Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“Get a grip on the impatient human half of your nature, Half-Elven,” Astinus remarked, still writing in firm, black strokes. “And you, Dark Elf, begin at the beginning instead of in the middle.”

“Or the end, as the case may be,” Elistan remarked in a low voice.

Moistening his lips with the wine, Dalamar—his gaze still on the fire—related the strange tale that Tanis, up until now, had only known in part. Much the half-elf could have guessed, much astounded him, much filled him with horror.

“Lady Crysania was captivated by Raistlin. And, if the truth be told, he was attracted to her, I believe. Who can tell with him? Ice water is too hot to run in his veins. Who knows how long he has plotted this, dreamed of this? But, at last, he was ready. He planned a journey, back in time, to seek the one thing he lacked—the knowledge of the greatest wizard who has ever lived—Fistandantilus.

“He set a trap for Lady Crysania, planning to lure her back in time with him, as well as his twin brother—”

“Caramon?” asked Tanis in astonishment.

Dalamar ignored him. “But something unforeseen occurred. The Shalafi’s half-sister, Kitiara, a Dragon Highlord...”

Blood pounded in Tanis’s head, dimming his vision and obscuring his hearing. He felt that same blood pulse in his face. He had the feeling his skin might be burning to the touch, so hot was it. Kitiara!

She stood before him, dark eyes flashing,—dark hair curling about her face, her lips slightly parted in that charming, crooked smile, the light gleaming off her armor... .

She looked down on him from the back of her blue dragon, surrounded by her minions, lordly and powerful, strong and ruthless...

She lay in his arms, languishing, loving, laughing...

Tanis sensed, though he could not see, Elistan’s sympathetic but pitying gaze. He shrank from the stern, knowing look of Astinus. Wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shame, his own wretchedness, Tanis did not notice that Dalamar, too, was having trouble with his countenance which was pale, rather than flushed. He did not hear the dark elf’s voice quiver when he spoke the woman’s name.

After a struggle, Tanis regained control of himself and was able to continue listening. But he felt, once again, that old pain in his heart, the pain he had thought forever vanished. He was happy with Laurana. He loved her more deeply and tenderly than he had supposed it possible for a man to love a woman. He was at peace with himself. His life was rich, full. And now he was astonished to discover the darkness still inside of him, the darkness he thought he had banished forever.

“At Kitiara’s command, the death knight, Lord Soth, cast a spell upon Lady Crysania, a spell that should have killed her. But Paladine interceded. He took her soul to dwell with him, leaving the shell of her body behind. I thought the Shalafi was defeated. But, no. He turned this betrayal of his sister’s into an advantage. His twin brother, Caramon, and the kender, Tasslehoff, took Lady Crysania to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, hoping that the mages would be able to cure her. They could not, of course, as Raistlin well knew. They could only send her back in time to the one period in the history of Krynn when there lived a Kingpriest powerful enough to call upon Paladine to restore the woman’s soul to her body. And this, of course, was exactly what Raistlin wanted.”

Dalamar’s fist clenched. “I told the mages so! Fools! I told them they were playing right into his hands.”

“You told them?” Tanis felt master of himself enough now to ask this question. “You betrayed him, your Shalafi?” He snorted in disbelief.

“It is a dangerous game I play, Half-Elven.” Dalamar looked at him now, his eyes alight from within, like the burning embers of the fire. “I am a spy, sent by the Conclave of Mages to watch Raistlin’s every move. Yes, you may well look astonished. They fear him—all of the Orders fear him, the White, the Red, the Black. Most especially the Black, for we know what our fate will be should he rise to power.”

As Tanis stared, the dark elf lifted his hand and slowly parted the front closure of his black robes, laying bare his breast. Five oozing wounds marred the surface of the dark elf’s smooth skin. “The mark of his hand,” Dalamar said in an expressionless tone. “My reward for my treachery.”

Tanis could see Raistlin laying those thin, golden fingers upon the young dark elf’s chest, he could see Raistlin’s face—without feeling, without malice, without cruelty, without any touch of humanity whatsoever—and he could see those fingers burn through the flesh of his victim. Shaking his head, feeling sickened, Tanis sank back in his chair, his gaze on the floor.

“But they would not listen to me,” Dalamar continued. “They grasped at straws. As Raistlin had foreseen, their greatest hope lay in their greatest fear. They decided to send Lady Crysania back in time, ostensibly so that the Kingpriest could aid her. That is what they told Caramon, for they knew he would not go otherwise. But, in reality, they sent her back to die or to at least disappear as did all other clerics before the Cataclysm. And they hoped that Caramon, when he went back into time and learned the truth about his twin—learned that Raistlin was, in reality, Fistandantilus—that he would be forced to kill his brother.”

“Caramon?” Tanis laughed bitterly, then scowled again in anger. “How could they do such a thing? The man is sick! The only thing Caramon can kill now is a bottle of dwarf spirits! Raistlin’s already destroyed him. Why didn’t they—”

Catching Astinus’s irritated glance, Tanis subsided. His mind reeled in turmoil. None of this made sense! He looked over at Elistan. The cleric must have known much of this already. There was no look of shock or surprise on his face even when he heard that the mages had sent Crysania back to die. There was only an expression of deep sorrow.

Dalamar was continuing. “But the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, disrupted Par-Salian’s spell and accidentally traveled back in time with Caramon. The introduction of a kender into the flow of time made it possible for time to be altered. What happened back there, in Istar, we can only surmise. What we do know is that Crysania did not die. Caramon did not kill his brother. And Raistlin was successful in obtaining the knowledge of Fistandantilus. Taking Crysania and Caramon with him, he moved forward in time to the one period when he would possess, in Crysania, the only true cleric in the land. He traveled to the one period in our history when the Queen of Darkness would be most vulnerable and unable to stop him.

“As Fistandantilus did before him, Raistlin fought the Dwarfgate War, and so obtained access to the Portal that stood, then, in the magical fortress of Zhaman. If history had repeated itself, Raistlin should have died at that Portal, for thus did Fistandantilus meet his doom.”

“We counted on this,” Elistan murmured, his hands plucking feebly at the bedclothes that covered him. “Par-Salian said that there was no way Raistlin could change history—”

“That wretched kender!” Dalamar snarled. “Par-Salian should have known, he should have realized the miserable creature would do exactly what he did—leap at a chance for some new adventure! He should have taken our advice and smothered the little bastard—”

“Tell me what’s happened to Tasslehoff and Caramon,” Tanis interrupted coldly. “I don’t care what’s become of Raistlin or—and I apologize, Elistan—Lady Crysania. She was blinded by her own goodness. I am sorry for her, but she refused to open her eyes and see the truth. I care about my friends. What has become of them?”

“We do not know,” Dalamar said. He shrugged. “But if I were you, I would not look to see them again in this life, Half-Elven... They would be of little use to the Shalafi.”