The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  Palin patted Tanin’s arm. “He means magic, my brother. Before you and Sturm reach the front entryway, Father and I will be standing in Dalamar’s study in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas—the tower my uncle claimed as his own,” he added softly. Palin had not meant anyone to hear his last words, but—glancing around—he caught Dalamar’s intense, knowing gaze. Flushing in confusion, the young man fell silent.

  “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 discovered.”

  “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 his 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 it’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. “Take care of yourself and … and … don’t be gone … long.…” Shaking his head, Sturm turned and walked hurriedly away, wiping his eye and muttering something about “those damn spell components make me sneeze!”

  But Tanin, the oldest, remained standing beside his brother, staring at him sternly. Palin looked up at him pleadingly, but Tanin’s face grew grim. “No, Little Brother,” he said. “You’re going to listen.”

  Dalamar, watching the two closely, saw the young warrior put his hand on Palin’s shoulder. He could guess what was being said. The dark elf saw Palin drawn away, shaking his head stubbornly, the young man’s features hardening into an impassive mask that Dalamar knew well. The wizard’s hand went to the wounds in his chest. How like Raistlin the young man was! Like, yet different, as Caramon had said, as different as the white moon and the black.… The dark elf’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed that Caramon had observed the conversation between his two sons, and was taking a step toward them. Quickly, Dalamar interceded. Walking over to Caramon, he placed his slender hand on the big man’s arm.

  “You have not told your children the truth about their uncle,” Dalamar said as Caramon glanced at him.

  “I’ve told them,” Caramon retorted, his face flushing, “as much as I thought they should know. I tried to make them see both sides of him.…”

  “You have done them a disservice, particularly one of them,” Dalamar replied coldly, his glance going to Palin.

  “What could I do?” Caramon asked angrily. “When the legends started about him—sacrificing himself for the sake of the world, daring to go into the Abyss to rescue Lady Crysania from the clutches of the Dark Queen—what could I say? I told them how it was. I told them the true story. I told them that he lied to Crysania, that he seduced her in spirit, if not in body, and led her into the Abyss. And I told them that, at the end, when she was of no more use to him, he abandoned her to let her die alone. I told them. Tanis has told them. But they believe what they want to believe.… We all do, I guess,” Caramon added with an accusing glance at Dalamar. “I notice you mages don’t go out of your way to refute those stories!”

  “They’ve done us good,” Dalamar said, shrugging his slender shoulders. “Because of the legends about Raistlin and his ‘sacrifice,’ magic is no longer feared, we wizards no longer reviled. Our schools are flourishing, our services in demand. The city of Kalaman has actually invited us to build a new Tower of High Sorcery there.” The dark elf smiled bitterly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “By his failure, your brother succeeded in what he set out to accomplish,” Dalamar remarked, his smile twisting. “In a way, he has become a god.…”

  “Palin, I insist on knowing what’s going on.” Tanin laid his hand on Palin’s shoulder.

  “You heard them, Tanin,” Palin hedged, nodding toward Justarius, who was talking with his father. “We’re going to travel to the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, where the portal is located, and … and look in.… That’s all.”

  “And I’m a gully dwarf!” growled Tanin.

  “Sometimes you think like one,” Palin snapped, losing his patience and thrusting his brother’s arm away.

  Tanin’s face flushed a dull red. Unlike the easygoing Sturm, Tanin had inherited his mother’s temper along with her curls. He also took his role of Elder Brother seriously, too seriously sometimes to Palin’s mind. But it’s only because he loves me, the young man reminded himself.

  Drawing a deep breath, he sighed and, reaching out, clasped his brother by the shoulders. “Tanin, you listen to me for a change. Sturm’s right. I didn’t ‘blubber’ when you went off to battle that first time. At least not when you could see me. But I cried all night, alone, in the darkness. Don’t you think I know that each time you leave may be the last time we ever see each other? How many times have you been wounded? That last fight, that minotaur arrow missed your heart by only two fingerbreadths.”

  Tanin, his face dark, stared down at his feet. “That’s different,” he muttered.

  “As Grandpa Tas would say, ‘A chicken with its neck wrung is different from a chicken with its head cut off, but does it matter to the chicken?’ ” Palin smiled.

  Tanin shrugged and tried to grin. “I guess you’re right.” He put his hands on Palin’s shoulders, looking intently into his brother’s pale face. “Come home, kid! Give this up!” he whispered fiercely. “It isn’t worth it! If anything happened to you, think of what it would do to Mother … and Father.…”

  “I know,” Palin said, his eyes filling despite all his best efforts to prevent it. “I have thought of that! I must do this, Tanin. Try to understand. Tell Mother I … I love her very much. And the little girls. Tell them I’ll … I’ll bring them a present, like you and Sturm always do …”

  “What? A dead lizard?” Tanin growled. “Some moldy old bat’s wing?”

  Wiping his eyes, Palin smiled. “Yeah, tell ’em that. You better go. Dad’s watching us.”

  “Watch yourself, Little Brother. And him.” Tanin glanced at his father. “This will be pretty tough on him.”

  “I know.” Palin sighed. “Believe me, I know.”

  Tanin hesitated. Palin saw one more lecture, one more attempt to dissuade him, in his brother’s eyes.

  “Please, Tanin,” he said softly. “No more.”

  Blinking rapidly and rubbing his nose, Tanin nodded. Cuffing his little brother on the cheek and ruffling the auburn hair, Tanin walked across the shadowy chamber to stand near the entryway with Sturm.

  Palin watched him walk away, then, turning, he went the opposite direction, toward the front of the great hall, to bid his parting respects to the two wizards.

  “So Dalamar has spoken to you,” Justarius said as the young man came to stand before him.

  “Yes,” said Palin grimly. “He has told me the truth.”

  “Has he?” Dunbar asked suddenly. “Remember this, young one. Dalamar wears the Black Robes. He is ambitious. Whatever he does, he does because he believes it will ultimately benefit him.”

  “Can you two deny what he told me is true? That you are using me as bait to trap my uncle’s spirit if it still lives?”

  Justarius glanced at Dunbar, who shook his head.

  “Sometimes you have to look for the truth here, Palin,” Dunbar said in answer, reaching out his hand to touch Palin gently on the chest, “in your heart.”

  His lip curled in derision, but Palin knew what respect he must show two such high-ranking wizards, so he simply bowed. “Dalamar and my father are waiting for me. I bid you both farewell. The gods willing, I will return in a year or two for my test, and I hope I will have the honor of seeing you both again.”

  Justarius did not miss the sarcasm, nor the bitter, angry expression on the young man’s face. It made him recall another bitter, angry young man, who had come to this tower almost thirty years ago.…

  “May Gilean go with you, Palin,” the archmage said softly, folding his hands in the sleeves of his robes.

  “May Paladine, the god you are named for, guide you, Palin,” Dunbar said. “And consider this,” he added, a smile creasing his black face, “in case you never see the old sea wizard again. You may learn that, by serving the world, you serve yourself best of all.”

  Palin did not reply. Bowing again, he turned and left them. The chamber seemed to grow darker as he walked back across it. He might have been alone; he could see no one for a moment, not his brothers, not Dalamar or his father … but as the darkness deepened, the white of his robes gleamed more brightly, like the first star in the evening sky.

  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 sha
dows 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.

  Chapter Five

  “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.