Margaret Weis: Time of the Twins

“It is fitting that you escort her, Tanis,” said the now-frail cleric. “In many ways, she begins a journey much like your own years ago—seeking self-knowledge. No, you are right, she doesn’t know this herself yet.” This in answer to Tanis’s dubious look. “She walks forward with her gaze fixed upon the heavens.” Elistan smiled sadly. “She has not yet learned that, in so doing, one will surely stumble. Unless she learns, her fall may be hard.” Shaking his head, he murmured a soft prayer. “But we must put our trust in Paladine.”

Tanis had frowned then and he frowned now, thinking about it. Though he had come to a strong belief in the true gods—more through Laurana’s love and faith in them than anything else—he felt uncomfortable trusting his life to them, and he grew impatient with those like Elistan who, it seemed, placed too great a burden upon the gods. Let man be responsible for himself for a change, Tanis thought irritably.

“What is it, Tanis?” Crysania asked coldly.

Realizing he had been staring at her all this while, Tanis coughed in embarrassment, cleared his throat, and looked away. Fortunately, the boy returned for Crysania’s horse at this moment, sparing Tanis the need to answer. He gestured at the Inn, and the two walked toward it.

“Actually,” Tanis said when the silence grew awkward, “I would like nothing better than to stay here and visit with my friends. But I have to be in Qualinesti the day after tomorrow, and only by hard riding will I arrive in time. My relations with my brother-in-law are not such that I can afford to offend him by missing Solostaran’s funeral.” He added with a grim smile, “Both politically and personally, if you take my meaning.”

Crysania smiled in turn, but—Tanis saw—it was not a smile of understanding. It was a smile of tolerance, as if this talk of politics and family were beneath her.

They had reached the door to the Inn. “Besides,” Tanis added softly, “I miss Laurana. Funny, isn’t it. When she is near and we’re busy about our own tasks, we’ll sometimes go for days with just a quick smile or a touch and then we disappear into our worlds. But when I’m far away from her, it’s like I suddenly awaken to find my right arm cut off. I may not go to bed thinking of my right arm, but when it is gone...”

Tanis stopped abruptly, feeling foolish, afraid he sounded like a lovesick adolescent. But Crysania, he realized, was apparently not paying the least bit of attention to him. Her smooth, marble face had grown, if anything, more cold until the moon’s silver light seemed warm by comparison. Shaking his head, Tanis pushed open the door.

I don’t envy Caramon and Riverwind, he thought grimly.

The warm, familiar sounds and smells of the Inn washed over Tanis and, for long moments, everything was a blur. Here was Otik, older and fatter, if possible, leaning upon a cane and pounding him on the back. Here were people he had not seen in years, who had never had much to do with him before, now shaking his hand and claiming his friendship. Here was the old bar, still brightly polished, and somehow he managed to step on a gully dwarf...

And then there was a tall man cloaked in furs, and Tanis was clasped inside his friend’s warm embrace.

“Riverwind,” he whispered huskily, holding onto the Plainsman tightly.

“My brother,” Riverwind said in Que-shu, the language of his people. The crowd in the Inn was cheering wildly, but Tanis didn’t hear them, because a woman with flaming red hair and a smattering of freckles had her hand upon his arm. Reaching out, still holding fast to Riverwind, Tanis gathered Tika into their embrace and for long moments the three friends clung to each other—bound together by sorrow and pain and glory.

Riverwind brought them to their senses. Unaccustomed to such public displays of emotion, the tall Plainsman regained his composure with a gruff cough and stood back, blinking his eyes rapidly and frowning at the ceiling until he was master of himself again. Tanis, his reddish beard wet with his own tears, gave Tika another swift hug, then looked around.

“Where’s that big lummox of a husband of yours?” he asked cheerfully. “Where’s Caramon?”

It was a simple question, and Tanis was totally unprepared for the response. The crowd fell completely silent; it seemed as if someone had shut them all up in a barrel. Tika’s face flushed an ugly red, she muttered something unintelligible, and, bending down, dragged a gully dwarf up off the floor and shook him so his teeth rattled in his head.

Startled, Tanis looked at Riverwind, but the Plainsman only shrugged and raised his dark eyebrows. The half-elf turned to ask Tika what was going on, but just then felt a cool touch upon his arm. Crysania! He had completely forgotten her!

His own face flushing, he made his belated introductions.

“May I present Crysania of Tarinius, Revered Daughter of Paladine,” Tanis said formally. “Lady Crysania, Riverwind, Chieftain of the Plainsmen, and Tika Waylan Majere.”

Crysania untied her traveling cloak and drew back her hood. As she did so, the platinum medallion she wore around her neck flashed in the bright candlelight of the Inn. The woman’s pure white lamb’s wool robes peeped through the folds of her cloak. A murmur—both reverent and respectful—went through the crowd.

“A holy cleric!”

“Did you catch her name? Crysania! Next in line...”

“Elistan’s successor...”

Crysania inclined her head. Riverwind bowed from the waist, his face solemn, and Tika, her own face still so flushed she appeared feverish, shoved Raf hurriedly behind the bar, then made a deep curtsey.

At the sound of Tika’s married name, Majere, Crysania glanced at Tanis questioningly and received his nod in return.

“I am honored,” Crysania said in her rich, cool voice, “to meet two whose deeds of courage shine as an example to us all.”

Tika flushed in pleased embarrassment. Riverwind’s stern face did not change expression, but Tanis saw how much the cleric’s praise meant to the deeply religious Plainsman. As for the crowd, they cheered boisterously at this honor to their own and kept on cheering. Otik, with all due ceremony, led his guests to a waiting table, beaming on the heroes as if he had arranged the entire war especially for their benefit.

Sitting down, Tanis at first felt disturbed by the confusion and noise but soon decided it was beneficial. At least he could talk to Riverwind without fear of being overheard. But first, he had to find out—where was Caramon?

Once again, he started to ask, but Tika—after seeing them seated and fussing over Crysania like a mother hen—saw him open his mouth and, turning abruptly, disappeared into the kitchen.

Tanis shook his head, puzzled, but before he could think about it further, Riverwind was asking him questions. The two were soon deeply involved in talk.

“Everyone thinks the war is over,” Tanis said, sighing. “And that places us in worse danger than before. Alliances between elves and humans that were strong when times were dark are beginning to melt in the sun. Laurana’s in Qualinesti now, attending the funeral of her father and also trying to arrange an agreement with that stiff-necked brother of hers, Porthios, and the Knights of Solamnia. The only ray of hope we have is in Porthios’s wife, Alhana Starbreeze.” Tanis smiled. “I never thought I would live to see that elfwoman not only tolerant of humans and other races, but even warmly supporting them to her intolerant husband.”

“A strange marriage,” Riverwind commented, and Tanis nodded in agreement. Both men’s thoughts were with their friend, the knight, Sturm Brightblade, now lying dead—hero of the High Clerist’s Tower. Both knew Alhana’s heart had been buried there in the darkness with Sturm.