Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Turning his head, Tanis glanced out the window. He had opened it to let in some air. But the spring night was warm and sultry and no breeze stirred. The sky was dark except for the occasional streaks of the eerie pink-tinged lightning that flashed from cloud to cloud. Now that his attention was drawn to it, he could hear the chimes striking Deepwatch, he could hear the voices of the guards newly arrived on duty, he could hear the measured tread of those departing for their rest.

Their rest would be short-lived.

“Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said. “Step in for a moment, will you?”

“Certainly, my lord.”

The servant entered, gently closing the door behind him. Tanis stared for a moment longer at the paper on the desk.

Then, his lips tightening in resolve, he wrote two more lines in a firm, elven hand. Sprinkling sand upon the ink to dry it, he began to reread the letter carefully. But his eyes misted over and the handwriting blurred in his vision. Finally, giving up, he signed his name, rolled up the parchment, and sat holding it in his hand.

“Sir,” said Charles, “are you quite well?”

“Charles...” began Tanis, twisting a ring of steel and gold that he wore upon his finger. His voice died.

“My lord?” Charles prompted.

“This is a letter to my wife, Charles,” Tanis continued in a low voice, not looking at the servant.

“She is in Silvanesti. This needs to get out tonight, before—”

“I quite understand, sir,” Charles said, stepping forward and taking charge of the letter. Tanis flushed guiltily. “I know there are much more important documents than this that need to be going out—dispatches to the knights, and such—but—”

“I have just the messenger, my lord. He is elven, from Silvanesti, in fact. He is loyal and, to be quite honest, sir, will be more than pleased to leave the city on some honorable assignment.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Tanis sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “If something were to happen, I want her to know—”

“Of course you do, my lord. Perfectly understandable. Do not give it another thought. Your seal, perhaps, however?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” Removing the ring, Tanis pressed it into the hot wax that Charles dripped onto the parchment, imprinting in the sealing wax the image of an aspen leaf.

“Lord Gunthar has arrived, my lord. He is meeting with Lord Markham right now.”

“Lord Gunthar!” Tanis’s brow cleared. “Excellent. Am I—”

“They asked to meet with you, if it is convenient, my lord,” Charles said imperturbably.

“Oh, it’s quite convenient,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “I don’t suppose there’s been any sign of the cita—”

“Not yet, my lord. You will find the lords in the summer breakfast parlor—now, officially, the war room.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said, amazed that he had, at last, managed to complete a sentence.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No, thank you. I know the—”

“Very good, my lord.” Bowing, letter in hand, Charles held the door for Tanis, then locked it behind him. After waiting a moment to see if Tanis might have any last minute desires, he bowed again and departed.

His mind still on his letter, Tanis stood alone, thankful for the shadowy stillness of the dimly lit corridor. Then, drawing a shaking breath, he walked firmly off in search of the morning breakfast parlor—now the war room.

Tanis had his hand on the doorknob and was just about to enter the room when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw a figure of darkness materialize out of the air.

“Dalamar?” Tanis said in astonishment, leaving the unopened door to the war room and walking down the hallway toward the dark elf. “I thought—”

“Tanis. You are the one I seek.”

“Do you have news?”

“None that you will like to hear,” Dalamar said, shrugging. “I cannot stay long, our fate teeters on the edge of a knife’s blade. But I brought you this.” Reaching into a black velvet pouch hanging at his side, he took out a silver bracelet and held it out to Tanis.

Taking hold of the bracelet in his hand, Tanis examined it curiously. The bracelet was about four inches in width, made of solid silver. From its width and weight, Tanis guessed, it had been designed to fit on a man’s wrist. Slightly tarnished, it was set with black stones whose polished surfaces gleamed in the flickering torchlight of the corridor. And it came from the Tower of High Sorcery.

Tanis held it gingerly. “Is it—” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to know.

“Magical? Yes,” Dalamar replied.

“Raistlin’s?” Tanis frowned.

“No.” Dalamar smiled sardonically. “The Shalafi needs no such magical defenses as these. It is part of the collection of such objects in the Tower. This is very old, undoubtedly dating back to the time of Huma.”

“What will it do?” Tanis studied the bracelet dubiously, still frowning.

“It makes the one wearing it resistant to magic.”

Tanis raised his head. “Lord Soth’s magic?”

“Any magic. But, yes, it will protect the wearer from the death knight’s power words—‘kill,’ ‘stun,’ ‘blind.’ It will keep the wearer from feeling the effects of the fear he generates. And it will protect the wearer from both his spells of fire and of ice.”

Tanis stared at Dalamar intently. “This is truly a valuable gift! It gives us a chance.”

“The wearer may thank me when and if he returns alive!” Dalamar folded his hands within his sleeves. “Even without his magic, Lord Soth is a formidable opponent, not to mention those who follow him, who are sworn to his service with oaths death itself could not erase. Yes, Half-Elven, thank me when you return.”

“Me?” Tanis said in astonishment. “But—I haven’t wielded a sword in over two years!” He stared at Dalamar intently, suddenly suspicious. “Why me?”

Dalamar’s smile widened. The slanted eyes glinted in amusement. “Give it to one of the knights, half-elf. Let one of them hold it. You will understand. Remember—it came from a place of darkness. It knows one of its own.”

“Wait!” Seeing the dark elf prepared to leave, Tanis caught hold of Dalamar’s black-robed arm.

“Just one more second. You said there was news—”

“It is not your concern.”

“Tell me.”

Dalamar paused, his brows came together in irritation at this delay. Tanis felt the young elf’s arm tense. He’s frightened, Tanis realized suddenly. But even as this thought crossed his mind, he saw Dalamar regain control of himself. The handsome features grew calm, expressionless.

“The cleric, Lady Crysania, has been mortally wounded. She managed to protect Raistlin, however. He is uninjured and has gone on to find the Queen. So Her Dark Majesty tells me.”

Tanis felt his throat constrict. “What about Crysania?” he said harshly. “Did he just leave her to die?”

“Of course.” Dalamar appeared faintly surprised at the question. “She can be of no more use to him.”

Looking down at the bracelet in his hand, Tanis longed to hurl it into the gleaming teeth of the dark elf. But, in time, he remembered that he could not afford the luxury of anger. What an insane, twisted situation! Incongruously, he remembered Elistan going to the Tower, bringing comfort to the archmage...

Turning on his heel, Tanis stalked angrily away. But he gripped the bracelet tightly in his hand.

“The magic is activated when you put it on.” Dalamar’s soft voice floated through Tanis’s haze of fury. He could have sworn the dark elf was laughing.

“What’s the matter, Tanis?” Lord Gunthar asked as the half-elf came into the war room. “My dear fellow, you’re pale as death... .”