Margaret Weis - War of the Twins

“What can we do! I have no weapon! I can’t see!” Caramon cried out in agony, clenching his fist.

“Hush!” Crysania ordered, grasping his arm, her eyes on the shimmering figures. “They seem to grow stronger when you talk like that! Perhaps they feed off fear. c hose in he Shoikan Grove do, so Dalamar told me.”

Caramon drew a deep breath. His body glistened with sweat, and he began to shake violently.

“We’ve got to try to wake up Raistlin,” Crysania said.

“No good!” Caramon whispered through chattering teeth. “I know—”

“We have to try!” Crysania said firmly, though she shuddered at the thought of walking even a few feet under that terrible scrutiny.

“Be careful, move slowly,” Caramon advised, letting her go.

Holding the medallion high, her eyes oh the eyes of the darkness, Crysania crept over to Raistlin. She placed one hand oh the mage’s thin, black-robed shoulder. “Raistlin!” she said as loudly as she dared, shaking him. “Raistlin!”

There was ho response. She might as well have tried to rouse a corpse. Thinking of that, she glanced out at the waiting figures. Would they kill him? she wondered. After all, he didn’t exist in this time. The “master of past and present” had hot yet returned to claim his property—this Tower.

Or had he?

Crysania called to the mage again and, as she did so, she kept her eyes oh the undead, who were moving hearer as her light grew weaker.

“Fistandantilus!” she said to Raistlin.

“Yes!” Caramon cried, hearing her and understanding. “They recognize that name. What’s happening? I feel a change... .”

“They’ve stopped!” Crysania said breathlessly. “They’re looking at him how.”

“Get back!” Caramon ordered, rising to a half-crouch. “Keep away from him. Get that light away from him! Let them see him as he exists in their darkness!”

“No!” Crysania retorted angrily. “You’re mad! Once the light’s gone, they’ll devour him—”

“It’s our only chance!”

Lunging for Crysania blindly, Caramon caught her off guard. He grabbed her in his strong arms and yanked her away from Raistlin, hurling her to the floor. Then he fell across her, smashing the breath from her body.

“Caramon!” She gasped for air. “They’ll kill him! No—” Frantically, Crysania struggled against the big warrior, but he held her pinned beneath him.

The medallion was still clutched in her fingers. its light glowed weaker and weaker. Twisting her body, she saw Raistlin, lying in darkness how, outside the circle of her light.

“Raistlin!” she screamed. “No! Let me up, Caramon! They’re going to him... .”

But Caramon held her all the more firmly, pressing her down against the cold floor. His face was anguished, yet grim and determined, his sightless eyes staring down at her. His flesh was cold against her own, his muscles tense and knotted.

She would cast another spell oh him! The words were oh her lips when a shrill cry of pain pierced the darkness.

“Paladine, help me!” Crysania prayed...

Nothing happened.

Weakly, she tried one more time to escape Caramon, but it was hopeless and she knew it. And how, apparently, even her god had abandoned her. Crying out in frustration, cursing Caramon, she could only watch.

The pale, shimmering figures surrounded Raistlin how. She could see him only by the light of the horrid aura their decaying bodies cast. Her throat ached and a low moan escaped her lips as one of the ghastly creatures raised its cold hands and laid them upon his body.

Raistlin screamed. Beneath the black robes, his body jerked in spasms of agony.

Caramon, too, heard his brother’s cry. Crysania could see it reflected in his deathly, pale face.

“Let me up!” she pleaded. But, though cold sweat beaded his forehead, he shook his head resolutely, holding her hands tightly.

Raistlin screamed again. Caramon shuddered, and Crysania felt his muscles grow flaccid. Dropping the medallion, she freed her arms to strike at him with her clenched fists. But as she did so, the medallion’s light vanished, plunging them both into complete darkness. Caramon’s body was suddenly wrenched off hers. His hoarse, agonized scream mingled with the screams of his brother.

Dizzily, her heart racing in terror, Crysania struggled to sit up, her hand pawing the floor frantically for the medallion.

A face came hear hers. She glanced up quickly from her search, thinking it was Caramon... .

It wasn’t. A disembodied head floated hear her.

“No!” she whispered, unable to move, feeling life drain from her hands, her body, her very heart. Fleshless hands grasped her arms, drawing her near; bloodless lips gaped, eager for warmth.

“Paladi—” Crysania tried to pray, but she felt her soul being sucked from her body by the creature’s deadly touch.

Then she heard, dimly and far away, a weak voice chanting words of magic. Light exploded around her. The head so near her own vanished with a shriek, the fleshless hands loosed their grasp. There was an acrid smell of sulphur.

“Shirak.” The explosive light was gone. A soft glow lit the room.

Crysania sat up. “Raistlin!” she whispered thankfully. Staggering to her hands and knees, she crawled forward across the blackened, blasted floor to reach the mage, who lay on his back, breathing heavily. One hand rested on the Staff of Magius. Light radiated from the crystal ball clutched in the golden dragon’s claw atop the staff.

“Raistlin! Are you all right?”

Kneeling beside him, she looked into his thin, pale face as he opened his eyes. Wearily, he nodded. Then, reaching up, he drew her down to him. Embracing her, he stroked her soft, black hair. She could feel his heart beat. The strange warmth of his body drove away the chill.

“Don’t be afraid!” he whispered soothingly, feeling her tremble. “They will not harm us. They have seen me and recognized me. They didn’t hurt you?”

She could not speak but only shook her head. He sighed again. Crysania, her eyes closed, lay in his embrace, lost in comfort.

Then, as his hand went to her hair once more, she felt his body tense. Almost angrily, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her away from him.

“Tell me what happened,” he ordered in a weak voice.

“I woke up here—” Crysania faltered. The horror of her experience and the memory of Raistlin’s warm touch confused and unnerved her. Seeing his eyes grow cold and impatient, however, she made herself continue, keeping her voice steady. “I heard Caramon shout—”

Raistlin’s eyes opened wide. “My brother?” he said, startled. “So the spell brought him, too. I’m amazed I am still alive. Where is he?” Lifting his head weakly, he saw his brother, lying unconscious on the floor. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I—I cast a spell. He’s blind,” Crysania said, flushing. “I didn’t mean to, it was when he was trying to ki—kill you—in Istar, right before the Cataclysm—”

“You blinded him! Paladine... blinded him!” Raistlin laughed. The sound reverberated off the cold stones, and Crysania cringed, feeling a chill of horror. But the laughter caught in Raistlin’s throat. The mage began to choke and gag, gasping for breath.

Crysania watched, helpless, until the spasm passed and Raistlin lay quietly once more. “Go on,” he whispered irritably.

“I heard him yell, but I couldn’t see in the darkness. The medallion gave me light, though, and I found him and I—I knew he was blind. I found you, too. You were unconscious. We couldn’t wake you. Caramon told me to describe where we were and then I saw”—she shuddered—“I saw those… those horrible—”

“Continue,” Raistlin said.