Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

For an instant, fear assailed Palin. Had they all left him? Was he alone in this vast darkness? Then he saw a glint of metal near him—his father’s armor, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His steps hurried and, as he came to stand beside his father, the chamber seemed to lighten. He could see the dark elf, standing next to Caramon, the elf’s pale face all that was visible from the shadows of his black robes. Palin could see his brothers, could see them lift their hands in farewell. Palin started to raise his, but then Dalamar began chanting, and it seemed a dark cloud covered the light of Palin’s robes, of Caramon’s shining armor. The darkness grew thicker, swirling around them until it was so deep that it was a hole of blackness cut into the shadows of the chamber. Then there was nothing. The cold, eerie light returned to the tower, filling up the gap.

Dalamar, Palin, and Caramon were gone.

The two brothers left behind shouldered their packs"and began the long, strange journey back through the magical Forest of Wayreth. Thoughts of breaking this news to their red-haired, fiery-tempered, loving mother hung around their hearts with the weight of dwarven armor.

Behind them, standing beside the great stone chairs, Justarius and Dunbar watched in grim silence. Then, each speaking a word of magic, they, too, were gone, and the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth was left to its shadows, and only memories walked the halls.

“He came in the middle of a still black night,” Dalamar said softly. “The only moon in the sky was one his eyes alone could see.” The dark elf glanced at Palin from the depths of the black hood that covered the elf’s head. “Thus runs the legend about your uncle’s return to this tower.”

Palin said nothing—the words were in his heart. They had been there, secretly, ever since he was old enough to dream. In awe, he looked up at the huge gates that barred the entrance, trying to imagine his uncle standing where he now stood, commanding the gates to open. And when they did.... Palin’s gaze went further upward to the dark tower itself.

It was daylight in Palanthas. It had been midmorning when they had left the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, hundreds of miles to the south. And it was midmorning still, their magical journey having taken them no more than the drawing of a breath. The sun was at its zenith, shining right above the tower.

Two of the blood-red minarets atop the tower held a golden orb between them, like bloodstained fingers greedily grasping a coin. And the sun might well have been nothing more than a coin for all the warmth it shed, for no sunshine ever warmed this place of evil. The huge black stone edifice—torn from the bones of the world by magic spells—stood in the shadow of the spellbound Shoikan Grove, a stand of massive oak trees that guarded the tower more effectively than if each tree had been a hundred knights-at-arms. So powerful was its dread enchantment that no one could even come near it. Unless protected by a dark charm, no one could enter and come out alive.

Turning his head, Palin glanced from the folds of his white hood at the grove’s tall trees. They stood unmoving, though he could feel the wind from the sea blowing strong upon his face. It was said that even the terrible hurricanes of the Cataclysm had not caused a leaf to flutter in the Shoikan Grove, though no other tree in the city remained standing.

A chill darkness flowed among the trunks of the oaks, reaching out with snaking tendrils of icy fog that slithered along the paved courtyard before the gates and writhed about the ankles of those who stood there.

Shivering with cold and a fear he could not control, a fear fed by the trees, Palin looked at his father with new respect. Driven by love for his twin, Caramon had dared enter the Shoikan Grove, and had very nearly paid for his love with his life.

He must be thinking of that, Palin thought, for his father’s face was pale and grim. Beads of sweat stood upon his forehead. “Let’s get out of here,"

Caramon said harshly, his eyes carefully avoiding the sight of the cursed trees.

“Go inside, or something....”

“Very well,” replied Dalamar. Though his face was hidden once again by the shadows of his hood, Palin had the impression the dark elf was smiling.

“Although there is no hurry. We must wait until nightfall, when the silver moon, Solinari, beloved of Paladine, the black moon, Nuitari, favored by the Dark Queen, and Lunitari, the red moon of Gilean, are in the sky together. Raistlin will draw upon the black moon for his power. Others—who might need it—may draw upon Solinari—if they choose....” He did not look at Palin as he spoke, but the young man felt himself flush.

“What do mean—draw upon its power?” Caramon demanded angrily, grabbing hold of Dalamar. “Palin’s not a mage, not yet. You said you would deal with everything—”

“I am aware of my words,” Dalamar interrupted. He neither moved nor spoke, but suddenly Caramon snatched his hand back with a gasp of pain. “And I will deal with .. . what must be dealt with. But things strange and unexpected may happen this night. It is well to be prepared.” Dalamar regarded Caramon coolly. “And do not interfere with me again. Come, Palin. You may need my assistance to enter these gates.”

Dalamar held out his hand. Glancing back at his father, Palin saw his eyes fixed on him. Don’t go in there, his anguished gaze pleaded. If you do, I will lose you....

Lowering his own eyes in confusion, pretending he hadn’t read the message that had been as clear as the very first words his father taught him, Palin turned away and laid his hand hesitantly upon the dark elf’s arm. The black robes were soft and velvety to the touch. He could feel the hard muscles and, beneath, the fine, delicate bone structure of the elf, almost fragile to the touch, yet strong and steady and supportive.

An unseen hand opened the gates that had once, long ago, been made of fluted silver and gold but were now black and twisted, guarded by shadowy beings. Drawing Palin with him, Dalamar stepped through them.

Searing pain pierced the young man. Clutching his heart, Palin doubled over with a cry.

Dalamar stopped Caramon’s advance with a look. “You cannot aid him,” the dark elf said. “Thus the Dark Queen punishes those not loyal to her who tread upon this sacred ground. Hold on to me, Palin. Hold on to me tightly and keep walking. Once we are inside, this will subside.”

Gritting his teeth, Palin did as he was told, moving forward with halting footsteps, both hands gripping Dalamar’s arm.

It was well the dark elf led him on for, left on his own, Palin would have fled this place of darkness. Through the haze of pain, he heard soft words whisper, “Why enter? Death alone awaits you! Are you anxious to look upon his grinning face? Turn back, foolish one! Turn back. Nothing is worth this...."

Palin moaned. How could he have been so blind? Dalamar had been right... the price was too high

“Courage, Palin!” Dalamar’s voice blended with the whispering words.

The tower was crushing Palin beneath the weight of its dark, magical power, pressing the life from his body. Still he kept walking, though he could barely see the stones beneath his feet through a blood-red film blurring his eyes. Was this how he felt when he first came? Palin asked himself in agony. But no, of course not. Raistlin had worn the Black Robes when he first entered the tower.

He came in the fullness of his power. Master of Past and Present. For him, the gates had opened.... All dark and shadowy things bowed in homage. Thus went the legend.... For him, the gates had opened.... With a sob, Palin collapsed upon the threshold of the tower.