Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Sir Markham was laughing. “Oh, for the gods’ sake, Gunthar, give him your permission to die. What the Abyss difference does it make anyway?”

“He’s drunk,” Gunthar muttered, casting a scathing glance at Sir Markham.

“He’s young,” Tanis replied. “Well, my lord?”

Lord Gunthar’s eyes flashed in anger. As he glared at the half-elf, sharp words of reproval came to his lips. But they were never uttered. Gunthar knew—none better—that the one who faced Soth was placing himself in a situation of almost certain death—magical bracelet or no magical bracelet. He had first assumed Tanis was either too naive or too foolhardy to recognize this. Looking into the half-elf’s dark, shadowed eyes, he realized that, once again, he had misjudged him. Swallowing his words with a gruff cough, Lord Gunthar made a gesture at Sir Markham. “See if you can get him sobered up, Half-Elven. Then I suppose you had better get yourself into position. I’ll have the knights waiting.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Tanis murmured.

“And may the gods go with you,” Gunthar added in a low, choked voice. Gripping Tanis by the hand, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Tanis glanced over at Sir Markham, who was staring intently into the empty brandy bottle with a wry smile. He’s not as drunk as he’s letting on, Tanis decided. Or as he wishes he could be. Turning from the young knight, the half-elf walked over to the window. Looking out, he waited for the dawn.

Laurana

My beloved wife, when we parted a week ago, we little thought this parting might be for a long, long time. We have been kept apart so much of our lives. But I must admit, I cannot grieve that we are separated now. It comforts me to know that you are safe, although if Raistlin succeeds in his designs, I fear there will be no safe havens left anywhere upon Krynn. I must be honest, my dearest. I see no hope that any of us can survive. I face without fear the knowledge that I shall probably die I believe I can honestly say that. But 1 cannot face it without bitter anger. The last war, I could afford bravery. I had nothing, so had nothing to lose. But I have never wanted so much to live as I do now. I am like a miser, coveting the joy and happiness we have found, loath to give it up. I think of our plans, the children we hope for. I think of you, my beloved, and what grief my death must bring, and I cannot see this page for the tears of sorrow and fury that I cry.

I can only ask you to let this consolation be yours as it is mine this parting will be our last. The world can never separate us again. I will wait for you, Laurana, in that realm where time itself dies.

And one evening, in that realm of eternal spring, eternal twilight, I will look down the path and see you walking toward me. I can see you so clearly, my beloved. The last rays of the setting sun shining upon your golden hair, your eyes bright with the love that fills my own heart.

You will come to me.

I will fold you in my arms.

We will close our eyes and begin to dream our eternal dream.

The gate guard lounged in the dark shadows of the gatehouse of Old City. Outside, he could hear the voices of the other guards, tight and tense with excitement and fear, talking up their courage. There must be twenty of them out there, the old guard thought sourly. The night watch had been doubled, those off duty had decided to stay rather than go back home. Above him, on the wall, he could hear the slow, steady pacing of the Knights of Solamnia. High above him, occasionally, he could hear the creak and flap of a dragon’s wing, or sometimes their voices, speaking to each other in the secret tongue of the dragons. These were the bronze dragons Lord Gunthar had brought from the High Clerist’s Tower, keeping watch in the air as the humans kept watch upon the ground.

All around him he could hear the sounds—the sounds of impending doom. That thought was in the gatekeeper’s mind, though not in those exact words, of course—neither “impending” nor “doom” being a part of his vocabulary. But the knowledge was there, just the same. The gate guard was an old mercenary, he’d been through many of these nights. He’d been a young man like those outside, once, boasting of the great deeds he’d do in the morning. His first battle, he’d been so scared he couldn’t to this day remember a thing about it.

But there’d been many battles after that. You got used to the fear. It became a part of you, just like your sword. Thinking about this battle coming up was no different. The morning would come and, if you were lucky, so would the night.

A sudden clatter of pikes and voices and a general flurry jolted the old guard out of his philosophic musings. Grumbling, but feeling a touch of the old excitement just the same, he poked his head out of the guardhouse.

“I heard something!” a young guard panted, running up, nearly out of breath. “Out—out there! Sounded like armor jingling, a whole troop!”

The other guards were peering out into the darkness. Even the Knights of Solamnia had ceased their pacing and were looking down into the broad highway that ran through the gate from New City into Old. Extra torches had been hastily added to those that already burned on the walls. They cast a bright circle of light on the ground below. But the light ended about twenty feet away, making the darkness beyond seem just that much darker. The old guard could hear the sounds now, too, but he didn’t panic. He was veteran enough to know that darkness and fear can make one man sound like a regiment.

Stumping out of the gatehouse, he waved his hands, adding with a snarl, “Back to yer posts.”

The younger guards, muttering, returned to their positions, but kept their weapons ready. The old guard, hand on his sword hilt, stood stolidly in the middle of the street, waiting. Sure enough, into the light came—not a division of draconians—but one man (who might, however, have been big enough for two) and what appeared to be a kender.

The two stopped, blinking in the torchlight. The old guard sized them up. The big man wore no cloak, and the guard could see light reflecting off armor that might once have gleamed brightly but was now caked with gray mud and even blackened in places, as though he had been in a fire.

The kender, too, was covered with the same type of mud though he had apparently made some effort to brush it off his gaudy blue leggings. The big man limped when he walked, and both he and the kender gave every indication of having recently been in battle.

Odd, thought the gate guard. There’s been no fighting yet, leastways none that we’ve heard tell of.

“Cool customers, both of ’em,” the old guard muttered, noting that the big mans hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword as he looked about, taking stock of the situation. The kender was staring around with usual kender curiosity. The gate guard was slightly startled to see, however, that the kender held in his arms a large, leather-bound book. “State yer business,” the gate guard said, coming forward to stand in front of the two.

“I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” said the kender, managing, after a brief struggle with the book, to free a small hand. He held it out to the guard. “And this is my friend, Caramon. We’re from Sol—”

“Our business depends on where we are,” said the man called Caramon in a friendly voice but with a serious expression on his face that gave the gate guard pause.

“You mean you don’t know where you are?” the guard asked suspiciously.

“We’re not from this part of the country” the big man answered coolly. “We lost our map. Seeing the lights of the city, we naturally headed toward it.”