Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Not that it mattered, he told himself coldly. When all this was over, he would go down, examine the corpse... “Dalamar!”

Dalamar’s heart leaped, both fear and hope surging through him at the sound of that voice.

“Caution, caution, my friend,” he whispered to himself. “She betrayed her brother. She betrayed you. Do not trust her.”

Yet he found his hands shaking as he slowly crossed the laboratory toward the door.

“Dalamar!” Her voice again, quivering with pain and terror. There was a thud against the door, the sound of a body sliding down it. “Dalamar,” she called again weakly.

Dalamar’s hand was on the handle. Behind him, the dragon’s eyes glowed red, white, blue, green, black.

“Dalamar,” Kitiara murmured faintly, “I—I’ve come... to help you.”

Slowly, Dalamar opened the laboratory door.

Kitiara lay on the floor at his feet. At the sight of her, Dalamar drew in his breath. If she had once worn armor, it had now been torn from her body by inhuman hands. He could see the marks of their nails upon her flesh. The black, tight fitting garment she wore beneath her armor was ripped almost to shreds, exposing her tan skin, her white breasts. Blood oozed from a ghastly wound upon one leg, her leather boots were in tatters. Yet, she looked up at him with clear eyes, eyes that were not afraid. In her hand, she held the night jewel, the charm Raistlin had given her to protect her in the Grove.

“I was strong enough, barely,” she whispered, her lips parting in the crooked smile that made Dalamar’s blood burn. She raised her arms. “I’ve come to you. Help me stand.”

Reaching down, Dalamar lifted Kitiara to her feet. She slumped against him. He could feel her body shivering and shook his head, knowing what poison worked in her blood. His arm around her, he half-carried her into the laboratory and shut the door behind them.

Her weight upon him increased, her eyes rolled back. “Oh, Dalamar,” she murmured, and he saw she was going to faint. He put his arms completely around her. She leaned her head against his chest, breathing a thankful sigh of relief.

He could smell the fragrance of her hair—that strange smell, a mixture of perfume and steel. Her body trembled in his arms. His grasp around her tightened. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his. “I’m feeling better now,” she whispered. Her hands slid down...

Too late, Dalamar saw the brown eyes glitter. Too late, he saw the crooked smile twist. Too late he felt her hand jerk, and the quick stabbing thrust of pain as her knife entered his body.

“Well, we made it,” Caramon yelled, staring down from the crumbling courtyard of the flying citadel as it floated above the tops of the dark trees of the Shoikan Grove.

“Yes, at least this far,” Tanis muttered. Even from this vantage point, high above the cursed forest, he could feel the cold waves of hatred and bloodlust rising up to grasp at them as if the guardians could, even now, drag them down. Shivering, Tanis forced his gaze to where the top of the Tower of High Sorcery loomed near. “If we can get close enough,” he shouted to Caramon above the rush of the wind in his ears, “we can drop down on that walkway that circles around the top.”

“The Death Walk,” Caramon returned grimly.

“What?”

“The Death Walk!” Caramon edged closer, watching his footing as the dark trees drifted beneath them like the waves of a black ocean. “That’s where the evil mage stood when he called down the curse upon the Tower. So Raistlin told me. That’s where he jumped from.”

“Nice, cheerful place,” Tanis muttered into his beard, staring at it grimly. Smoke rolled around them, blotting out the sight of the trees. The half-elf tried not to think about what was happening in the city. He’d already caught a glimpse of the Temple of Paladine in flames.

“You know, of course,” he yelled, grabbing hold of Caramon s shoulder as the two stood on the edge of the courtyard of the citadel, “there’s every possibility Tasslehoff is going to crash right into that thing!”

“We’ve come this far,” Caramon said softly. “The gods are with us.”

Tanis blinked, wondering if he’d heard right. “That doesn’t sound like the old jovial Caramon,” he said with a grin.

“That Caramon’s dead, Tanis,” Caramon replied flatly, his eyes on the approaching Tower.

Tanis’s grin softened to a sigh. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say, putting a clumsy hand on Caramon’s shoulder.

Caramon looked at him, his eyes bright and clear. “No, Tanis,” he said. “Par-Salian told me, when he sent me back in time, that I was going back to ‘save a soul. Nothing more. Nothing less.’”

Caramon smiled sadly. “I thought he meant Raistlin’s s soul. I see now he didn’t. He meant my own.” The big man’s body tensed. “C’mon,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “We’re close enough to jump for it.”

A balcony that encircled the top of Tower appeared beneath them, dimly seen through the swirling smoke. Looking down, Tanis felt his stomach shrivel. Although he knew it was impossible, it seemed that the Tower itself was lurching around beneath him, while he was standing perfectly still. It had looked so huge, as they were nearing it. Now, he might have been planning to leap out of a vallenwood to land upon the roof of a child’s toy castle. To make matters worse, the citadel continued to fly closer and closer to the Tower. The blood-red tips of the black minarets that topped it danced in Tanis’s vision as the citadel lurched back and forth and bobbed up and down.

“Jump!” shouted Caramon, hurling himself into space.

An eddy of smoke swirled past Tanis, blinding him. The citadel was still moving. Suddenly, a huge, black rock column loomed right before him. It was either jump or be squashed. Frantically, Tanis jumped, hearing a horrible crunching and grinding sound right above him. He was falling into nothingness, the smoke swirled about him, and then he had one split second to brace himself as the stones of the Death Walk materialized beneath his feet.

He landed with a jarring thud that shook every bone in his body and left him stunned and breathless. He had just sense enough to roll over onto his stomach, covering his head with his arms as showers of rock tumbled down around him.

Caramon was on his feet, roaring, “North! Due north!”

Very, very faintly, Tanis thought he heard a shrill voice screaming from the citadel above, “North! North! North! We’ve got to head off straight north!”

The grinding, crunching sound ceased. Raising his head cautiously, Tanis saw, through a ripple in the smoke, the flying citadel drifting off on its new tack, wobbling slightly, and heading straight for the palace of Lord Amothus.

“You all right?” Caramon helped Tanis to his feet.

“Yeah,” said the half-elf shakily. He wiped blood from his mouth. “Bit my tongue. Damn, that hurts!”

“The only way down is over here,” Caramon said, leading the way around the Death Walk. They came to an archway carved into the black stone of the Tower. A small wooden door stood closed and barred.

“There’ll probably be guards,” Tanis pointed out as Caramon, backing off, prepared to hurl his weight against the door.

“Yeah,” the big man grunted. Making a short run, he threw himself forward, smashing into the door. It shivered and creaked, wood splintered along the iron bars, but it held. Rubbing his shoulder, Caramon backed off. Eyeing the door, concentrating all his strength and effort on it, he crashed into it once again. This time, it gave with a shattering boom, carrying Caramon with it. Hurrying inside, peering around in the smoke-filled darkness, Tanis found Caramon lying on the floor, surrounded by shards of wood. The half-elf started to reach a hand down to his friend when he stopped, staring.