sleeves and hem, crimson and purple ribbon ornamented the front, and a heavy golden belt gathered the folds around her slender waist. More extravagance. Crysania bit her lip in displeasure, but she also took a peep at herself in a gilt-framed mirror. It certainly was becoming, she had to admit, smoothing the folds of the gown.

It was then that she felt the note in her pocket.

Reaching inside, she pulled out a piece of rice paper that had been folded into quarters. Staring at it curiously, wondering idly if the owner of the robes had left it by accident, she was startled to see it addressed to herself. Puzzled, she opened it.

Lady Crysania, I knew you intended to seek my help in returning to the past in an effort to prevent the young mage, Raistlin, from carrying out the evil he plots. Upon your way to us, however, you were attacked by a death knight. To save you, Paladine took your soul to his heavenly dwelling. There are none among us now, even Elistan himself, who can bring you back. Only those clerics living at the time of the Kingpriest have this power. So we have sent you back in time to Istar, right before the Cataclysm, in the company of Raistlin’s brother, Caramon. We send you to fulfill a twofold purpose. First, to heal you of your grievous wound and, second, to allow you to try to succeed in your efforts to save the young mage from himself.

If, in this, you see the workings of the gods, perhaps then you may consider your efforts blessed. I would counsel only this—that the gods work in ways strange to mortal men, since we can see only that part of the picture being painted around us. I had hoped to discuss this with you personally, before you left, but that proved impossible. I can only caution you of one thing—beware of Raistlin.

You are virtuous, steadfast in your faith, and proud of both your virtue and your faith. This is a deadly combination, my dear. He will take full advantage of it.

Remember this, too. You and Caramon have gone back in dangerous times. The days of the Kingpriest are numbered. Caramon is on a mission that could prove dangerous to his life.

But you, Crysania, are in danger of both your life and your soul. I foresee that you will be forced to choose—to save one, you must give up the other. There are many ways for you to leave this time period, one of which is through Caramon. May Paladine be with you.

Crysania sank down on the bed, her knees giving way beneath her. The hand that held the letter trembled. Dazedly, she stared at it, reading it over and over without comprehending the words. After a few moments, however, she grew calmer and forced herself to go over each word, reading one sentence at a time until she was certain she had grasped the meaning.

This took nearly a half hour of reading and pondering. At last she believed she understood. Or at least most of it. The memory of why she had been journeying to the Forest of Wayreft returned. So, Par-Salian had known. He had been expecting her. All the better. And he was right—the attack by the death knight had obviously been an example of Paladine’s intervention, insuring that she come back here to the past. As for that remark about her faith and her virtue—!

Crysania rose to her feet. Her pale face was fixed in firm resolve, there was a faint spot of color in each cheek, and her eyes glittered in anger. She was only sorry she had not been able to confront him with that in person! How dare he?

Her lips drawn into a tight, straight line, Crysania refolded the note, drawing her fingers across it swiftly, as though she would like to tear it apart. A small golden box—the kind of box used by ladies of the court to hold their jewelry—stood on the dressing table beside the gilt-edged mirror and the brush. Picking up the box, Crysania withdrew the small key from the lock, thrust the letter inside, and snapped the lid shut. She inserted the key, twisted it, and heard the lock click. Dropping the key into the pocket where she had found the note, Crysania looked once more into the mirror.

She smoothed the black hair back from her face, drew up the hood of her robe, and draped it over her head. Noticing the flush on her cheeks, Crysania forced herself to relax, allow her anger to seep away. The old mage meant well, after all, she reminded herself. And how could one of magic possibly understand one of faith? She could rise above petty anger. She was, after all, hovering on the edge of her moment of greatness. Paladine was with her. She could almost sense his presence. And the man she had met was truly the Kingpriest!

She smiled, remembering the feeling of goodness he had inspired. How could he have been responsible for the Cataclysm? No, her soul refused to believe it. History must have maligned him. True, she had been with him for only a few seconds, but a man so beautiful, so good and holy—responsible for such death and destruction? It was impossible! Perhaps she would be able to vindicate him. Perhaps that was another reason Paladine had sent her back here—to discover the truth!

Joy filled Crysania’s soul. And, at that moment, she heard her joy answered, it seemed, in the pealing of the bells ringing for Morning Prayers. The beauty of the music brought tears to her eyes. Her heart bursting with excitement and happiness, Crysania left her room and hurried out into the magnificent corridors, nearly running into Elsa.

“In the name of the gods,” exclaimed Elsa in astonishment, “can it be possible? How are you feeling?”

“I am feeling much better, Revered Daughter,” Crysania said in some confusion, remembering that what they had heard her say earlier must have seemed to be wild and incoherent ramblings. “As—as though I had awakened from a strange and vivid dream.”

“Paladine be praised,” murmured Elsa, regarding Crysania with narrowed eyes and a sharp, penetrating gaze.

“I have not neglected to do so, you may be certain,” said Crysania sincerely. In her own joy, she did not notice the elf woman’s odd look. “Were you going to Morning Prayers’? If so, may I accompany you?” She looked around the splendid building in awe. “I fear it will be some time before I learn my way around.”

“Of course,” Elsa said, recovering herself. “This way.” They started back down the corridor. “I was also concerned about the—the young man who was... was found with me,” Crysania stammered, suddenly remembering she knew very little about the circumstances regarding her appearance in this time.