Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

“I hope the little fool didn’t try to go out in this storm!” Caramon said to himself, his irritation changing to sudden concern. “He’d get blown back to Solace. Or maybe he’s in the mess hall, waiting for me. Maybe he’s with Kiiri and Pheragas. That’s it! I’ll just grab the device, then join him—”

Talking to himself, Caramon went over to the small, wooden chest where he kept his armor. Opening it, he took out the fancy, gold costume. Giving it a scornful glance, he tossed the pieces on the floor. “At least I won’t have to wear that get-up again,” he said thankfully. “Though”—he grinned somewhat shamefacedly—“it’d be fun to see Tika’s reaction when I put that on! Wouldn’t she laugh? But I’ll bet she’d like it, just the same.” Whistling cheerfully, Caramon quickly took everything out of the chest and, using the edge of one of the collapsible daggers, carefully prized up the false bottom he had built into it.

The whistle died on his lips.

The chest was empty.

Frantically, Caramon felt all over the inside of the chest, though it was quite obvious that a pendant as large as the magical device wouldn’t have been likely to slip through a crack. His heart beating wildly with fear, Caramon scrambled to his feet and began to search the room, flashing the torchlight into every corner, peering once more under the beds. He even ripped up his straw mattress and was starting to work on Tas’s when he suddenly noticed something.

Not only was the kender gone, but so were his pouches, all his beloved possessions. And so was his cloak.

And then Caramon knew. Tas had taken the device.

But why?... Caramon felt for a moment as if lightning had struck him, the sudden understanding sizzling his way from his brain to his body with a shock that paralyzed him.

Tas had seen Raistlin—he had told Caramon about that. But what had Tas been doing there? Why had he gone to see Raistlin? Caramon suddenly realized that the kender had skillfully steered the conversation away from that point.

Caramon groaned. The curious kender had, of course, questioned him about the device, but Tas had always seemed satisfied with Caramon’s answers. Certainly, he had never bothered it. Caramon checked, occasionally, to make sure it was still there—one did that as a matter of habit when living with a kender. But, if Tas had been curious enough about it, he would have taken it to Raistlin... He did that often in the old days, when he found something magical.

Or maybe Raistlin tricked Tas into bringing it to him! Once he had the device, Raistlin could force them to go with him. Had he been plotting this all along? Had he tricked Tas and deceived Crysania? Caramon’s mind stumbled about his head in confusion. Or maybe—

“Tas!” Caramon cried, suddenly latching onto firm, positive action. “I have to find Tas! I have to stop him!”

Feverishly, the big man grabbed up his soaking wet cloak. He was barreling out the door when a huge dark shadow blocked his path.

“Out of my way, Raag,” Caramon growled, completely forgetting, in his anxiety, where he was.

Raag reminded him instantly, his giant hand closing over Caramon’s huge shoulder. “Where go, slave?”

Caramon tried to shake off the ogre’s grip, but Raag’s hand simply tightened its grip. There was a crunching sound, and Caramon gasped in pain.

“Don’t hurt him, Raag,” came a voice from somewhere around Caramon’s kneecaps. “He’s got to fight tomorrow. What’s more, he’s got to win!”

Raag pushed Caramon back into the cell with as little effort as a grown man playfully tosses a child. The big warrior stumbled backward, falling heavily on the stone floor.

“You sure are busy today,” Arack said conversationally, entering the cell and plopping down on the bed.

Sitting up, Caramon rubbed his bruised shoulder. He cast a quick glance at Raag, who was still standing, blocking the door. Arack continued.

“You’ve already been out once in this foul weather, and now you’re heading out again?” The dwarf shook his head. “No, no. I can’t allow it. You might catch cold...”

“Hey,” Caramon said, grinning weakly and licking his dry lips. “I was just going to the mess hall to find Tas—” He cringed involuntarily as a bolt of lightning exploded outside. There was a cracking sound and a sudden odor of burning wood.

“Forget it. The kender left,” Arack said, shrugging, “and it looked to me like he left for good—had his stuff all packed.”

Caramon swallowed, clearing his throat. “Let me go find him then—” he began.

Arack’s grin twisted suddenly into a vicious scowl. “I don’t give a damn about the little bastard! I got my money’s worth outta him, I figure, in what he stole for me already. But you—I’ve got quite an investment in you. Your little escape plan’s failed, slave.”

“Escape?” Caramon laughed hollowly. “I never—You don’t understand—”

“So I don’t understand?” Arack snarled. “I don’t understand that you’ve been trying to get two of my best fighters to leave? Trying to ruin me, are you?” The dwarf’s voice rose to a shrill shriek above the howl of the wind outside. “Who put you up to this?” Arack’s expression became suddenly shrewd and cunning. “It wasn’t your master, so don’t lie. He’s been to see me.”

“Raist—er—Fist—Fistandantil—” Caramon stammered, his jaw dropping.

The dwarf smiled smugly. “Yeah. And Fistandantilus warned me you might try something like this. Said I should watch you carefully. He even suggested a fitting punishment for you. The final fight tomorrow will not be between your team and the minotaurs. It will be you against Kiiri and Pheragas and the Red Minotaur!” The dwarf leaned over, leering into Caramon’s face. “And their weapons will be real!”

Caramon stared at Arack uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then, “Why?” he murmured bleakly. “Why does he want to kill me?”

“Kill you?” The dwarf cackled. “He doesn’t want to kill you! He thinks you’ll win! ‘It’s a test,’ he says to me, ‘I don’t want a slave who isn’t the best! And this will prove it. Caramon showed me what he could do against the Barbarian. That was his first test. Let’s make this test harder on him,’ he says. Oh, he’s a rare one, your master!”

The dwarf chuckled, slapping his knees at the thought, and even Raag gave a grunt that might have been indicative of amusement.

“I won’t fight,” Caramon said, his face hardening into firm, grim lines. “Kill me! I won’t fight my friends. And they won’t fight me!”

“He said you’d say that!” The dwarf roared. “Didn’t he, Raag! The very words. By gar, he knows you! You’d think you two was kin! ‘So,’ he says to me, ‘if he refuses to fight, and he will, I have no doubt, then you tell him that his friends will fight in his stead, only they will fight the Red Minotaur and it will be the minotaur who has the real weapons.’”

Caramon remembered vividly the young man writhing in agony on the stone floor as the poison from the minotaur’s trident coursed through his body.

“As for your friends fighting you”—the dwarf sneered—“Fistandantilus took care of that, too. After what he told them, I think they’re gonna be real eager to get in the arena!”

Caramon’s head sank to his chest. He began to shake. His body convulsed with chills, his stomach wrenched. The enormity of his brother’s evil overwhelmed him, his mind filled with darkness and despair.

Raistlin has deceived us all, deceived Crysania, Tas, me! It was Raistlin who made me kill the Barbarian. He lied to me! And he’s lied to Crysania, too. He’s no more capable of loving her than the dark moon is capable of lighting the night skies. He’s using her! And Tas? Tas! Caramon closed his eyes. He remembered Raistlin’s look when he discovered the kender, his words—“kender can alter time... is this how they plan to stop me?” Tas was a danger to him, a threat! He had no doubt, now, where Tas had gone...