Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

“Yes, that’s where we’ll be,” muttered Caramon, his face darkening at the thought. “And you two will be on your way home,” he added, eyeing his older sons sternly. “You have to tell your mother—”

“I’d rather face ogres,” said Tanin gloomily.

“Me, too,” Caramon said with a grin that ended in a sigh. Leaning down suddenly to make certain his pack was cinched tightly, he kept his face carefully in the shadows. “Just make certain she’s not standing where she can get hold of the crockery,” he said, keeping his voice carefully light.

“She knows me. She’s been expecting this. In fact, I think she knew when we left,” Palin said, remembering his mother’s tender hug and cheery smile as she stood at the door to the inn, waving at them with an old towel.

Glancing behind him as they had been riding out of town, Palin recalled seeing that towel cover his mother’s face, Dezra’s arms going around her comfortingly.

“Besides,” said Caramon, standing up to glare at his older two sons, his tone now severe, “you both promised Porthios you’d go to Qualinesti and help the elves handle those draconian raiding parties. You know what Porthios is like. It took him ten years to even speak to us. Now he’s showing signs of being friendly. I won’t have sons of mine going back on their word, especially to that stiff-necked elf. No offense,” he said, glancing at Dalamar.

“None taken,” said the dark elf. “I know Porthios. And now—”

“We’re ready,” interrupted Palin, an eager look on his face as he turned to Dalamar. “I’ve read about this spell you’re going to cast, of course, but I’ve never seen it done. What components do you use? And do you inflect the first syllable of the first word, or the second? My master says—”

Dalamar coughed gently. “You are giving away our secrets, young one,” he said in smooth tones. “Come, speak your questions to me in private."

Placing his delicate hand upon Palin’s arm, the dark elf drew the young man away from his father and brothers.

“Secrets?” said Palin, mystified. “What do you mean? It doesn’t matter if they hear—”

“That was an excuse,” Dalamar said coldly. Standing in front of the young man, he looked at Palin intently, his eyes dark and serious. “Palin, don’t do this. Return home with your father and brothers.”

“What do you mean?” Palin asked, staring at Dalamar in confusion. “I can’t do that. You heard Justarius. They won’t let me take my test or even keep on studying until we know for certain that Raistlin is ... is ...”

“Don’t take the Test,” Dalamar said swiftly. “Give up your studies. Go home. Be content with what you are.”

“No!” Palin said angrily. “What do you take me for? Do you think I’d be happy entertaining at country fairs, pulling rabbits out of hats and golden coins out of fat men’s ears? I want more than that!”

“The price of such ambition is great, as your uncle dis covered.”

“And so are the rewards!” Palin returned. “I have made up my mind ...”

“Young one”—Dalamar leaned close to the young man, placing his cold hand upon Palin’s arm. His voice dropped to a whisper so soft that Palin wasn’t certain he heard its words spoken or in his mind—“why do you think they are sending you—truly?” His gaze went to Justarius and Dunbar, who were standing apart, conferring together. 'To somehow enter the portal and find your uncle—or what's left of him? No”— Dalamar shook his head—“that is impossible. The room is locked. One of the Guardians stands constant watch with instructions to let no one in, to kill any who tries. They know that, just as they know Raistlin lives! They are sending you to the tower— his tower—for one reason. Do you recall the old legend about using a young goat to net a dragon?”

Staring at Dalamar in disbelief, Palin’s face suddenly drained of all color. Licking his ashen lips, he tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry, his throat tight.

“I see you understand,” Dalamar said coolly, folding h is hands in the sleeves of his black robes. “The hunter tethers the young goat in front of the dragon’s lair. While the dragon devours the goat, the hunters sneak up on him with their nets and their spears. They catch the dragon. Unfortunately, it is a bit late for the goat.. . . Do you still insist on going?”

Palin had a sudden vision of his uncle as he had heard of him in the legends: facing the evil Fistandantilus, feeling the touch of the bloodstone upon his chest as it sought to draw out his soul, suck out his life. The young man shivered, his body drenched in chill sweat. “I am strong,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can fight as he fought—”

“Fight him? The greatest wizard who ever lived? The archmage who challenged the Queen of Darkness herself and nearly won?” Dalamar laughed mirthlessly. “Bah! You are doomed, young man. You haven’t a prayer. And you know what I will be forced to do if Raistlin succeeds!” Dalamar’s hooded head darted so near Palin that the young man could feel the touch of breath on his cheek. “I must destroy him—I will destroy him. I don’t care whose body he inhabits. That’s why they’re giving you to me. They don’t have the stomach for it.”

Unnerved, Palin took a step back from the dark elf. Then he caught himself, and stood still.

“I. . . understand,” he said, his voice growing firmer as he continued. “I told you that once. Besides, I don’t believe my uncle would harm me in ... the way you say.”

“You don’t?” Dalamar appeared amused. His hand moved to his chest.

“Would you like to see what harm your uncle is capable of doing?”

“No!” Palin averted his eyes, then, flushing, he added lamely, “I know about it. I’ve heard the story. You betrayed him—”

“And this was my punishment.” The dark elf shrugged. “Very well. If you are determined—”

“I am.”

“—then I suggest you bid farewell to your brothers—a final farewell, if you take my meaning. For I deem it unlikely that you will meet again in this life.”

The dark elf was matter-of-fact. His eyes held no pity, no remorse. Palin’s hands twitched, his nails dug into his flesh, but he managed to nod firmly.

“You must be careful what you say.” Dalamar glanced meaningfully at Caramon, who was walking over to Justarius. “Your brothers mustn’t suspect. He mustn’t suspect. If he knew, he would prevent your going. Wait”—Dalamar caught hold of the young man—“pull yourself together.”

Swallowing, trying to moisten a throat that was parched and aching, Palin pinched his cheeks to bring the color back and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe. Then, biting his lips to keep them steady, he turned from Dalamar and walked over to his brothers.

His white robes rustled around his ankles as he approached them. “Well, Brothers,” he began, forcing himself to smile, “I’m always standing on the porch of the inn, waving good-bye to you two, going off to fight something or other. Looks like if s my turn now.”

Palin saw Tanin and Sturm exchange swift, alarmed glances, and he choked. The three were close; they knew each other inside out. How can I fool them? he thought bitterly. Seeing their faces, he knew he hadn’t.

“My brothers,” Palin said softly, reaching out his hands. Clasping hold of both of them, he drew them near. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me go! Father wouldn’t understand. It’s going to be hard enough for him as it is.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Tanin began severely.

“Oh, shut up!” Sturm muttered. “So we don’t understand. Does it matter? Did our little brother blubber when you went off to your first battle?” Putting his big arms around Palin, he hugged him tightly. “Good-bye, kid,” he said.