Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“Was it, Crysania?” Caramon asked. “If so, why did Paladine grant your prayers and open the Portal for you when he refused to grant the demands of the Kingpriest? Why did he bless you with that gift if not because he saw truly what was in your heart?”

“Paladine has turned his face from me!” she cried. Taking the medallion in her hand she tried to wrench it from her neck. But she was too weak. Her hand closed over the medallion and remained there. And, as she did so, a look of peace filled her face. “No,” she said, talking softly to herself, “he is here. He holds me. I see him so clearly...”

Standing up, Caramon lifted her in his arms. Her head sank back against his shoulder, she relaxed in his firm grasp. “We are going back to the Portal,” he told her.

She did not answer, but she smiled. Had she heard him, or was she listening to another voice? Facing the Portal that glimmered like a multicolored jewel in the distance, Caramon thought himself near it, and it moved rapidly forward.

Suddenly the air around him split and cracked. Lightning stabbed from the sky, lightning such as he had never seen. Thousands of purple, sizzling branches struck the ground, penning him for a spectacular instant in a prison whose bars were death. Paralyzed by the shock, he could not move. Even after the lightning vanished, he waited, cringing, for the explosive blast of thunder that must deafen him forever.

But there was only silence, silence and, far away, an agonized, piercing scream. Crysania’s eyes opened. “Raistlin,” she said. Her hand tightened around the medallion.

“Yes,” Caramon replied.

Tears slid down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and clung to Caramon. He moved on, toward the Portal, traveling slowly now, a disturbing, disquieting idea coming to his mind. Lady Crysania was dying, certainly. The lifebeat in her neck was weak, fluttering beneath his fingers like the heart of a baby bird. But she was not dead, not yet. Perhaps, if he could get her back through the Portal, she might live.

Could he get her through, though, without taking her through himself?

Holding her in his arms, Caramon drew nearer the Portal. Or rather, it drew nearer him, leaping up at him as he approached, growing in size, the dragon’s heads staring at him with their glittering eyes, their mouths open to grasp and devour him.

He could still see through it, he could see Tanis and Dalamar—one standing, the other sitting; neither moving, both frozen in time. Could they help him? Could they take Crysania?

“Tanis!” he called out. “Dalamar!”

But if either heard him shouting, they did not react to his cries.

Gently, he lowered Lady Crysania to the shifting ground before the Portal. Caramon knew then that it was hopeless. He had known all along. He could take her back and she would live. But that would mean Raistlin would live and escape, drawing the Queen after him, dooming the world and its people to destruction.

He sank down to the strange ground. Sitting beside Crysania, he took hold of her hand. He was glad she was here with him, in a way. He didn’t feel so alone. The touch of her hand was comforting. If only he could save her... .

“What are you going to do to Raistlin, Caramon?” Crysania asked softly, after a moment.

“Stop him from leaving the Abyss,” Caramon replied, his voice even, without expression. She nodded in understanding, her hand holding his firmly, her sightless eyes staring up at him.

“He’ll kill you, won’t he?”

“Yes,” Caramon answered steadily. “But not before he himself falls.”

A spasm of pain contorted Crysania’s face. She gripped Caramon s hand. “I’ll wait for you!” She choked, her voice weakening. “I’ll wait for you. When it is over, you will be my guide since I cannot see. You will take me to Paladine. You will lead me from the darkness.”

Her eyes closed. Her head sank back slowly, as though she rested upon a pillow. But her hand still held Caramon’s. Her breast rose and fell with her breathing. He put his fingers on her neck, her life pulsed beneath them.

He had been prepared to condemn himself to death, he was prepared to condemn his brother. It had all been so simple!

But—could he condemn her?...

Perhaps he still had time... Perhaps he could carry her through the Portal and return...

Filled with hope, Caramon rose to his feet and started to lift Crysania in his arms again. Then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, he saw Raistlin.

“Enter, Knight of the Black Rose,” repeated Dalamar.

Eyes of flame stared at Tanis, who put his hand on the hilt of his sword. At the same instant, slender fingers touched his arm, making him start.

“Do not interfere, Tanis,” Dalamar said softly. “He does not care about us. He comes for one thing only.”

The flickering, flaming gaze passed over Tanis. Candlelight glinted on the ancient, old-fashioned, ornate armor that bore still, beneath the blackened scorch-marks and the stains of his own blood—long since turned to dust—the faint outlines of the Rose, symbol of the Knights of Solamnia. Booted feet that made no sound crossed the room. The orange eyes had found their object in the shadowed corner—the huddled form lying beneath Tanis’s cloak.

Keep him away! Tanis hear Kitiara’s frantic voice. I have always loved you, half-elf!

Lord Soth stopped and knelt beside the body. But he appeared unable to touch it, as though constrained by some unseen force. Rising to his feet, he turned, his orange eyes flaming in the empty darkness beneath the helm he wore.

“Release her to me, Tanis Half-Elven,” said the hollow voice. “Your love binds her to this plane. Give her up.”

Tanis, gripping his sword, took a step forward.

“He’ll kill you, Tanis,” Dalamar warned. “He’ll slay you without hesitation. Let her go to him. After all, I think perhaps he was the only one of us who ever truly understood her.”

The orange eyes flared. “Understood her? Admired her! Like I myself, she was meant to rule, destined to conquer! But she was stronger than I was. She could throw aside love that threatened to chain her down. But for a twist of fate, she would have ruled all of Ansalon!”

The hollow voice resounded in the room, startling Tanis with its passion, its hatred.

“And there she was!” The chain mail fist clenched. “Penned up in Sanction like a caged beast, making plans for a war she could not hope to win. Her courage and resolve were beginning to weaken. She had even allowed herself to become chained like a slave to a dark-elf lover! Better she should die fighting than let her life burn out like a guttered candle.”

“No!” Tanis muttered, his hand clenching his sword. “No—”

Dalamar’s fingers closed over his wrist. “She never loved you, Tanis,” he said coldly. “She used you as she used us all, even him.” The dark elf glanced toward Soth. Tanis seemed about to speak, but Dalamar interrupted. “She used you to the end, Half-Elven. Even now, she reaches from beyond, hoping you will save her.”

Still Tanis hesitated. In his mind burned the image of her horror-filled face. The image burned, flames rose...

Flames filled Tanis’s vision. Staring into them, he saw a castle, once proud and noble, now black and crumbling, falling into flame. He saw a lovely, delicate elf maid, a little child in her arms, falling into flame. He saw warriors, running, dying, falling into flame. And out of the flame, he heard Soth’s voice.

“You have life, Half-Elven. You have much to live for. There are those among the living who depend upon you. I know, because all that you have was once mine. I cast it away, choosing to live in darkness instead of light. Will you follow me? Will you throw all you have aside for one who chose, long ago, to walk the paths of night?”