Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Dalamar’s hand snaked backward. Grasping the wand, he swung it up, speaking the word of magic that diffused the magical shield guarding him. At that instant, Kitiara whirled around. Her sword grasped in both hands, she wielded it with all her strength. The blow would have severed Dalamar’s head from his neck, had he not twisted his body to use the wand.

As it was, the blade caught him across the back of the right shoulder, plunging deep into his flesh, shattering the shoulderblade, nearly slicing his arm off. He dropped the wand with a scream, but not before it had unleashed its magical power. Lightning forked, its sizzling blast striking Kitiara in the chest, knocking her writhing body backward, slamming her to the floor.

Dalamar stumped over the table, reeling from pain. Blood spurted rhythmically from his arm. He watched it dully, uncomprehending for an instant, then Raistlin’s s lessons in anatomy returned. That was the heartblood pouring out. He would be dead within minutes. The ring of healing was on his right hand, his injured arm. Feebly reaching across with his left, he grasped the stone and spoke the simple word that activated the magic. Then he lost consciousness, his body slipping to the floor to lie in a pool of his own blood.

“Dalamar!” A voice called his name.

Drowsily, the dark elf stirred. Pain shot through his body. He moaned and fought to sink back into the darkness. But the voice shouted again. Memory returned, and with memory came fear. Fear brought him to consciousness. He tried to sit up, but pain tore through him, nearly making him pass out again. He could hear the broken ends of bones crunching together, his right arm and hand hung limp and lifeless at his side. The ring had stopped the bleeding. He would live, but would it be only to die at the hands of his Shalafi?

“Dalamar!” the voice shouted again. “It’s Caramon!”

Dalamar sobbed in relief. Lifting his head—a move that required a supreme effort—he looked at the Portal. The dragons eyes glowed brighter still, the glow even seeming to spread along their necks. The void was definitely stirring now. He could feel a hot wind upon his cheek, or perhaps it was the fever in his body. He heard a rustling in a shadowed corner across the room, and another fear gripped Dalamar.

No! It was impossible she should be alive! Gritting his teeth against the pain, he turned his head. He could see her armored body, reflecting the glow of the dragon’s eyes. She lay still, unmoving in the shadows. He could smell the stench of burned flesh. But that sound...

Wearily, Dalamar shut his eyes. Darkness swirled in his head, threatening to drag him down. He could not rest yet! Fighting the pain, he forced himself to consciousness, wondering why Caramon didn’t come. He could hear him calling again. What was the matter? And then Dalamar remembered—the guardians! Of course, they would never let him pass!

“Guardians, hear my words and obey,” Dalamar began, concentrating his thoughts and energies, murmuring the words that would help Caramon pass the dread defenders of the Tower and enter the chamber.

Behind Dalamar, the dragons heads glowed brighter yet, while before him, in the shadowed corner, a hand reached into a blood—drenched belt and, with its dying strength, gripped the handle of a dagger.

“Caramon,” said Tanis softly, watching the eyes watching him, “we could leave. Go up the stairs again. Maybe there’s another way—

“There isn’t. I’m not leaving,” Caramon said stubbornly.

“Name of the gods, Caramon! You can’t fight the damn things!”

“Dalamar!” Caramon called again desperately. “Dalamar, I—”

As suddenly as if they had been snuffed out, the glowing eyes vanished.

“They’re gone!” said Caramon, starting forward eagerly. But Tanis caught hold of him.

“A trick—”

“No,” Caramon drew him on. “You can sense them, even when they’re not visible. And I can’t sense them anymore. Can you?”

“I sense something!” Tanis muttered.

“But it’s not them and it’s not concerned about us,” Caramon said, heading down the winding stairs of the top of the Tower at a run. Another door at the bottom of the steps stood open. Here, Caramon paused, peering inside the main part of the building cautiously.

It was dark inside, as dark as if light had not yet been created. The torches had been extinguished. No windows permitted even the smoke-clouded light from outside the Tower to seep into it. Tanis had a sudden vision of stepping into that darkness and vanishing forever, falling into the thick, devouring evil that permeated every rock and stone. Beside him, he could hear Caramon’s breathing quicken, and feel the big man’s body tense.

“Caramon—what’s out there?”

“Nothing’s out there. Just a long drop to the bottom. The center of the Tower’s hollow. There are stairs that run around the edge of the wall, rooms branch off from the stairs. I’m standing on a narrow landing now, if I remember right. The laboratory’s about two flights down from here.”

Caramon s voice broke. “We’ve got to go on! We’re losing time! He’s getting nearer!” Clutching at Tanis, he continued more calmly. “C’mon. Just keep close to the wall. This stairway leads down to the laboratory—”

“One false step in this blasted darkness and it won’t matter to us anymore what your brother does!” Tanis said. But he knew his words were useless. Blind as he was in the smothering endless night, he could almost see Caramon s face tighten with resolve. He heard the big man take a shuffling step forward, trying to feel his way along the wall. With a sigh, Tanis prepared to follow... .

And then the eyes were back, staring at them.

Tanis reached for his sword—a stupid, futile gesture. But the eyes only continued to stare at them, and a voice spoke. “Come. This way”

A hand wavered in the darkness.

“We can’t see, damn it!” Tanis snarled.

A ghostly light appeared, held in that wasted hand. Tanis shuddered. He preferred the darkness, after all. But he said nothing, for Caramon was hurrying ahead, running down a long winding flight of stairs. At the bottom, the eyes and the hand and the light came to halt. Before them was an open door and a room beyond. Inside the room, light shone brightly, beaming into the corridor. Caramon dashed ahead, and Tanis followed, hastily slamming the door shut behind him so that the horrible eyes wouldn’t follow.

Turning, he stopped, staring around the room, and he realized, suddenly, where he was—Raistlin’s laboratory. Standing numbly, pressed against the door, Tanis watched as Caramon hurried forward to kneel beside a figure huddled in a pool of blood upon the floor. Dalamar, Tanis registered, seeing the black robes. But he couldn’t react, couldn’t move.

The evil in the darkness outside the door had been smothering, dusty, centuries old. But the evil in here was alive; it breathed and throbbed and pulsed. Its chill flowed from the nightblue-bound spellbooks upon the shelves, its warmth rose from a new set of black-bound spellbooks, marked with hourglass runes, that stood beside them. His horrified gaze looked into beakers and saw tormented eyes staring back at him. He choked on the smells of spices and mold and fungus and roses and, somewhere, the sweet smell of burned flesh.

And then, his gaze was caught and held by glowing light radiating from a corner. The light was beautiful, yet it filled him with awe and terror, reminding him vividly of his encounter with the Dark Queen. Mesmerized, he stared at the light. It seemed to be of every color he had ever seen whirling into one. But, as he watched, horrified, fascinated, unable to look away, he saw the light separate and become distinct, forming into the five heads of a dragon.