Margaret Weis - War of the Twins

His voice broke. “I’ll have to... to explain, somehow, about Tas dying... back there in Istar... .”

“In the name of the gods, Caramon,” Raistlin snapped, making an irritated motion with his slender hand, “I thought we had seen some glimmer of an adult lurking in that hulking body of yours! You will undoubtedly return to find Tasslehoff sitting in your kitchen, regaling Tika with one stupid story after another, having robbed you blind in the meantime!”

“What?” Caramon’s face grew pale, his eyes widened.

“Listen to me, my brother!” Raistlin hissed, pointing a finger at Caramon. “The kender doomed himself when he disrupted Par-Salian’s spell. There is a very good reason for the prohibition against those of his race and the races of dwarves and gnomes traveling back in time. Since they were created by accident, through a quirk of fate and the god, Reorx’s, carelessness, these races are not within the flow of time, as are humans, elves, and ogres—those races first created by the gods.

“Thus, the kender could have altered time, as he was quick to realize when I inadvertently let slip that fact. I could not allow that to happen! Had he stopped the Cataclysm, as he intended, who knows what might have occurred? Perhaps we might have returned to our own time to find the Queen of Darkness reigning supreme and unchallenged, since the Cataclysm was sent, in part, to prepare the world to face her coming and give it the strength to defy her—”

“So you murdered him!” Caramon interrupted hoarsely.

“I told him to get the device”—Raistlin bit the words—“I taught him how to use it, and I sent him home!”

Caramon blinked. “You did?” he asked suspiciously.

Raistlin sighed and laid his head back into the cushions of the chair. “I did, but I don’t expect you to believe me, my brother.” His hands plucked feebly at the black robes he wore. “Why should you, after all?”

“You know,” said Crysania softly, “I seem to remember, in those last horrible moments before the earthquake struck, seeing Tasslehoff. He... he was with me... in the Sacred Chamber... .”

She saw Raistlin open his eyes a slit. His glittering gaze pierced her heart and startled her, distracting her thoughts for a moment.

“Go on,” Caramon urged.

“I—I remember... he had the magical device. At least I think he did. He said something about it.”

Crysania put her hand to her forehead. “But I can’t think what it was. It—it’s all so dreadful and confused. But—I’m certain he said he had the device!”

Raistlin smiled slightly. “Surely, you will believe Lady Crysania, my brother?” He shrugged. “A cleric of Paladine will not lie.”

“So Tasslehoff’s home? Right now?” Caramon said, trying to assimilate this startling information.

“And, when I go back, I’ll find him—”

“—safe and sound and loaded down with most of your personal possessions,” Raistlin finished wryly. “But, now, we must turn our attention to more pressing matters. You are right, my brother. We need food and warm clothing, and we are not likely to find either here. The time we have come forward to is about one hundred years after the Cataclysm. This Tower’—he waved his hand—“has been deserted all those years. It is now guarded by the creatures of darkness called forth by the curse of the magic-user whose body is still impaled upon the spikes of the gates below us. The Shoikan Grove has grown up around it, and there are none on Krynn who dare enter.

“None except myself, of course. No, no one can get inside. But the guardians will not prevent one of us—you, my brother, for example—from leaving. You will go into Palanthas and buy food and clothing. I could produce it with my magic, but I dare not expend any unnecessary energy between now and when I—that is Crysania and I—enter the Portal.”

Caramon’s eyes widened. His gaze went to the soot blackened window, his thoughts to the horrifying stories of the Shoikan Grove beyond.

“I will give you a charm to guard you, my brother,” Raistlin added in exasperation, seeing the frightened look on Caramon’s face. “A charm will be necessary, in fact, but not to aid your way through the Grove. It is far more dangerous in here. The guardians obey me, but they hunger for your blood. Do not set foot outside this room without me. Remember that. You, too, Lady Crysania”

“Where is this... this Portal?” Caramon asked abruptly.

“In the laboratory, above us, at the top of the Tower,” Raistlin replied. “The Portals were kept in the most secure place the wizards could devise because, as you can imagine, they are extremely dangerous!”

“It’s like wizards to go tampering with what they should best leave alone,” Caramon growled.

“Why in the name of the gods did they create a gateway to the Abyss?”

Placing the tips of his fingers together, Raistlin stared into the fire, speaking to the flames as if they were the only ones with the power to understand him.

“In the hunger for knowledge, many things are created. Some are good, that benefit us all. A sword in your hands, Caramon, champions the cause of righteousness and truth and protects the innocent. But a sword in the hands of, say, our beloved sister, Kitiara, would split the heads of the innocent wide open if it suited her. Is this the fault of the sword’s creator?”

“N—” Caramon began, but his twin ignored him.

“Long ago, during the Age of Dreams, when magic-users were respected and magic flourished upon Krynn, the five Towers of High Sorcery stood as beacons of light in the dark sea of ignorance that was this world. Here, great magics were worked, benefiting all. There were plans for greater still. Who knows but that now we might have been riding on the winds, soaring the skies like dragons. Maybe even leaving this wretched world and inhabiting other worlds, far away... far away...

His voice grew soft and quiet. Caramon and Crysania held very still, spellbound by his tone, caught up in the vision of his magic.

He sighed. “But that was not to be. In their desire to hasten their great works, the wizards decided they needed to communicate directly with each other, from one Tower to another, without the need for cumbersome teleportation spells. And so, the Portals were constructed.”

“They succeeded?” Crysania’s eyes shone with wonder.

“They succeeded!” Raistlin snorted. “Beyond their wildest dreams”—his voice dropped—“their worst nightmares. For the Portals could not only provide movement in one step between any of the far—flung Towers and fortresses of magic—but also into the realms of the gods, as an inept wizard of my own order discovered to his misfortune.”

Raistlin shivered, suddenly, and drew his black robes more tightly around him, huddling close to the fire.

“Tempted by the Queen of Darkness, as only she can tempt mortal man when she chooses”—

Raistlin’s face grew pale—“he used the Portal to enter her realm and gain the prize she offered him nightly, in his dreams.” Raistlin laughed, bitter, mocking laughter. “Fool! What happened to him, no one knows. But he never returned through the Portal. The Queen, however, did. And with her, came legions of dragons—”

“The first Dragon Wars!” Crysania gasped.

“Yes, brought upon us by one of my own kind with no discipline, no self-control. One who allowed himself to be seduced—” Breaking off, Raistlin stared broodingly into the fire.

“But, I never heard that!” Caramon protested. “According to the legends, the dragons came together—”

“Your history is limited to bedtime tales, my brother!” Raistlin said impatiently. “And just proves how little you know of dragons. They are independent creatures, proud, self-centered, and completely incapable of coming together to cook dinner, much less coordinate any sort of war effort. No, the Queen entered the world completely that time, not just the shadow she was during our war with her. She waged war upon the world, and it was only through Huma’s great sacrifice that she was driven back.”