Margaret Weis: War of the Twins

“General! Look out!” shouted Garic, standing in the doorway, his sword still in hand. Turning, Caramon headed back for the safety of the map room. But his foot slipped on the blood-covered stones and the big man fell, wrenching his knee painfully.

With a wild howl, the Dewar leaped on him.

“Get inside! Bolt the door, you—” The rest of Caramon’s words were lost as he disappeared beneath a seething mass of dwarves.

“Caramon!”

Sick at heart, cursing himself for hanging back, Garic jumped into the fray. A hammer blow crashed into his arm, and he heard the bone crunch. His left hand went oddly limp. Well, he thought, oblivious to the pain, at least it wasn’t my sword arm. His blade swung, a dark dwarf fell headless. An axe blade whined, but its wielder missed his mark. The dwarf was cut down from behind by one of the guards at the door.

Though unable to stand, Caramon still fought. A kick from his uninjured leg sent two dwarves reeling backward to crash into their fellows. Twisting onto his side, the big man smashed the hilt of his sword through the face of another dwarf, splashing blood up to his elbows. Then, in the return stroke, he thrust the blade through the guts of another. Garic’s charge spared his life for an instant, but it seemed it was an instant only.

“Caramon! Above you!” shrieked Garic, battling viciously.

Rolling onto his back, Caramon looked up to see Argat standing over him, his axe raised. Caramon lifted his sword, but at that moment four dark dwarves leaped on him, pinning him to the floor.

Almost weeping in rage, heedless of the weapons flashing around him, Garic tried desperately to save Caramon. But there were too many dwarves between him and his general. Already, the Dewar’s axe blade was falling...

The axe fell—but it fell from nerveless hands. Garic saw Argat’s eyes open wide in profound astonishment. The dwarf’s axe fell to the blood-slick stones with a ringing clatter as the dark dwarf himself toppled over on top of Caramon. Staring at Argat’s corpse, Garic saw a small knife sticking out of the back of the dwarf’s neck.

He looked up to see the dark dwarf’s killer and gasped in astonishment.

Standing over the body of the dead traitor was, of all things, a kender.

Garic blinked, thinking perhaps the fear and pain had done something strange to his mind, causing him to see phantoms. But there wasn’t time to try to figure out this astounding occurrence. The young Knight had finally managed to reach his general’s side. Behind him, he could hear the guards shouting and driving back the Dewar who, seeing their leader fall, had suddenly lost a great deal of their enthusiasm for a fight that was supposed to have been an easy slaughter.

The four dwarves who were holding Caramon stumbled back hastily as the big man struggled out from beneath Argat’s body. Reaching down, Garic jerked the dead dwarf up by the back of his armor and tossed the body to one side, then hauled Caramon to his feet. The big man staggered, groaning, as his crippled knee gave way under his weight.

“Help us!” Garic cried unnecessarily to the guards, who were already by his side. Half-dragging and half-carrying Caramon, they assisted the limping man into the map room.

Turning to follow, Garic cast a quick glance around the corridor. The dark dwarves were eyeing him uncertainly. He caught a glimpse of other dwarves behind them—mountain dwarves, his mind registered.

And there, seemingly rooted to the spot, was the strange kender who had come out of nowhere, apparently, to save Caramon’s life. The kender’s face ashen, there was a green look about his lips. Not knowing what else to do, Garic wrapped his good arm around the kender’s waist and, lifting him off his feet, hauled him back into the map room. As soon as he was inside, the guards slammed and bolted the door.

Caramon’s face was covered with blood and sweat, but he grinned at Garic. Then he assumed a stern look.

“You damn fool knight,” he growled. “I gave you a direct order and you disobeyed! I ought to—”

But his voice broke off as the kender, wriggling in Garic’s grasp, raised his head.

“Tas!” whispered Caramon, stunned.

“Hello, Caramon,” Tas said weakly. “I-I’m awfully glad to see you again. I’ve got lots to tell you and it’s very important and I really should tell you now but I... I think... I’m going... to faint.”

“And so that’s it,” Tas said softly, his eyes dim with tears as he looked into Caramon’s pale, expressionless face. “He lied to me about how to work the magical device. When I tried, it came apart in my hands. I did get to see the fiery mountain fall,” he added, “and that was almost worth all the trouble. It might have even been worth dying to see. I’m not sure, since I haven’t died yet, although I thought for a while I had. It certainly wouldn’t be worth it, though, if I had to spend the Afterlife in wants to go there:”

Tas sighed. “But, anyway, I could forgive him for that”—the kender’s voice hardened and his small jaw set firmly—“but not for what he did to poor Gnimsh and what he tried to do to you—”

Tasslehoff bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Caramon looked at him. “Go on, Tas,” he said. “Tried to do to me?”

“N-nothing,” Tas stammered, giving Caramon a sickly smile. “Just my rambling. You know me.”

“What did he try to do?” Caramon smiled bitterly. “I didn’t suppose there was anything left he could do to me.”

“Have you killed,” Tas muttered.

“Ah, yes.” Caramon’s expression did not change. “Of course. So that’s what the dwarfs message meant.”

“He gave you to—to the Dewar;” Tas said miserably. “They were going to take your head back to King Duncan. Raistlin sent away all the Knights in the castle, telling them you’d ordered them off to Thorbardin.” Tas waved his hand at Garic and the two guards. “He told the Dewar you’d have only your bodyguards.”

Caramon said nothing. He felt nothing—neither pain, nor anger, nor surprise. He was empty. Then a great surge of longing for his home, for Tika, for his friends, for Tanis, Laurana, for Riverwind and Goldmoon, rushed in to fill up that vast emptiness.

As if reading his thoughts, Tas rested his small head on Caramon’s shoulder. “Can we go back to our own time now?” he said, looking up at Caramon wistfully. “I’m awfully tired. Say, do you think I could stay with you and Tika for a while? Just until I’m better. I wouldn’t be a bother—I promise... .”

His eyes dim with tears, Caramon put his arm around the kender and held him close. “As long as you want, Tas,” he said. Smiling sadly, he stared into the flames. “I’ll finish the house. It won’t take more than a couple of months. Then we’ll go visit Tanis and Laurana. I promised Tika we’d do that. I promised her a long time ago, but I never seemed to get there. Tika always wanted to see Palanthas, you know. And maybe all of us could go to Sturm’s tomb. I never did get a chance to tell him good-bye.”

“And we can visit Elistan, and—Oh!” Tas’s face grew alarmed. “Crysania! Lady Crysania! I tried to tell her about Raistlin, but she doesn’t believe me! We can’t leave her!” He leaped to his feet, wringing his hands. “We can’t let him take her to that horrible place!”

Caramon shook his head. “We’ll try to talk to her again, Tas. I don’t think she’ll listen, but at least we can try.” He heaved himself up painfully. “They’ll be at the Portal now. Raistlin cant wait much longer. The fortress will fall to the mountain dwarves soon.

“Garic,” he said, limping over to where the Knight sat. “How’s it going?”

One of the other Knights had just finished setting Garic’s broken arm. They were tying it up in a rude sling, binding it to his side so that it was immobile. The young man looked up at Caramon, gritting his teeth with the pain but managing a smile nonetheless.