Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“What are you talking about?” Caramon glared at him, then glanced up at the storm clouds. The rain was increasing in fury, the lightning striking nearer.

“Par-Salian!” cried Tas frantically. “I—I messed up his magical time-traveling spell! I went when I wasn’t supposed to! And then I stol—er—found a magical ring that someone had left lying about and it turned me into a mouse! I’m certain he must be rather peeved over that! And then I-I broke the magical device, Caramon. Remember? Well, it wasn’t exactly my fault, Raistlin made me break it! But a really strict person might take the unfortunate attitude that if I had left it alone in the first place—like I knew I was supposed to—then that wouldn’t have happened. And Par-Salian seems an awfully strict sort of person, don’t you think? And while I did have Gnimsh fix it, he didn’t fix it quite right, you know—”

“Tasslehoff,” said Caramon tiredly, “shut up.”

“Yes, Caramon,” Tas said meekly, with a snuffle. Caramon looked at the small dejected figure reflected in the bright lightning and sighed. “Look, Tas, I won’t let Par-Salian do anything to you. I promise. He’ll have to turn me into a bat first.”

“Truly?” asked Tas anxiously.

“My word,” said Caramon, his eyes on the storm. “Now, give me your hand and let’s get out of here.”

“Sure,” said Tas cheerfully, slipping his small hand into Caramon’s large one.

“And Tas... “Yes, Caramon?”

“This time—think of the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth! No moons!”

“Yes, Caramon,” Tas said with a profound sigh. Then he smiled again. “You know,” he said to himself as Caramon began to recite the chant again, “I’ll bet Caramon would make a whopping big bat—”

They found themselves standing at the edge of a forest. “It’s not my fault, Caramon!” Tas said quickly. “I thought about the Tower with all my heart and soul. I’m certain I never thought once about a forest.”

Caramon stared intently into the woods. It was still night, but the sky was clear, though storm clouds were visible on the horizon. Lunitari burned a dull, smoldering red. Solinari was dropping down into the storm. And above them, the starry hourglass.

“Well, we’re in the right time period. But where in the name of the gods are we?” Caramon muttered, leaning on his crutch and glaring at the magical device irritably. His gaze went back to the shadowy trees, their trunks visible in the garish moonlight. Suddenly, his expression cleared.

“It’s all right, Tas,” he said in relief. “Don’t you recognize this? It’s Wayreth Forest—the magical forest that stands guard around the Tower of High Sorcery!”

“Are you sure?” Tas asked doubtfully. “It certainly doesn’t look the same as the last time I saw it.

Then it was all ugly, with dead trees lurking about, staring at me, and when I tried to go inside it wouldn’t let me and when I tried to leave it wouldn’t let me and—”

“This is it,” Caramon muttered, folding the sceptre back into its nondescript pendant shape again.

“Then what happened to it?”

“The same thing that happened to the rest of the world, Tas,” Caramon replied, carefully slipping the pendant back into the leather pouch.

Tas’s thoughts went back to the last time he had seen the magical Forest of Wayreth. Set to guard the Tower of High Sorcery from unwelcome intruders, the Forest was a strange and eerie place. For one thing, a person didn’t find the magical forest—it found you. And the first time it had found Tas and Caramon was right after Lord Soth had cast the death spell on Lady Crysania. Tas had wakened from a sound sleep to discover the Forest standing where no forest had been the night before!

The trees then had appeared to be dead. Their limbs were bare and twisted, a chill mist flowed from beneath their trunks. Inside dwelt dark and shadowy shapes. But the trees hadn’t been dead. In fact, they had the uncanny habit of following a person. Tas remembered trying to walk away from the Forest, only to continually find himself—no matter what direction he traveled—always walking into it.

That had been spooky enough, but when Caramon walked into the Forest, it had changed dramatically. The dead trees began to grow, turning into vallenwoods! The Forest was transformed from a dark and forbidding wood filled with death into a beautiful green and golden forest of life. Birds sang sweetly in the branches of the vallenwoods, inviting them inside.

And now the Forest had changed again. Tas stared at it, puzzled. It seemed to be both forests he remembered—yet neither of them. The trees appeared dead, their twisted limbs were stark and bare. But, as he watched, he thought he saw them move in a manner that seemed very much alive! Reaching out, like grasping arms...

Turning his back on the spooky Forest of Wayreth, Tas investigated his surroundings. All else was exactly as it had been in Solace. No other trees stood at all—living or dead. He was surrounded by nothing but blackened, blasted stumps. The ground was covered with the same slimy, gray mud. For as far as he could see, in fact, there was nothing but desolation and death...

“Caramon,” Tas cried suddenly, pointing.

Caramon glanced over. Beside one of the stumps lay a huddled figure.

“A person!” Tas cried in wild excitement. “Someone else is here!”

“Tas!” Caramon called out warningly, but before he could stop him, the kender was dashing over.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hullo! Are you asleep? Wake up.” Reaching down, he shook the figure, only to have it roll over at his touch, lying stiff and rigid.

“Oh!” Tas took a step backward, then stopped. “Oh, Caramon,” he said softly. “It’s Bupu!”

Once, long ago, Raistlin had befriended the gully dwarf. Now she stared up at the starlit sky with empty, sightless eyes. Dressed in filthy, ragged clothing, her small body was pitifully thin, her grubby face wasted and gaunt. Around her neck was a leather thong. Attached to the end of the thong was a stiff, dead lizard. In one hand, she clutched a dead rat, in the other she held a dried-up chicken leg. As death approached, she had summoned up all the magic she possessed, Tas thought sadly, but it hadn’t helped.

“She hasn’t been dead long,” Caramon said. Limping over, he knelt down painfully beside the shabby little corpse. “Looks like she starved to death.” He reached out his hand and gently closed the staring eyes. Then he shook his head. “I wonder how she came to live this long? The bodies we saw back in Solace must have been dead months, at least.”

“Maybe Raistlin protected her,” Tasslehoff said before he thought.

Caramon scowled. “Bah! It’s just coincidence, that’s all,” he said harshly. “You know gully dwarves, Tas. They can live on anything. My guess is that they were the last creatures to survive. Bupu, being the smartest of the lot, just managed to survive longer than the rest. But—in the end, even a gully dwarf would perish in this god-cursed land.” He shrugged. “Here, help me stand.”

“What—what are we going to do with her, Caramon?” Tas asked bleakly. “Are—are we just going to leave her?”

“What else can we do?” Caramon muttered gruffly. The sight of the gully dwarf and the nearness of the Forest were bringing back painful, unwelcome memories. “Would you want to be buried in that mud?” He shivered and glanced about. The storm clouds were rushing closer; he could see the lightning streaking down to the ground and hear the roar of the thunder. “Besides, we don’t have much time, not the way those clouds are moving in.”

Tas continued to stare at him sorrowfully.

“There’s nothing left alive to bother her anyway, Tas,” he snapped irritably. Then, seeing the grieved expression on the kender’s face, Caramon slowly removed his own cloak and carefully spread it over the emaciated corpse. “We better get going,” he said.