Palin closed his eyes to blot out the horror of realization as fear surged over him in a suffocating wave, robbing him of breath or even the power to stand.
“The Abyss,” he murmured, his shaking hand holding the staff for support.
“Palin—” The voice broke off in a choked cry.
Palin’s eyes flared open, startled at hearing his name, alarmed by the sound of desperation in the voice.
Turning around, stumbling in the sand, the young man looked in the direction of that terrible sound and saw, rising up before him, a stone wall where no wall had been only seconds previously. Two undead figures walked toward the wall, dragging something between them. The “something” was human, Palin could see, human and living! It struggled in its captors’ grasp, as though trying to escape, but resistance was useless against those whose strength came from beyond the grave.
The three drew nearer the wall, which was, apparently, their destination, for one pointed to it and laughed. The human ceased his struggles for a moment. Lifting his head, he looked directly at Palin.
Golden skin, eyes the shape of hourglasses …
“Uncle?” Palin breathed, starting to take a step forward.
But the figure shook its head, making an almost imperceptible movement with one of its slender hands as though saying, “Not now!”
Palin realized suddenly that he was standing out in the open, alone in the Abyss, with nothing to protect him but the Staff of Magius—a staff whose magic he had no idea how to use. The undead, intent upon their struggling captive, had not noticed him yet, but it would be only a matter of time. Frightened and frustrated, Palin looked about hopelessly for someplace to hide. To his amazement, a thick bush sprang up out of nowhere, almost as if he had summoned it into being.
Without stopping to think why or how it was there, the young man ducked swiftly behind the bush, covering the crystal on the staff with his hand in an attempt to keep its light from giving him away. Then he peered cautiously out into the pinkish, burning land.
The undead had hauled their captive to the wall that stood in the middle of the sand. Manacles appeared on the wall at a spoken word of command. Hoisting their captive up into the air with their incredible strength, the undead fastened Raistlin to the wall by his wrists. Then, with mocking bows, they left him there, hanging from the wall, his black robes stirring in the hot breeze.
Rising to his feet, Palin started forward again when a dark shadow fell across his vision, blinding him more completely than the brilliant light, filling his mind and soul and body with such terror and fear that he could not move. Though the darkness was thick and all encompassing, Palin saw things within it—he saw a woman, more beautiful and desirable than any other woman he had ever seen before in his life. He saw her walk up to his uncle, he saw his uncle’s manacled fists clench. He saw all this, yet all around him was such darkness as might have been found on the floor of the deepest ocean. Then Palin understood. The darkness was in his mind, for he was looking upon Takhisis—the Queen of Darkness herself.
As he watched, held in place by awe and horror and such reverence as made him want to kneel before her, Palin saw the woman change her form. Out of the darkness, out of the sand of the burning land, rose a dragon. Immense, its wingspan covered the land with shadow, its five heads writhed and twisted upon five necks, and its five mouths opened in deafening shrieks of laughter and of cruel delight.
Palin saw Raistlin’s head turn away involuntarily, the golden eyes closed as though unable to face the sight of the creature that leered above him. Yet the archmage fought on, trying to wrench himself free of the manacles, his arms and wrists torn and bleeding from the futile effort.
Slowly, delicately, the dragon lifted a claw. With one swift stroke, she slit open Raistlin’s black robes. Then, with almost the same, delicate movement, she slit open the archmage’s body.
Palin gasped and shut his eyes to blot out the dreadful sight, but it was too late. He had seen it, and he would see it always in his dreams, just as he would hear his uncle’s agonized cry forever. Palin’s mind reeled, and his knees went limp. Sinking to the ground, he clasped his stomach, retching.
Then, through the haze of sickness and terror, Palin was aware of the queen and knew that she was suddenly aware of him! He could sense her searching for him, listening, smelling.… He had no thought of hiding. There was nowhere he could go where she would not find him. He could not fight, could not even look up at her. He didn’t have the strength. He could only crouch in the sand, shivering in fear, and wait for the end.
Nothing happened. The shadow lifted, Palin’s fear subsided.
Palin … help … The voice, ragged with pain, whispered in the young man’s mind. And, horribly, there was another sound, the sound of liquid dripping, of blood running.…
“No!” The young man moaned, shaking his head and burrowing into the sand as though he would bury himself. There came another gurgling cry, and Palin retched again, sobbing in horror and pity and disgust at himself for his weakness. “What can I do? I am nothing. I have no power to help you!” he mumbled, his fist clenching around the staff that he held still. Holding it near him, he rocked back and forth, unable to open his eyes, unable to look.
“Palin—” the voice gasped for breath, each word causing obvious pain—“you must be … strong. For your own … sake as well as … mine.”
Palin couldn’t speak. His throat was raw and aching; the bitter taste of bile in his mouth choked him.
Be strong. For his sake …
Slowly, gripping the staff, Palin used it to pull himself to his feet. Then, bracing himself, feeling the touch of the wood cool and reassuring beneath his hand, he opened his eyes.
Raistlin’s body hung limply from the wall by its wrists, the black robes in tatters, the long white hair falling across his face as his head lolled forward. Palin tried to keep his eyes focused on his uncle’s face, but he could not. Despite himself, his gaze went to the bloody, mangled torso. From chest to groin, Raistlin’s flesh had been ripped apart, torn asunder by sharp talons, exposing living organs. The dripping sound Palin heard was the sound of the man’s lifeblood, falling drop by drop into a great stone pool at his feet.
The young man’s stomach wrenched again, but there was nothing left to purge. Gritting his teeth, Palin kept walking forward through the sand toward the wall, the staff aiding his faltering footsteps. But when Palin reached the gruesome pool, his weak legs would support him no longer. Fearing he might faint from the horror of the dreadful sight, he sank to his knees, bowing his head.
“Look at me …” said the voice. “You … know me … Palin?”
The young man raised his head reluctantly. Golden eyes stared at him, their hourglass pupils dilated with agony. Bloodstained lips parted to speak, but no words came. A shudder shook the frail body.
“I know you … Uncle.…” Doubling over, Palin began to sob, while in his mind, the words screamed at him. “Father lied! He lied to me! He lied to himself!”
“Palin, be strong!” Raistlin whispered. “You … can free me. But you must … be quick.…”
Strong … I must be strong.…
“Yes.” Palin swallowed his tears. Wiping his face, he rose unsteadily to his feet, keeping his gaze on his uncle’s eyes. “I—I’m sorry. What must I do?”
“Use … the staff. Touch the locks around … my wrists.… Hurry! The … queen …”
“Where—where is the Dark Queen?” Palin stammered. Stepping carefully past the pool of blood, he came to stand near his uncle and, reaching up, touched the glowing crystal of the staff to the first of the manacles that held Raistlin bound to the wall.
Exhausted, near death, his uncle could speak no longer, but his words came to Palin’s mind. Your coming forced her to leave. She was not prepared to face one such as you. But that will not last long. She will return. Both of us … must be gone.…
Palin touched the other manacle and, freed of his chains, Raistlin slumped forward, hi
s body falling into the arms of the young man. Catching hold of his uncle, his horror lost in his pity and compassion, Palin gently laid the torn, bleeding body on the ground.
“But how can you go anywhere?” Palin murmured. “You are dying.…”
Yes, Raistlin answered wordlessly, his thin lips twisting in a grim smile. In a few moments, I will die, as I have died countless mornings before this. When night falls, I will return to life and spend the night looking forward to the dawn, when the queen will come and tear my flesh, ending my life in tortured pain once more.
“What can I do?” Palin cried helplessly. “How can I help your?”
“You are helping already,” Raistlin said aloud, his voice growing stronger. His hand moved feebly. “Look …”
Reluctantly, Palin glanced down at his uncle’s terrible wound. It was closing! The flesh was mending! The young man stared in astonishment. If he had been a high-ranking cleric of Paladine, he could have performed no greater miracle. “What is happening? How—?” he asked blankly.
“Your goodness, your love,” whispered Raistlin. “So might my brother have saved me if he had possessed the courage to enter the Abyss himself.” His lip curled in bitterness. “Help me stand …”
Palin swallowed, but said nothing as he helped the archmage rise to his feet. What could he say? Shame filled his soul, shame for his father. Well, he would make up for it.
“Give me your arm, Nephew. I can walk. Come, we must reach the portal before the queen returns.”
“Are you sure you can manage?” Palin put his arm around Raistlin’s body, feeling the strange, unnatural heat that radiated from it warm his own chilled flesh.
“I must. I have no choice.” Leaning upon Palin, the archmage gathered his torn black robes about him, and the two walked forward as fast as they could through the shifting sand toward where the portal stood in the center of the red-tinged landscape.
But before he had gone very far, Raistlin stopped, his frail body wracked by coughing until he gasped for air.
Standing beside him, holding him, Palin looked at his uncle in concern. “Here,” he offered. “Take your staff. It will aid your steps—”
Raistlin’s hourglass eyes went to the staff in the young man’s hand. Reaching out his slender, golden-skinned hand, he touched the smooth wood, stroking it lovingly. Then, looking at Palin, he smiled and shook his head.
“No, Nephew,” he said in his soft, shattered voice. “The staff is yours, a gift from your uncle. It would have been yours someday,” he added, speaking almost to himself. “I would have trained you myself, gone with you to watch the Test. I would have been proud … so proud …” Then, he shrugged, his gaze going to Palin. “What am I saying? I am proud of you, my nephew. So young, to do this, to enter the Abyss—”
As if to remind them where they were and the danger they were in, a shadow fell upon them as of dark wings, hovering overhead.
Palin looked up fearfully. Then his gaze went to the portal that seemed farther away than he remembered. He gasped. “We can’t outrun her!”
“Wait!” Raistlin paused for breath, color coming back to his face. “We don’t need to run. Look at the portal, Palin. Concentrate on it. Think of it as being right in front of you.”
“I don’t understand.” Palin looked at Raistlin, confused.
“Concentrate!” the archmage snarled.
The shadow was growing increasingly dark. Looking at the portal, Palin tried to do as he was told, but he kept seeing his father’s face, the dragon ripping his uncle’s flesh.… The shadow over them grew still darker, darker than night, as dark as his own fear.
“Don’t be afraid.” His uncle’s voice came to him through the darkness. “Concentrate.”
The disciplined training in magic came to Palin’s aid. Thus was he forced to concentrate on the words to a spell. Closing his eyes, the young man shut everything out—his fear, his horror, his sorrow—and envisioned the portal in his mind, standing directly before him.
“Excellent, young one,” came Raistlin’s soft voice.
Palin blinked, startled. The portal was right where he had envisioned it, just a step or two away.
“Don’t hesitate,” Raistlin instructed, reading the young man’s mind. “The way back is not difficult, not like coming through. Go ahead. I can stand on my own. I will follow.…”
Palin stepped inside, feeling a slight sensation of dizziness and a momentary blindness, but it passed quickly. Looking around, he drew a deep breath of relief and thankfulness. He was standing in the laboratory once more. The portal was behind him, though he had no clear remembrance of how he walked through it, and beside the portal he saw his uncle. But Raistlin was not looking at him. His eyes were on the portal itself, a strange smile played on his thin lips.
“You are right! We must close it!” Palin said suddenly, thinking he knew his uncle’s mind. “The queen will come back into the world—”
Raising the staff, the young man stepped forward. A slender, golden-skinned hand closed over his arm. Its grip hurt; the touch burned him. Catching his breath, biting his lip from the pain, Palin looked at his uncle in confusion.
“All in good time, my dear nephew,” whispered Raistlin, “all in good time.…”
Chapter Nine
Raistlin drew the young man nearer, smiling slightly as Palin flinched, noting the look of pain in the green eyes. Still Raistlin held him, regarding him searchingly, studying the features, probing the depths of his soul.
“There is much of myself in you, young one,” Raistlin said, reaching up to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen across Palin’s pale face. “More of me than of your father. And he loves you best for that, doesn’t he? Oh, he is proud of your brothers”—Raistlin shrugged, as the young man started to protest—“but you he cherishes, protects.…”
Flushing, Palin broke free of Raistlin’s grip. But he might have spared his energy. The archmage held him fast—with his eyes, not his hands.
“He’ll smother you!” Raistlin hissed. “Smother you as he did me! He will prevent you from taking the Test. You know that, don’t you?”
“He—he doesn’t understand,” Palin faltered. “He’s only trying to do what he thinks—”
“Don’t lie to me, Palin,” Raistlin said softly, placing his slender fingers on the young man’s lips. “Don’t lie to yourself. Speak the truth that is in your soul. I see it in you so clearly! The hatred, the jealousy! Use it, Palin! Use it to make you strong—as I did!”
The golden-skinned hand traced over the bones of Palin’s face—the firm, strong chin, the clenched jaw, the smooth, high cheekbones. Palin trembled at the touch, but more still at the expression in the burning, hourglass eyes. “You should have been mine! My son!” Raistlin murmured. “I would have raised you to power! What wonders I would have shown you, Palin. Upon the wings of magic we would have flown the world—cheered the winner of the fights for succession among the minotaurs, gone swimming with the sea elves, battled giants, watched the birth of a golden dragon.… All this could have been yours, should have been yours, Palin, if only they—”
A fit of coughing checked the archmage. Gasping, Raistlin staggered, clutching his chest. Catching hold of him in his strong arms, Palin led his uncle to a dusty, cushioned chair that stood near the portal. Beneath the dust he could discern dark splotches on the fabric—as though it had, long ago, been stained with blood. In his concern for his uncle, Palin thought little of it. Raistlin sank down into the chair, choking, coughing into a soft, white cloth that Palin drew from his own robes and handed to him. Then, leaning the staff carefully against the wall, the young man knelt beside his uncle.
“Is there something I can do? Something I can get for you? That herbal mixture you drank.” His glance went to the jars of herbs on a shelf. “If you tell me how to fix it—”
Raistlin shook his head. “In time …” he whispered as the spasm eased. “In time, Palin.” He smiled wearily, his hand reaching out to rest on the
young man’s head. “In time. I will teach you that … and so much more! How they have wasted your talent! What did they tell you, young one? Why did they bring you here?”
Palin bowed his head. The touch of those slender fingers excited him, yet he caught himself cringing, squirming beneath their burning caress. “I came—They said … you would try … to take …” He swallowed, unable to continued.
“Ah, yes. Of course. That is what those idiots would think. I would take your body as Fistandantilus tried to take mine. What fools! As if I would deprive the world of this young mind, of this power. The two of us … There will be two of us, now. I make you my apprentice, Palin.” The burning fingers stroked the auburn hair.
Palin raised his face. “But,” he said in amazement, “I am of low rank. I haven’t taken the Test—”
“You will, young one,” Raistlin murmured, exhaustion plain upon his face. “You will. And with my help, you will pass easily, just as I passed with the help of another … Hush. Don’t speak anymore. I must rest.” Shivering, Raistlin clutched his tattered robes about his frail body. “Bring me some wine and a change of clothes, or I will freeze to death. I had forgotten how damp this place was.” Leaning his head back against the cushions, Raistlin closed his eyes, his breath rattling in his lungs.
Palin stood slowly, casting an uneasy glance behind him.
The five heads of the dragon around the portal still glowed, but their colors were faded, less brilliant. Their mouths gaped open, but no sound came out. It seemed to Palin, though, that they were waiting, biding their time. Their ten eyes, glittering with some secret, inner knowledge, watched him. He looked inside the portal. The red-tinged landscape stretched into the distance. Far away, barely discernible, he could see the wall, the pool of blood beneath it. And above it, the dark, winged shadow.…
The Second Generation Page 17