Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Tanis shut the door. “Quickly, before the others come. You know what is headed this way?”

“I knew last night. I sent word to you, but you had already left,” Dalamar’s smile twisted. “My spies fly on swift wings.”

“If they fly on wings at all,” Tanis muttered. With a sigh, he scratched his beard, then, raising his head, looked at Dalamar intently. The dark elf stood, hands folded in his black robes, calm and collected. The young elf certainly appeared to be someone who could be relied upon to perform with cool courage in a tight spot. Unfortunately, just who he would perform for was open to doubt. Tanis rubbed his forehead. How confusing this was! How much easier it had been back in the old days—he sounded like someone’s grandfather!—when good and evil had been clearly defined and everyone knew which side they were fighting for or against. Now, he was allied with evil fighting against evil. How was that possible? Evil turns in upon itself, so Elistan read from the Disks of Mishakal. Shaking his head angrily, Tanis realized he was wasting time. He had to trust this Dalamar—at least, he had to trust to his ambition.

“Is there any way to stop Lord Soth?”

Dalamar nodded slowly. “You are quick-thinking, Half-Elven. So you believe, too, that the death knight will attack Palanthas?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Tanis snapped. “That has to be Kit’s plan. It’s what equalizes the odds.” The dark elf shrugged. “To answer your question, no, there is nothing that can be done. Not now, at any rate.”

“You? Can you stop him?”

“I dare not leave my post beside the Portal. I came this time because I know Raistlin is still far from it. But every breath we draw brings him nearer. This will be my last chance to leave the Tower. That was why I came to talk to you—to warn you. There is little time.”

“He’s winning!” Tanis stared at Dalamar incredulously.

“You have always underestimated him,” Dalamar said with a sneer. “I told you, he is now strong, powerful, the greatest wizard who has ever lived. Of course, he is winning! But at what cost... at what great cost.”

Tanis frowned. He didn’t like the note of pride he heard in Dalamar’s voice when he talked about Raistlin. That certainly didn’t sound like an apprentice who was prepared to kill his Shalafi if need arose.

“But, to return to Lord Soth,” said Dalamar coldly, seeing more of Tanis’s thoughts on the half-elf’s face than Tanis had intended. “When I first realized that he would undoubtedly use this opportunity to take his own revenge upon a city and a people he has long hated—if one believes the old legends about his downfall—I contacted the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest—”

“Of course!” Tanis gasped in relief. “Par-Salian! The Conclave. They could—”

“There was no answer to my message,” Dalamar continued, ignoring the interruption. “Something strange is transpiring there. I do not know what. My messenger found the way barred and, for one of his—shall we say—light and airy nature, that is not easy.”

“But—”

“Oh”—Dalamar shrugged his black-robed shoulders—“I will continue to try. But we cannot count on them, and they are the only magic-users powerful enough to stop a death knight.”

“The clerics of Paladine—”

“—are new in their faith. In Huma’s day, it was said the truly powerful clerics could call down Paladine’s aid and use certain holy words against death knights, but—if so—there are none now on Krynn who have that power.”

Tanis pondered a moment.

“Kit’s destination will be the Tower of High Sorcery to meet and help her brother, right?”

“And try to stop me,” Dalamar said in a tight voice, his face paling.

“Can Kitiara get through the Shoikan Grove?”

Dalamar shrugged again, but his cool manner was, Tanis noticed, suddenly tense and forced.

“The Grove is under my control. It will keep out all creatures, living and dead.” Dalamar smiled again, but this time, without mirth. “Your goblin, by the way, wouldn’t have lasted five seconds.

However, Kitiara had a charm, given her by Raistlin. If she has it still, and the courage to use it, and if Lord Soth is with her, yes, she might get through. Once inside, however, she must face the Tower’s guardians, no less formidable than those in the Grove. Still, that is my concern—not yours—”

“Too much is your concern!” Tanis snapped. “Give me a charm! Let me inside the Tower! I can deal with her—”

“Oh, yes.” Dalamar returned, amused, “I know how well you dealt with her in the past. Listen, Half-Elven, you will have all you can handle trying to keep control of the city. Besides, you have forgotten one thing—Soth’s true purpose in this. He wants Kitiara dead. He wants her for himself. He told me as much. Of course, he must make it look good. If he can accomplish her death and avenge himself upon Palanthas, he will have succeeded in his objective. He couldn’t care less about Raistlin.”

Feeling suddenly chilled to the very soul, Tanis could not reply. He had, indeed, forgotten Soth’s objective. The half-elf shuddered. Kitiara had done much that was evil. Sturm had died upon the end of her spear, countless had died by her commands, countless more had suffered and still suffered. But did she deserve this? An endless life of cold and dark torment, bound forever in some type of unholy marriage to this creature of the Abyss?

A curtain of darkness shrouded Tanis’s vision. Dizzy, weak, he saw himself teetering on the brink of a yawning chasm and felt himself falling...

There was a dim sensation of being enfolded in soft black cloth, he felt strong hands supporting him, guiding him...

Then nothing.

The cool, smooth rim of a glass touched Tanis’s lips, brandy stung his tongue and warmed his throat. Groggily, he looked up to see Charles hovering over him.

“You have ridden far, without food or drink, so the dark elf tells me.” Behind Charles floated the pale anxious face of Lord Amothus. Wrapped in a white dressing robe, he looked very much like a distraught ghost.

“Yes,” Tanis muttered, pushing the glass away from him and trying to rise. Feeling the room sway beneath his feet, however, he decided he better remain seated. “You are right—I had better have something to eat.” He glanced around for the dark elf. “Where is Dalamar?”

Charles’s face grew stern. “Who knows, my lord? Fled back to his dark abode, I suppose. He said his business with you was concluded. I will, with your leave, my lord, have the cook prepare you breakfast.” Bowing, Charles withdrew, first standing aside to allow young Sir Markham to enter.

“Have you breakfasted, Sir Markham?” Lord Amothus asked hesitantly, not at all certain what was going on and decidedly flustered by the fact that a dark elf magic-user felt free to simply appear and disappear in his household. “No? Then we will have quite a threesome. How do you prefer your eggs?”

Perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing eggs right now, m’lord.” Sir Markham said, glancing at Tanis with a slight smile. The half-elf’s brows had knit together alarmingly and his disheveled and exhausted appearance showed that some dire news was at hand.

Amothus sighed, and Tanis saw that the lord had simply been trying to postpone the inevitable.

“I have returned this morning from the High Clerist’s Tower—” he began.

“Ah,” Sir Markham interrupted, seating himself negligently in a chair and helping himself to a glass of brandy. “I received a message from Lord Gunthar that he expected to engage the enemy this morning. How goes the battle?” Markham was a wealthy young nobleman, handsome, good-natured, carefree, and easy-going. He had distinguished himself in the War of the Lance, fighting under Laurana’s command, and had been made a Knight of the Rose. But Tanis remembered Laurana telling him that the young man’s bravery was nonchalant—almost casual—and totally undependable. (“I always had the feeling,” Laurana said thoughtfully, “that he fought in the battle simply because there was nothing more interesting to do at the time.”)