Jean Rabe - The Day of the Tempest

“And now you don’t respect it?”

“Now I need to know. If you are Raistlin, you’re far more powerful than I am. You could help us.”

“I’m not your Uncle Raistlin,” the Master began. “But I knew him well And Dalamar. And many, many others. There is some of Raistlin in me—just as there is a bit of every mage who ever took a Test of High Sorcery. All who take the Test become a part of me. I think, however, that Raistlin was the most formidable of those who studied within my walls.”

“Within your walls?”

“I am the Tower of Wayreth.”

“Preposterous! You’re a man, not a building.” Palin’s voice rose and he felt anger color his cheeks. “Palanthas’s Tower of High Sorcery was destroyed more than thirty years ago. There’s nothing left of the building.”

“But the magic that pervaded its stones remained. I am a living manifestation of the tower. I am all of the towers. I am the essence of all of the old magic of High Sorcery”

The Master raised his hands to his hood and drew back the heavy cloth. For an instant the face Palin saw beneath was his Uncle Raistlin’s, the familiar silvery-white hair spilling over the man’s shoulders. Then the visage changed, becoming Par-Salian of the White Robes. Next, Gilthanas’s face appeared, then the visages of Dalamar, Ladonna of the Black Robes, Fistandantilus, and Justarius of the Red Robes. There were others, some Palin only guessed at from descriptions he’d heard. He had no clue as to who others were.

“All of these people came to the tower, studied there, left an impression on me. Their power helped create the essence you see before you.” The Master pulled the hood back over his head. “I am the Master of the Tower and also what is left of the tower.”

“The Shadow Sorcerer…”

“Thinks I’m Raistlin. And I’ve no intention of telling the Shadow Sorcerer otherwise.”

Palin pulled out a chair and sat heavily on it. “I thought you were a man.”

“I am—in a sense. I am your colleague. And I’ve come to think of you as a friend.”

Palin nodded. “You are my friend.”

“Now let us move on to more important matters,” the Master urged. “This Age of Dreams magic. It has been hard for me to come to terms with destroying such magnificent artifacts, but Sageth is to be heeded in the matter of gaining the ancient magic. I believe it is the answer, our best hope at defeating the overlords. The more of it you can find, the better. The more divinely crafted power we have to work with, the greater our chance of success.”

“There’s something more. What?”

“Let me show you.” He went over to a large bureau and opened one of the drawers, retrieving a crystal ball on a hammered bronze pedestal. He gingerly carried it to the table and held his hands a hair’s breadth above its shimmering surface. “This is what I saw this morning when I finished my research and tried to find Sageth. No man with any sorcerous ability matches his description. The crystal could not locate him. But it did reveal this.”

A tiny image appeared in the center of the ball It was small at first, looking like a raven. But it grew larger until it filled the crystal

“Khellendros!” Palin exclaimed.

“He is the power behind Sageth. The man is his puppet, I suspect. Look closer, there’s more.”

The Blue Dragon faded, and the Red filled the crystal. “Malystryx the Red, the one our associate the Shadow Sorcerer concerns himself with. She too is involved in all of this somehow. And a woman.” A face imposed itself over Malys’s, a young human woman with curly black hair and soft brown eyes. “Kitiara uth Malar,” the Master said. “She died several years before your birth, and yet somehow her spirit has a hand in all of this.”

He drew his hands away from the crystal, and the images faded. “Don’t let your friends relinquish the ancient magic. They’ll be putting it in the hands of an overlord. I’ll give you Dalamar’s ring—when we know for certain how to use the artifacts—and when no dragon is involved.”

“I’ve got to stop them.” Palin pushed back from the table and hurried from the room, the spell that would transport him to Goldmoon’s dome already racing through his mind. He bumped into the Shadow Sorcerer as he flew down the stairs. The mysterious sorcerer nodded a farewell.

“Did you enjoy your chat with your Uncle Raistlin?” the sorcerer asked.

But Palin Majere couldn’t answer. He was already growing transparent, the stone beneath his feet becoming the shore outside the Citadel of Light.

Thick gray clouds filled the sky shortly before sunset. Jasper struggled toward his friends, gathered about the clearing. He hoped that the storm would hold off until after dark, when the stars came out and they could perform whatever ceremony they had in mind to destroy the artifacts. Then the magic could increase on Krynn, the sorcerers could band together and would have a hope of standing up to the overlords, and then at last he could properly mourn Goldmoon.

As the sun edged toward the horizon, thin flickers of lightning began to dance between the clouds, and the thunder that followed was soft, like a distant drum beating.

Sageth selected a spot where there were no stones, and where the ground was flat. They waited there as the sun dipped lower, the last of its orange-red rays all but obscured by die still-darkening sky.

“The magic,” he said, as he consulted his tablet. “It’s time.”

Blister wondered how an old man could read when it was this dark out. She made a mental note to ask him about it when the ceremony was over. The kender didn’t want to distract him now.

“The lance first.” Sageth looked up at the sky, pointing with his finger through a gap in the clouds where a faint star could be seen. “Put the lance here.”

Jasper translated Sageth’s words, and Groller took a last look at Huma’s prize, then carefully set it on the ground where Sageth indicated.

“Now the Fist of E’li. See that it touches the lance.” Jasper wheezed as he walked forward, still exhausted from his trip to the Citadel. “And the medallions. Make sure the chains touch both weapons.” Blister came forward and took the medallion off from around her neck. She did as she was instructed, then backed away, not wanting to take her eyes off Goldmoon’s gift. Jasper pulled the other one from his pocket and laid it next to the first

“No!”

All of a sudden Palin was among them, running toward them, the white of his tunic illuminated by flashes of lightning. “Don’t give him the medallion! Don’t give him anything! It’s a trick!”

Rig reacted first. He leaped forward, and grabbed the wooden haft of the scepter. In that same instant, the ground beneath the mariner seemed to melt; the grass dissolved and the dirt turned to quicksand. Rig felt himself sinking into the sucking, wet earth. He gasped and tried to free himself, but only sank deeper, faster. He was completely covered now, his chest tightening and then feeling as if it would explode with thirst for air. Shaon, he thought. Perhaps we’ll be reunited sooner than I expected. Then he felt big hands fishing about and latching onto his legs. Groller’s hands. They pulled Rig to the surface, and the mariner coughed up a mouthful of sand and slime.

The half-ogre pulled his friend away from the area. The mariner could see that Palin, Jasper, Feril, Fiona, and Fury— all of them were also running away. The patch of quicksand was growing, racing outward to engulf them.

Fiona charged forward, her long sword reflecting the lightning as she skirted the growing pool of quicksand.

Palin held something in his hands and recited arcane words. Feril was doing the same, but their words weren’t coming fast enough—the sand was going to overtake them. It swelled like a tide around their ankles, sloshed up to their knees.