Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

The two walked the streets openly, to Caramon’s vast discomfort. But the kender seemed unperturbed. Unusually moody and silent, Tas continually ignored Caramon’s repeated questions. They drew nearer and nearer the Temple. It loomed before them in all its pearl and silver radiance, and finally Caramon stopped.

“Wait a minute, Tas,” he said softly, pulling the kender into a shadowy corner, “just how do you plan to get us in here?”

“Through the front doors,” Tas answered quietly.

“The front doors?” Caramon repeated in blank astonishment. “Are you mad? The guards! They’ll stop us—”

“It’s a Temple, Caramon,” Tas said with a sigh. “A Temple to the gods. Evil things just don’t enter.”

“Fistandantilus enters,” Caramon said gruffly.

“But only because the Kingpriest allows it,” Tas said, shrugging. “Otherwise, he couldn’t get in here. The gods wouldn’t permit it. At least that’s what one of the clerics told me when I asked.”

Caramon frowned. The dagger in his belt seemed heavy, the metal was hot against his skin. Just his imagination, he told himself. After all, he’d worn daggers before. Reaching beneath his cloak, he touched it reassuringly. Then, his lips pressed tightly together, he started walking toward the Temple. After a moment’s hesitation, Tas caught up with him.

“Caramon,” said the kender in a small voice, “I-I think I know what you were thinking. I’ve been thinking the same thing. What if the gods won’t let us in’”

“We’re out to destroy evil,” Caramon said evenly, his hand on the dagger’s hilt. “They’ll help us, not hinder us. You’ll see.”

“But, Caramon—” Now it was Tas’s turn to ask questions and Caramon’s turn to grimly ignore him. Eventually, they reached the magnificent steps leading up to the Temple. Caramon stopped, staring at the building. Seven towers rose to the heavens, as if praising the gods for their creation. But one spiraled above them all. Gleaming in Solinari’s light, it seemed not to praise the gods but sought to rival them. The beauty of the Temple, its pearl and rose-colored marble gleaming softly in the moonlight, its still pools of water reflecting the stars, its vast gardens of lovely, fragrant flowers, its ornamentation of silver and of gold, all took Caramon’s breath away, piercing his heart. He could not move but was held as though spellbound by the wonder.

And then, in the back of his mind, came a lurking feeling of horror. He had seen this before! Only he had seen it in a nightmare—the towers twisted and misshapen... Confused, he closed his eyes. Where? How? Then, it came to him. The Temple at Neraka, where he’d been imprisoned! The Temple of the Queen of Darkness! It had been this very Temple, perverted by her evil, corrupted, turned to a thing of horror. Caramon trembled. Overwhelmed by this terrible memory, wondering at its portent, he thought for a moment of turning around and fleeing.

Then he felt Tas tug at his arm. “Keep moving!” the kender ordered. “You look suspicious!”

Caramon shook his head, clearing it of stupid memories that meant nothing, he told himself. The two approached the guards at the door.

“Tas!” Caramon said suddenly, gripping the kender by the shoulder so tightly he squeaked in pain. “Tas, this is a test! If the gods let us in, I’ll know we’re doing the right thing! We’ll have their blessing!”

Tas paused. “Do you think so?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course!” Caramon’s eyes shone in Solinari’s bright light.

“You’ll see. Come on.” His confidence restored, the big man strode up the stairs. He was an imposing sight, the golden, silken cape fluttering about him, the golden helmet flashing in the moonlight. The guards stopped talking and turned to watch him. One nudged the other, saying something and making a swift, stabbing motion with his hand. The other guard grinned and shook his head, regarding Caramon with admiration.

Caramon knew immediately what the pantomime represented and he nearly stopped walking, feeling once again the warm blood splash over his hand and hearing the Barbarian’s last, choked words. But he had come too far to quit now. And, perhaps this too was a sign, he told himself. The Barbarian’s spirit, lingering near, anxious for its revenge.

Tas glanced up at him anxiously. “Better let me do the talking,” the kender whispered.

Caramon nodded, swallowing nervously.

“Greetings, gladiator,” called one of the guards. “You’re new to the Games, are you not? I was telling my companion on watch, here, that he missed a pretty fight today. Not only that, but you won me six silver pieces, as well. What is it you are called?”

“He’s the ‘Victor,’ ” Tas said glibly. “And today was just the beginning. He’s never been defeated in battle, and he never will be.”

“And who are you, little cutpurse? His manager?”

This was met by roars of laughter from the other guard and nervous high-pitched laughter from Caramon. Then he glanced down at Tas and knew immediately they were in trouble. Tas’s face was white. Cutpurse! The most dreadful insult, the worst thing in the world one could call a kender! Caramon’s big hand clapped over Tas’s mouth.

“Sure,” said Caramon, keeping a firm grip on the wriggling kender, “and a good one, too.”

“Well, keep an eye on him,” the other guard added, laughing even harder. “We want to see you slit throats—not pockets!”

Tasslehoff’s ears—the only part visible above Caramon’s wide hand—flushed scarlet. Incoherent sounds came from behind Caramon’s palm. “I-I think we better go on in,” the big warrior stammered, wondering how long he could hold Tas. “We’re late.”

The guards winked at each other knowingly, one of them shook his head in envy. “I saw the women watching you today,” he said, his gaze going to Caramon’s broad shoulders. “I should have known you’d be invited here for—uh—dinner.”

What were they talking about? Caramon’s puzzled look caused the guards to break out in renewed laughter.

“Name of the gods!” One sputtered. “Look at him! He is new!”

“Go ahead,” the other guard waved him on by. “Good appetite!”

More laughter. Flushing red, not knowing what to say and still trying to hold onto Tas, Caramon entered the Temple. But, as he walked, he heard crude jokes pass between the guards, giving him sudden clear insight into their meaning. Dragging the wriggling kender down a hallway, he darted around the first corner he came to. He hadn’t the vaguest idea where he was. Once the guards were out of sight and hearing, he let Tas go. The kender was pale, his eyes dilated.

“Why, those—those—I’ll—They’ll regret—”

“Tas!” Caramon shook him. “Stop it. Calm down. Remember why we’re here!”

“Cutpurse! As if I were a common thief!” Tas was practically frothing at the mouth. “I—”

Caramon glowered at him, and the kender choked. Getting control of himself, he drew a deep breath and let it out again slowly. “I’m all right, now,” he said sullenly. “I said I’m all right,” he snapped as Caramon continued to regard him dubiously.

“Well, we got inside, though not quite the way I expected,” Caramon muttered. “Did you hear what they were saying?”

“No, not after ‘cu—cut’... after that word. You had part of your hand over my ears,” Tas said accusingly.

“They... they sounded like... the ladies invited m-men here for—for... you know...”

“Look, Caramon,” Tas said, exasperated. “You got your sign. They let us in. They were probably just teasing you. You know how gullible you are. You’ll believe anything! Tika’s always saying so.”