“All gone,” Tas heard him mumble unhappily.
The kender’s heart sank.
“Now I’ve done it,” Tas said to himself in misery. “I can’t tell him about the disappearing inn. Not when he’s in this condition! I’ve only made things worse!”
But he hadn’t realized quite how much worse until he came up to Caramon and tapped him on the shoulder. The big man whirled around in drunken alarm.
“What ish it? Who’sh there?” He peered around the rapidly darkening forest.
“Me, down here,” said Tas in a small voice. “I—I just wanted to say I was sorry, Caramon, and—”
“Uh? Oh …” Staggering backwards, Caramon stared at him, then grinned foolishly. “Oh, hullo there, little fellow. A kender”—his gaze wandered to Bupu—“and a gu-gul-gull-gullydorf,” he finished with a rush. He bowed. “Whashyournames?”
“What?” Tas asked.
“Whashyournames?” Caramon repeated with dignity.
“You know me, Caramon,” Tas said, puzzled. “I’m Tasslehoff.”
“Me Bupu,” answered the gully dwarf, her face lighting up, obviously hoping this was another game. “Who you?”
“You know who he is,” Tas began irritably, then nearly swallowed his tongue as Caramon interrupted.
“I’m Raistlin,” said the big man solemnly with another, unsteady bow. “A—a great and pow—pow—powerfulmagicuser.”
“Oh, come off it, Caramon!” Tas said in disgust. “I said I was sorry, so don’t—”
“Caramon?” The big man’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed shrewdly. “Caramon’s dead. I killed him. Long ago in the Tow—the Twowr—the TwerHighSorshry.”
“By Reorx’s beard!” Tas breathed.
“Him not Raistlin!” snorted Bupu. Then she paused, eyeing him dubiously. “Is him?”
“N-no! Of course not,” Tasslehoff snapped.
“This not fun game!” Bupu said with firm decision. “Me no like! Him not pretty man so nice to me. Him fat drunk. Me go home.” She looked around. “Which way home?”
“Not now, Bupu!” What was going on? Tas wondered bleakly. Clutching at his topknot, he gave his hair a hard yank. His eyes watered with the pain, and the kender sighed in relief. For a moment, he thought he’d fallen asleep without knowing it and was walking around in some weird dream.
But apparently it was all real—too real. Or at least for him. For Caramon, it was quite a different story.
“Watch,” Caramon was saying solemnly, weaving back and forth. “I’ll casht a magicshpell.” Raising his hands, he blurted out a string of gibberish. “Ashanddust and ratsnests! Burrung!” He pointed at a tree. “Poof,” he whispered, stumbling backward. “Up in flames! Up! Up! Burning, burning, burning … jusht like poor Caramon.” He staggered forward, wobbling down the trail.
“All of the waitresshes love you,” he sang. “Every dog ish your friend. Whatever you shay is jusht what you m-mean—”
Wringing his hands, Tas hurried after him. Bupu trotted along behind.
“Tree not burn,” she said to Tas sternly.
“I know!” Tas groaned. “It’s just … he thinks—”
“Him one bad magician. My turn.” Rummaging around in the huge bag that kept tripping her periodically, Bupu gave a triumphant yell and pulled out a very stiff, very dead rat.
“Not now, Bupu—” Tas began, feeling what was left of his own sanity start to slip. Caramon, ahead of them, had quit singing and was shouting something about covering the forest in cobwebs.
“I going to say secret magic word,” Bupu stated. “You no listen. Spoil secret.”
“I won’t listen,” Tas said impatiently, trying to catch up with Caramon, who, for all his wobbling, was moving along at a fair rate of speed.
“You listening?” Bupu asked, panting along after him.
“No,” Tas said, sighing.
“Why not?”
“You told me not to!” Tas shouted in exasperation.
“But how you know when to no listen if you no listen?” Bupu demanded angrily. “You try to steal secret magic word! Me go home.”
The gully dwarf came to a dead stop, turned around, and trotted back down the path. Tas skidded to a halt. He could see Caramon now, clinging to a tree, conjuring up a host of dragons, by the sounds of it. The big man looked like he would stay put for a while at least. Cursing under his breath, the kender turned and ran after the gully dwarf.
“Stop, Bupu!” he cried frantically, catching hold of a handful of filthy rags that he mistook for her shoulder. “I swear, I’d never steal your secret magic word!”
“You stole it!” she shrieked, waving the dead rat at him. “You said it!”
“Said what?” Tasslehoff asked, completely baffled.
“Secret magic word! You say!” Bupu screamed in outrage. “Here! Look!” Holding out the dead rat, she pointed ahead of them, down the trail, and yelled, “I say secret magic word now—secret magic word! There. Now we see some hot magic.”
Tas put his hand to his head. He felt giddy.
“Look! Look!” Bupu shouted in triumph, pointing a grubby finger. “See? I start fire. Secret magic word never fail. Umphf. Some bad magic-user—him.”
Glancing down the path, Tas blinked. There were flames visible ahead of them on the trail.
“I’m definitely going back to Kenderhome,” Tas mused quietly to himself. “I’ll get a little house … or maybe move in with the folks for a few months until I feel better.”
“Who’s out there?” called a clear, crystalline voice.
Relief flooded over Tasslehoff. “It’s a campfire!” he babbled, nearly hysterical with joy. And the voice! He hurried forward, running through the darkness toward the light. “It’s me—Tasslehoff Burrfoot. I’ve—oof!”
The “oof” was occasioned by Caramon plucking the kender off of his feet, lifting him in his strong arms, and clapping his hand over Tas’s mouth.
“Shhhh,” whispered Caramon close to Tas’s ear. The fumes from his breath made the kender’s head swim. “There’s shomeone out there!”
“Mpf blsxtchscat!” Tas wriggled frantically, trying to loosen Caramon’s hold. The kender was slowly being smothered to death.
“That’s who I thought it was,” Caramon whispered, nodding to himself solemnly as his hand clamped even more firmly over the kender’s mouth.
Tas began to see bright blue stars. He fought desperately, tearing at Caramon’s hands with all his strength, but it would have been the end of the kender’s brief but exciting life had not Bupu suddenly appeared at Caramon’s feet.
“Secret magic word!” she shrieked, thrusting the dead rat into Caramon’s face. The distant firelight was reflected in the corpse’s black eyes and glittered off the sharp teeth fixed in a perpetual grin.
“Ayiii!” Caramon screamed and dropped the kender. Tas fell heavily to the ground, gasping for breath.
“What is going on out there?” said a cold voice.
“We’ve come … to rescue you.…” said Tasslehoff, standing up dizzily.
A white-robed figure cloaked in furs appeared on the path in front of them. Bupu looked up at it in deep suspicion.
“Secret magic word,” said the gully dwarf, waving the dead rat at the Revered Daughter of Paladine.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not wildly grateful,” said Lady Crysania to Tasslehoff as they sat around the fire later that evening.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Tasslehoff said, sitting hunched in misery on the ground. “I made a mess of things. I generally do,” he continued woefully. “Ask anyone. I’ve often been told I drive people crazy—but this is the first time I ever did it for real!”
Snuffling, the kender cast an anxious gaze at Caramon. The big man sat near the fire, huddled in his cape. Still under the influence of the potent dwarf spirits, he was now sometimes Caramon and sometimes Raistlin. As Caramon, he ate voraciously, cramming food into his mouth with gusto. He then regaled them with several bawdy ballads
—to the delight of Bupu, who clapped along out of time and came in strong on the choruses. Tas was torn by a strong desire to giggle wildly or crawl beneath a rock and die in shame.
But, the kender decided with a shudder, he would take Caramon—bawdy songs and all—over Caramon/Raistlin. The transformation occurred suddenly, right in the middle of a song, in fact. The big man’s frame collapsed, he began to cough, then—looking at them with narrow eyes—he coldly ordered himself to shut up.
“You didn’t do this to him,” Lady Crysania said to Tas, regarding Caramon with a cool gaze. “It is the drink. He is gross, thick-headed, and obviously lacking in self-control. He has let his appetites rule him. Odd, isn’t it, that he and Raistlin are twins? His brother is so much in control, so disciplined, intelligent, and refined.”
She shrugged. “Oh, there is no doubt this poor man is to be greatly pitied.” Standing up, she walked over to where her horse was tethered and began to unstrap her bedroll from its place behind her saddle. “I shall remember him in my prayers to Paladine.”
“I’m sure prayers won’t hurt,” Tas said dubiously, “but I think some strong tarbean tea might be better just now.”
Lady Crysania turned and regarded the kender with a reproving stare. “I am certain you did not mean to blaspheme. Therefore I will take your statement in the sense it was uttered. Do endeavor to look at things with a more serious attitude, however.”
“I was serious,” Tas protested. “All Caramon needs is a few mugs of good, thick tarbean tea—”
Lady Crysania’s dark eyebrows rose so sharply that Tas fell silent, though he hadn’t the vaguest idea what he had said to upset her. He began to unpack his own blankets, his spirits just about as low as he could ever remember them being. He felt just as he had when he had ridden dragonback with Flint during the Battle of Estwilde Plains. The dragon had soared into the clouds, then it dove out, spinning round and round. For a few moments, up had been down, sky had been below, ground above, and then—whoosh! into a cloud, and everything was lost in the haze.
His mind felt just like it did then. Lady Crysania admired Raistlin and pitied Caramon. Tas wasn’t certain, but that seemed all backward. Then there was Caramon who was Caramon and then wasn’t Caramon. Inns that were there one minute and gone the next. A secret magic word he was supposed to listen for so he’d know when not to listen. Then he’d made a perfectly logical, commonsense suggestion about tarbean tea and been reprimanded for blasphemy!
“After all,” he mumbled to himself, jerking at his blankets, “Paladine and I are close personal friends. He’d know what I meant.”
Sighing, the kender pillowed his head upon a rolled-up cloak. Bupu—now quite convinced that Caramon was Raistlin—was sound asleep, curled up with her head resting adoringly on the big man’s foot. Caramon himself was sitting quietly now, his eyes closed, humming a song to himself. Occasionally he would cough, and once he demanded in a loud voice that Tas bring him his spellbook so that he could study his magic. But he seemed peaceful enough. Tas hoped he would soon dose and sleep off the effects of the dwarf spirits.
The fire burned low. Lady Crysania spread out her blankets on a bed of pine needles she had gathered to keep out the damp. Tas yawned. She was certainly getting on better than he’d expected. She had chosen a good, sensible location to make camp—near the trail, a stream of clear running water close by. Just as well not to have to wander too far in these dark and spooky woods—
Spooky wood … what did that remind him of? Tas caught himself as he was slipping over the edge of sleep. Something important. Spooky wood. Spooks … talk to spooks …
“Darken Wood!” he said in alarm, sitting bolt upright.
“What?” asked Lady Crysania, wrapping her cloak around her and preparing to lie down.
“Darken Wood!” Tas repeated in alarm. He was now thoroughly awake. “We’re close to Darken Wood. We came to warn you! It’s a horrible place. You might have blundered into it. Maybe we’re in it already—”
“Darken Wood?” Caramon’s eyes flared open. He stared around him vaguely.
“Nonsense,” Lady Crysania said comfortably, adjusting beneath her head a small traveling pillow she had brought with her. “We are not in Darken Wood, not yet. It is about five miles distant. Tomorrow we will come to a path that will take us there.”
“You—you want to go there!” Tas gasped.
“Of course,” Lady Crysania said coldly. “I go there to seek the Forestmaster’s help. It would take me many long months to travel from here to the Forest of Wayreth, even on horseback. Silver dragons dwell in Darken Wood with the Forestmaster. They will fly me to my destination.”
“But the spectres, the ancient dead king and his followers—”
“—were released from their terrible bondage when they answered the call to fight the Dragon Highlords,” Lady Crysania said, somewhat sharply. “You really should study the history of the war, Tasslehoff. Especially since you were involved in it. When the human and elven forces combined to recapture Qualinesti, the spectres of Darken Wood fought with them and thus broke the dark enchantment that held them bound to dreadful life. They left this world and have been seen no more.”
“Oh,” said Tas stupidly. After glancing about for a moment, he sat back down on his bedroll. “I talked to them,” he continued wistfully. “They were very polite—sort of abrupt in their comings and goings, but very polite. It’s kind of sad to think—”
“I am quite tired,” interrupted Lady Crysania. “And I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow. I will take the gully dwarf and continue on to Darken Wood. You can take your besotted friend back home where he will—hopefully—find the help he needs. Now go to sleep.”
“Shouldn’t one of us … stay on watch?” Tas asked hesitantly. “Those rangers said—” He stopped suddenly. Those “rangers” had been in the inn that wasn’t.
“Nonsense. Paladine will guard our rest,” said Lady Crysania sharply. Closing her eyes, she began to recite soft words of prayer.
Tas gulped. “I wonder if we know the same Paladine?” he asked, thinking of Fizban and feeling very lonesome. But he said it under his breath, not wanting to be accused of blasphemy again. Lying down, he squirmed in his blankets but could not get comfortable. Finally, still wide awake, he sat back up and leaned against a tree trunk. The spring night was cool but not unpleasantly chill. The sky was clear, and there was no wind. The trees rustled with their own conversations, feeling new life running through their limbs, waking after their long winter’s sleep. Running his hand over the ground, Tas fingered the new grass poking up beneath the decaying leaves.
The kender sighed. It was a nice night. Why did he feel uneasy? Was that a sound? A twig breaking? Tas started and looked around, holding his breath to hear better. Nothing. Silence. Glancing up into the heavens, he saw the constellation of Paladine, the Platinum Dragon, revolving around the constellation of Gilean, the Scales of Balance. Across from Paladine—each keeping careful watch upon the other—was the constellation of the Queen of Darkness—Takhisis, the Five-Headed Dragon.
“You’re awfully far away up there,” Tas said to the Platinum Dragon. “And you’ve got a whole world to watch, not just us. I’m sure you won’t mind if I guard our rest tonight, too. No disrespect intended, of course. It’s just that I have the feeling Someone Else up there is watching us tonight, too, if you take my meaning.” The kender shivered. “I don’t know why I feel so queer all of a sudden. Maybe it’s just being so close to Darken Wood and—well, I’m responsible for everyone apparently!”
It was an uncomfortable thought for a kender. Tas was accustomed to being responsible for himself, but when he’d traveled with Tanis and the others, there had always been someone else responsible for the group. There had been strong, skilled warriors—
What was that? He’d definitely heard something that time! Jumping up, Tas stood quietly, staring into the darkness. There was silence, then a rustle, then—
A squirrel. T
as heaved a sigh that came from his toes.
“While I’m up, I’ll just go put another log on the fire,” he said to himself. Hurrying over, he glanced at Caramon and felt a pang. It would have been much easier standing watch in the darkness if he knew he could count on Caramon’s strong arm. Instead, the warrior had fallen over on his back, his eyes closed, his mouth open, snoring in drunken contentment. Curled about Caramon’s boot, her head on his foot, Bupu’s snores mingled with his. Across from them, as far away as possible, Lady Crysania slept peacefully, her smooth cheek resting on her folded hands.
With a trembling sigh, Tas cast the logs on the fire. Watching it blaze up, he settled himself down to watch, staring intently into the night-shrouded trees whose whispering words now had an ominous tone. Then, there it was again.
“Squirrel!” Tas whispered resolutely.
Was that something moving in the shadows? There was a distinct crack—like a twig snapping in two. No squirrel did that! Tas fumbled about in his pouch until his hand closed over a small knife.
The forest was moving! The trees were closing in!
Tas tried to scream a warning, but a thin-limbed branch grabbed hold of his arm.…
“Aiiii,” Tas shouted, twisting free and stabbing at the branch with his knife.
There was a curse and yelp of pain. The branch let loose its hold, and Tas breathed a sigh. No tree he had ever met yelped in pain. Whatever they were facing was living, breathing.…
“Attack!” the kender yelled, stumbling backward. “Caramon! Help! Caramon—”
Two years before, the big warrior would have been on his feet instantly, his hand closing over the hilt of his sword, alert and ready for battle. But Tas, scrambling to get his back to the fire, his small knife the only thing keeping whatever it was at bay, saw Caramon’s head loll to one side in drunken contentment.
“Lady Crysania!” Tas screamed wildly, seeing more dark shapes creep from the woods. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”
He could feel the heat of the fire now. Keeping an eye on the menacing shadows, Tas reached down and grabbed a smoldering log by one end—he hoped it was the cool end. Lifting it up, he thrust the firebrand out before him.
Time of the Twins: Legends, Volume One (Dragonlance Legends) Page 11