Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“Let me tell you of the Portals, Half-Elven,” Dalamar replied. “I will tell you as my Shalafi told me.”

His gaze followed Tanis’s, going to the very topmost room in Tower. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “There is a corner in that laboratory where stands a doorway, a doorway without a lock. Five dragon’s heads made of metal surround it. Look within it, you will see nothing—simply a void. The dragon’s heads are cold and still. That is the Portal. Another exists beside this one—it stands in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. The only other one, as far as we know, was in Istar and it was destroyed in the Cataclysm. The one in Palanthas was originally moved to the magical fortress in Zhaman to protect it when the mobs of the Kingpriest tried to take over the Tower here. It moved again when Fistandantilus destroyed Zhaman, returning to Palanthas. Created long ago by mages who desired faster communication with each other, it led them too far—it led them onto other planes.”

“The Abyss,” Tanis murmured.

“Yes. Too late the mages realized what a perilous gate they had devised. For if someone from this plane entered the Abyss and returned through the Portal, the Queen would have the entrance into the world she has long sought. Thus with the help of the holy clerics of Paladine, they insured so they thought—that none could ever use the Portals. Only one of the most profound evil, who had committed his very soul to darkness, could hope to gain the knowledge necessary to open that dread doorway. And only one of goodness and purity, with absolute trust in the one person upon this world who could never merit trust, could hold the doorway open.”

“Raistlin and Crysania.”

Dalamar smiled cynically. “In their infinite wisdom, those dried-up old mages and clerics never foresaw that love would overthrow their grand design. So, you see, Half-Elven, when Raistlin attempts to reenter the Portal from the Abyss, I must stop him. For the Queen will be right behind him.”

None of this explanation did much to ease Tanis’s doubts. Certainly the dark elf appeared cognizant of the grave danger. Certainly he appeared calm, confident... But can you stop him?” Tanis persisted, his gaze going—without meaning to—to the dark elf’s chest where he had seen those five holes burned into his smooth skin.

Noticing Tanis’s look, Dalamar’s hand went involuntarily to his chest. His eyes grew dark and haunted. “I know my own limitations, Half-Elven,” he said softly. Then, he smiled and shrugged. “I will be honest with you. If my Shalafi were in the full strength of his power when he tried to come Through the Portal, then, no, I could not stop him. No one could. But Raistlin will not be. He will already have expended much of his power in destroying the Queen’s minions and forcing her to face him alone. He will be weak and injured. His only hope to draw the Dark Queen out here onto his plane. Here he can regain strength, here she will be the weaker of the two. And thus, yes, because he will be injured, I can stop him. And, yes, I will stop him!”

Noticing Tanis still looked dubious, Dalamar’s smile twisted. “You see, Half-Elven,” he said coolly, “I have been offered enough to make it worth my while.” With that, he bowed, and—murmuring the words of a spell—vanished.

But as he left, Tanis heard Dalamar’s soft, elven voice speak through the night. “You have looked upon the sun for the last time, Half-Elven. Raistlin and the Dark Queen have met. Takhisis now gathers her minions. The battle begins. Tomorrow, there will be no dawn.”

And so, Raistlin, we meet again.

“My Queen.”

You bow before me, wizard?

“This one last time, I do you homage.”

And I bow to you, Raistlin.

“You do me too much honor, Majesty.”

On the contrary, I have watched your gameplay with the keenest pleasure. For every move of mine, you had a counter move. More than once, you risked all you had to win a single turn. You have proved yourself a skilled player, and our game has brought me much amusement. But now it comes to the end, my worthy opponent. You have one gamepiece left upon the board—yourself. Ranged against you is the full might of my dark legions. But, because I have found pleasure in you, Raistlin, I will grant you one favor.

Return to your cleric. She lies dying, alone, in such torment of mind and body as only I can inflict. Return to her. Kneel down beside her. Take her in your arms and hold her close. The mantle of death will fall upon you both. Gently it will cover you, and you will drift into the darkness and find eternal rest.

“My Queen...”

You shake your head.

“Takhisis, Great Queen, truly I thank you for this gracious offer. But I play this game—as you call it—to win. And I will play it to the end.”

And it will be a bitter end for you! I have given you the chance your skill and daring earned for you. You would spurn it?

“Your Majesty is too gracious. I am unworthy of such attention... .”

And now you mock me! Smile your twisted smile while you can, mage, for when you slip, when you fall, when you make that one, small mistake—I will lay my hands upon you. My nails will sink into your flesh, and you will beg for death. But it will not come. The days are eons long here, Raistlin Majere. And every day, I will come to see you in your prison—the prison of your mind. And, since you have provided me with amusement, you will continue to provide me with amusement.

You will be tortured in mind and in body. At the end of each day, you will die from the pain. At the beginning of each night, I will bring you back to life. You will not be able to sleep, but will lie awake in shivering anticipation of the day to come. In the morning, my face will be the first sight you see.

What? You grow pale, mage. Your frail body trembles, your hands shake. Your eyes grow wide with fear. Prostrate yourself before me! Beg my forgiveness!...

“My Queen...”

What, not yet on your knees?

“My Queen... it is your move.”

Blasted overcast! If it’s going to storm, I wish it would do it and be done with it,” muttered Lord Gunthar.

Prevailing winds, Tanis thought sarcastically, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He also kept Dalamar’s words to himself, knowing that Lord Gunthar would never believe them. The half-elf was nervous and on edge. He was finding it difficult to be patient with the seemingly complacent knight. Part of it was the strange-looking sky. That morning, as Dalamar had predicted, there came no dawn. Instead, purplish blue clouds, tinged with green and flickering with eerie, multicolored lightning, appeared, boiling and churning above them. There was no wind. No rain fell. The day grew hot and oppressive. Walking their rounds upon the battlements of the High Clerist’s Tower, the knights in their heavy plate-mail armor wiped sweat from their brows and muttered about spring storms.

Only two hours ago, Tanis had been in Palanthas, tossing and turning on the silk sheets of the bed in Lord Amothus’s guest room, pondering Dalamar’s cryptic final words. The half-elf had been up most of the night, thinking about them, and thinking, too, of Elistan.

Word had come to the palace near midnight that the cleric of Paladine had passed from this world into another, brighter realm of existence. He had died peacefully, his head cradled in the arms of a befuddled, kindly old wizard who had appeared mysteriously and left just as mysteriously.

Worrying about Dalamar’s warning, grieving for Elistan, and thinking he had seen too many die, Tanis had just dropped into an exhausted sleep when a messenger arrived for him.

The message was short and terse: