Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

She drew a breath. “Paladine, forgive me,” she murmured.

Another breath. “Raistlin...”

Another, softer breath. “... forgive...”

Tanis stood out side the Temple, thinking about the old wizard’s words. Then he snorted. Love must triumph!

Brushing away his tears, Tanis shook his head bitterly. Fizban’s magic wasn’t going to work this time. Love didn’t even have a bit part in this play. Raistlin had long ago twisted and used his twin’s love to his own ends, finally crushing Caramon into a sodden mass of blubbery flesh and dwarf spirits. Marble had more capacity to love than did the marble maiden, Crysania. And, as for Kitiara... . Had she ever loved?

Tanis scowled. He hadn’t meant to think of her, not again. But an attempt to shove the memories of her back into the dark closet of his soul only made the light seem to shine upon them more brightly. He caught himself going back to the time they’d first met, in the wilderness near Solace. Discovering a young woman fighting for her life against goblins, Tanis had raced to the rescue—only to have the young woman turn upon him in anger, accusing him of spoiling her fun! Tanis was captivated. Up until then, his only love interest had been a delicate elven maiden, Laurana. But that had been a childish romance. He and Laurana had grown up together, her father having taken in the bastard half-elf out of charity when his mother died in childbirth. It was, in fact, partly because of Laurana’s girlish infatuation with Tanis—a love her father would never have approved—that the half-elf left his elven homeland and traveled into the world with old Flint, the dwarven metalsmith.

Certainly Tanis had never met a woman like Kitiara bold, courageous, lovely, sensual. She made no secret of the fact that she found the half-elf attractive on that first meeting. A playful battle between them ended in a night of passion beneath Kitiara’s fur blankets. After that, the two had often been together, traveling by themselves or in the company of their friends, Sturm Brightblade, and Kitiara’s half-brothers, Caramon and his frail twin, Raistlin.

Hearing himself sigh, Tanis shook his head angrily. No! Grasping the thoughts, he hurled them back into the darkness, shut and locked the door. Kitiara had never loved him. She had been amused by him, that was all. He had kept her entertained. When a chance came to gain what she truly wanted—power—she had left him without a second thought. But, even as he turned the key in the lock of his soul, Tanis heard, once again, Kitiara’s voice. He heard the words she had spoken the night of the downfall of the Queen of Darkness, the night Kitiara had helped him and Laurana escape.

“Farewell, Half-Elven. Remember, I do this for love of you!”

A dark figure, like the embodiment of his own shadow, appeared beside Tanis. The half-elf started in a sudden, unreasonable fear that he had, perhaps, conjured up an image from his own subconscious. But the figure spoke a word of greeting, and Tanis realized it was flesh and blood. He sighed in relief, then hoped the dark elf had not noticed how abstracted his thoughts had been. He was more than half afraid, in fact, that Dalamar might have guessed them. Clearing his throat gruffly, the half-elf glanced at the black-robed mage.

“Is Elistan dead?” said Dalamar coldly. “No, not yet. But I sensed the approach of one whose presence I would find most uncomfortable, and so, seeing that my services were no longer necessary, I left.”

Stopping on the lawn, Tanis turned to face the dark elf. Dalamar had not drawn up his black hood, and his features were plainly visible in the peaceful twilight. “Why did you do it?” Tanis demanded.

The dark elf stopped walking as well, looking at Tanis with a slight smile. “Do what?”

“Come here, to Elistan! Ease his pain.” Tanis waved a hand. “From what I saw last time, setting foot on this ground makes you suffer the torments of the damned.” His face became grim. “I cannot believe a pupil of Raistlin’s could care so much about anyone!”

“No,” Dalamar replied smoothly, “Raistlin’s pupil personally didn’t give a cracked iron piece what became of the cleric. But Raistlin’s s pupil is honorable. He was taught to pay his debts, taught to be beholden to no one. Does that accord with what you know of my Shalafi?”

“Yes,” Tanis admitted grudgingly, “but—”

“I was repaying a debt, nothing more,” Dalamar said. As he resumed his walk across the lawn, Tanis saw a look of pain upon his face. The dark elf obviously wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. Tanis had some trouble keeping pace with him. “You see,” Dalamar continued, “Elistan came once to the Tower of High Sorcery to help my Shalafi.”

“Raistlin?” Tanis stopped again, stunned. Dalamar did not halt, however, and Tanis was forced to hurry after him.

“Yes,” the dark elf was saying, as if caring little whether Tanis heard him or not, “no one knows this, not even Raistlin. The Shalafi grew ill once about a year ago, terribly ill. I was alone, frightened. I know nothing of sickness. In desperation, I sent for Elistan. He came.”

“Did... did he... heal Raistlin?” Tanis asked in awe. “No.” Dalamar shook his head, his long black hair falling down around his shoulders. “Raistlin’s malady is beyond the healing arts, a sacrifice made for his magic. But Elistan was able to ease the Shalafi’s pain and give him rest. And so, I have done nothing more than discharge my debt.”

“Do you... care about Raistlin as much as this?” Tanis asked hesitantly.

“What is this talk of caring, half-elf?” Dalamar snapped impatiently. They were near the edge of the lawn. Evening’s shadows spread across it like soothing fingers, gently reaching out to close the eyes of the weary. “Like Raistlin, I care for one thing only—and that is the Art and the power that it gives. For that, I gave up my people, my homeland, my heritage. For that, I have been cast in darkness. Raistlin is the Shalafi, my teacher, my master. He is skilled in the Art, one of the most skilled who has ever lived. When I volunteered to the Conclave to spy upon him, I knew I might well sacrifice my life. But how little was that price to pay for the chance of studying with one so gifted! How could I afford to lose him? Even now, when I think of what I must do to him, when I think of the knowledge he has gained that will be lost when he dies, I almost—”

“Almost what?” Tanis said sharply, in sudden fear. “Almost let him through the Portal? Can you truly stop him, when he comes back, Dalamar? Will you stop him?”

They had reached the end of the Temple grounds. Soft darkness blanketed the land. The night was warm and filled with the smells of new life. Here and there among the aspen trees, a bird chirped sleepily. In the city, lighted candles were set in the windows to guide loved ones home. Solinari glimmered on the horizon, as though the gods had lit their own candle to brighten the night. Tanis’s eyes were drawn to the one patch of chill blackness in the warm, perfumed evening. The Tower of High Sorcery stood dark and forbidding. No candles flickered in its windows. He wondered, briefly, who or what waited within that blackness to welcome the young apprentice home.