Time of the Twins: Legends, Volume One (Dragonlance Legends)

by Tracy Hickman

  “Known each other long and well, Par-Salian,” Ladonna said with a smile. “Quite well,” she murmured softly, her eyes going to the fire.

  “Would you go back to our youth, Ladonna?” Par-Salian asked.

  She did not answer for a moment, then she looked up at him and shrugged. “To trade power and wisdom and skill for what? Hot blood? Not likely, my dear. What about you?”

  “I would have answered the same twenty years ago,” Par-Salian said, rubbing his temples. “But now … I wonder.”

  “I did not come to relive old times, no matter how pleasant,” Ladonna said, clearing her throat, her voice suddenly stern and cold. “I have come to oppose this madness.” She leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing. “You are not serious, I hope, Par-Salian? Even you cannot be soft-hearted or soft-headed enough to send that stupid human back in time to try and stop Fistandantilus? Think of the danger! He could change history! We could all cease to exist!”

  “Bah! Ladonna, you think!” Par-Salian snapped. “Time is a great flowing river, vaster and wider than any river we know. Throw a pebble into the rushing water—does the water suddenly stop? Does it begin to flow backward? Does it turn in its course and flow another direction? Of course not! The pebble creates a few ripples on the surface, perhaps, but then it sinks. The river flows onward, as it has ever done.”

  “What are you saying?” Ladonna asked, regarding Par-Salian warily.

  “That Caramon and Crysania are pebbles, my dear. They will no more affect the flow of time than two rocks thrown into the Thon-Tsalarian would affect its course. They are pebbles—” he repeated.

  “We underestimate Raistlin, Dalamar says,” Ladonna interrupted. “He must be fairly certain of his success, or he would not take this risk. He is no fool, Par-Salian.”

  “He is certain of acquiring the magic. In that we cannot stop him. But that magic will be meaningless to him without the cleric. He needs Crysania.” The white-robed mage sighed. “And that is why we must send her back in time.”

  “I fail to see—”

  “She must die, Ladonna!” Par-Salian snarled. “Must I conjure a vision for you? She must be sent back to a time when all clerics passed from this land. Raistlin said that we would have to send her back. We would have no choice. As he himself said—this is the one way we can thwart his plans! It is his greatest hope—and his greatest fear. He needs to take her with him to the Gate, but he needs her to come willingly! Thus he plans to shake her faith, disillusion her enough so that she will work with him.” Par-Salian waved his hand irritably. “We are wasting time. He leaves in the morning. We must act at once.”

  “Then keep her here!” Ladonna said scornfully. “That seems simple enough.”

  Par-Salian shook his head. “He would simply return for her. And—by then he will have the magic. He will have the power to do what he chooses.”

  “Kill her.”

  “That has been tried and failed. Besides, could even you, with your arts, kill her while she is under Paladine’s protection?”

  “Perhaps the god will prevent her going, then?”

  “No. The augury I cast was neutral. Paladine has left the matter in our hands. Crysania is nothing but a vegetable here, nor will ever be anything more, since none alive today have the power to restore her. Perhaps Paladine intends her to die in a place and time where her death will have meaning so that she may fulfill her life’s cycle.”

  “So you will send her to her death,” Ladonna murmured, looking at Par-Salian in amazement. “Your white robes will be stained red with blood, my old friend.”

  Par-Salian slammed his hands upon the table, his face contorted in agony. “I don’t enjoy this, damn it! But what can I do? Can’t you see the position I’m in? Who sits now as the Head of the Black Robes?”

  “I do,” Ladonna replied.

  “Who sits as the Head if he returns victorious?”

  Ladonna frowned and did not answer.

  “Precisely. My days are numbered, Ladonna. I know that.” “Oh”—he gestured—“my powers are still great. Perhaps they have never been greater. But every morning when I awake, I feel the fear. Will today be the day it fails? Every time I have trouble recalling a spell, I shiver. Someday, I know, I will not be able to remember the correct words.” He closed his eyes. “I am tired, Ladonna, very tired. I want to do nothing more than stay in this room, near this warm fire, and record in these books the knowledge I have acquired through the years. Yet I dare not step down now, for I know who would take my place.”

  The old mage sighed. “I will choose my successor, Ladonna,” he said softly. “I will not have my position wrested from my hands. My stake in this is greater than any of yours.”

  “Perhaps not,” Ladonna said, staring at the flames. “If he returns victorious, there will no longer be a Conclave. We shall all be his servants.” Her hand clenched. “I still oppose this, Par-Salian! The danger is too great! Let her remain here, let Raistlin learn what he can from Fistandantilus. We can deal with him when he returns! He is powerful, of course, but it will take him years to master the arts that Fistandantilus knew when he died! We can use that time to arm ourselves against him! We can—”

  There was rustling in the shadows of the room. Ladonna started and turned, her hand darting immediately to a hidden pocket in her robe.

  “Hold, Ladonna,” said a mild voice. “You need not waste your energies on a shield spell. I am no Creature from Beyond, as Par-Salian has already stated.” The figure stepped into the light of the fire, its red robes gleaming softly.

  Ladonna settled back with a sigh, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes that would have made an apprentice start back in alarm. “No, Justarius” she said coolly, “you are no Creature from Beyond. So you managed to hide yourself from me? How clever you have become, Red Robe.” Twisting around in her chair, she regarded Par-Salian with scorn. “You are getting old, my friend, if you required help to deal with me!”

  “Oh, I’m sure Par-Salian is just as surprised to see me here as you are, Ladonna,” Justarius stated. Wrapping his red robes around him, he walked slowly forward to sit down in another chair before Par-Salian’s desk. He limped as he walked, his left foot dragging the ground. Raistlin was not the only mage ever injured in the Test.

  Justarius smiled. “Though the Great One has become quite adept at hiding his feelings,” he added.

  “I was aware of you,” Par-Salian said softly. “You know me better than that, my friend.”

  Justarius shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I was interested in hearing what you had to say to Ladonna—”

  “I would have said the same to you.”

  “Probably less, for I would not have argued as she has. I agree with you, I have from the beginning. But that is because we know the truth, you and I.”

  “What truth?” Ladonna repeated. Her gaze went from Justarius to Par-Salian, her eyes dilating with anger.

  “You will have to show her,” Justarius said, still in the same mild voice. “She will not be convinced otherwise. Prove to her how great the danger is.”

  “You will show me nothing!” Ladonna said, her voice shaking. “I would believe nothing you two devised—”

  “Then let her do it herself,” Justarius suggested, shrugging.

  Par-Salian frowned, then—scowling—he shoved the crystal prism upon the desk toward her. He pointed. “The staff in the corner belonged to Fistandantilus—the greatest, most powerful wizard who has ever lived. Cast a Spell of Seeing, Ladonna. Look at the staff.”

  Ladonna touched the prism hesitantly, her glance moving suspiciously once more from Par-Salian to Justarius, then back.

  “Go ahead!” Par-Salian snapped. “I have not tampered with it.” His gray eyebrows came together. “You know I cannot lie to you, Ladonna.”

  “Though you may lie to others,” Justarius said softly.

  Par-Salian cast the red-robed mage an angry look but did not reply.

  Ladonna picked up the crystal
with sudden resolution. Holding it in her hand, she raised it to her eyes, chanting words that sounded harsh and sharp. A rainbow of light beamed from the prism to the plain wooden staff that leaned up against the wall in a dark corner of the study. The rainbow expanded as it welled out from the crystal to encompass the entire staff. Then it wavered and coalesced, forming into the shimmering image of the owner of the staff.

  Ladonna stared at the image for long moments, then slowly lowered the prism from her eye. The moment she withdrew her concentration from it, the image vanished, the rainbow light winked out. Her face was pale.

  “Well, Ladonna,” Par-Salian asked quietly, after a moment. “Do we go ahead?”

  “Let me see the Time Travel spell,” she said, her voice taut.

  Par-Salian made an impatient gesture. “You know that is not possible, Ladonna! Only the Masters of the Tower may know this spell—”

  “I am within my rights to see the description, at least,” Ladonna returned coldly. “Hide the components and the words from my sight, if you will. But I demand to see the expected results.” Her expression hardened. “Forgive me if I do not trust you, old friend, as I might once have done. But your robes seem to be turning as gray as your hair.”

  Justarius smiled, as if this amused him.

  Par-Salian sat for a moment, irresolute.

  “Tomorrow morning, friend,” Justarius murmured.

  Angrily, Par-Salian rose to his feet. Reaching beneath his robes, he drew forth a silver key that he wore around his neck on a silver chain—the key that only the Master of a Tower of High Sorcery may use. Once there were five, now only two remained. As Par-Salian took the key from around his neck and inserted it into an ornately carved wooden chest standing near his desk, all three mages present were wondering silently if Raistlin was—even now—doing the same thing with the key he possessed, perhaps even drawing out the same spellbook, bound in silver. Perhaps even turning slowly and reverently through the same pages, casting his gaze upon the spells known only to the Masters of the Towers.

  Par-Salian opened the book, first muttering the prescribed words that only the Masters know. If he had not, the book would have vanished from beneath his hand. Arriving at the correct page, he lifted the prism from where Ladonna had set it, then held it above the page, repeating the same harsh, sharp words Ladonna had used.

  The rainbow light streamed down from the prism, brightening the page. At a command from Par-Salian, the light from the prism beamed out to strike a bare wall opposite them.

  “Look,” Par-Salian said, his anger still apparent in his voice. “There, upon the wall. Read the description of the spell.”

  Ladonna and Justarius turned to face the wall where they could read the words as the prism presented them. Neither Ladonna nor Justarius could read the components needed or the words required. Those appeared as gibberish, either through Par-Salian’s art or the conditions imposed by the spell itself. But the description of the spell was clear.

  The ability to travel back in time is available to elves, humans, and ogres, since these were the races created by the gods at the beginning of time and so travel within its flow. The spell may not be used by dwarves, gnomes, or kender, since the creation of these races was an accident, unforeseen by the gods. (Refer to the Gray Stone of Gargarth, see Appendix G.) The introduction of any of these races into a previous time span could have serious repercussions on the present, although what these might be is unknown. (A note in Par-Salian’s wavering handwriting had the word ‘draconian’ inked in among the forbidden races.

  There are dangers, however, that the spellcaster needs to be fully aware of before proceeding. If the spellcaster dies while back in time, this will affect nothing in the future, for it will be as if the spellcaster died this day in the present. His other death will affect neither the past nor the present nor the future, except as it would have normally affected those. Therefore, we do not waste power on any type of protection spell.

  The spellcaster will not be able to change or affect what has occurred previously in any way. That is an obvious precaution. Thus this spell is really useful only for study. That was the purpose for which it was designed. (Another note, this time in a handwriting much older than Par-Salian’s adds on the margin—“It is not possible to prevent the Cataclysm. So we have learned to our great sorrow and at a great cost. May his soul rest with Paladine.”)

  “So that’s what happened to him,” Justarius said with a low whistle of surprise. “That was a well-kept secret.”

  “They were fools to even try it,” Par-Salian said, “but they were desperate.”

  “As are we,” Ladonna added bitterly. “Well, is there more?”

  “Yes, the next page,” Par-Salian replied.

  If the spellcaster is not going himself but is sending back another (please note racial precaution on previous page), he or she should equip the one traveling with a device that can be activated at will and so return the traveler to his own time. Descriptions of such devices and their making will be found following—

  “And so forth,” Par-Salian said. The rainbow light disappeared, swallowed in the mage’s hand as Par-Salian wrapped his fingers around it. “The rest is devoted to the technical details of making such a device. I have an ancient one. I will give it to Caramon.”

  His emphasis on the man’s name was unconscious, but everyone in the room noticed it. Ladonna smiled wryly, her hands softly caressing her black robes. Justarius shook his head. Par-Salian himself, realizing the implications, sank down in his chair, his face lined with sorrow.

  “So Caramon will use it alone,” Justarius said. “I understand why we send Crysania, Par-Salian. She must go back, never to return. But Caramon?”

  “Caramon is my redemption,” Par-Salian said without looking up. The old mage stared at his hands that lay, trembling, on the open spellbook. “He is going on a journey to save a soul, as I told him. But it will not be his brother’s.” Par-Salian looked up, his eyes filled with pain. His gaze went first to Justarius, then to Ladonna. Both met that gaze with complete understanding.

  “The truth could destroy him,” Justarius said.

  “There is very little left to destroy, if you ask me,” Ladonna remarked coldly. She rose to her feet. Justarius rose with her, staggering a little until he obtained his balance on his crippled leg. “As long as you get rid of the woman, I care little what you do about the man, Par-Salian. If you believe it will wash the blood from your robes, then help him, by all means,” She smiled grimly. “In a way, I find this quite funny. Maybe—as we get older—we aren’t so different after all, are we, my dear?”

  “The differences are there, Ladonna,” Par-Salian said, smiling wearily. “It is the crisp, clear outlines that begin to fade and blur in our sight. Does this mean the Black Robes will go along with my decision?”

  “It seems we have no choice,” Ladonna said without emotion. “If you fail—”

  “Enjoy my downfall,” Par-Salian said wryly.

  “I will,” the woman answered softly, “the more so as it will probably be the last thing I enjoy in this life. Farewell, Par-Salian.”

  “Farewell, Ladonna,” he said.

  “A wise woman,” Justarius remarked as the door shut behind her.

  “A rival worthy of you, my friend.” Par-Salian returned to his seat behind the desk. “I will enjoy watching you two do battle for my position.”

  “I sincerely hope you have the opportunity to do so,” Justarius said, his hand on the door. “When will you cast the spell?”

  “Early morning,” Par-Salian said, speaking heavily. “It takes days of preparation. I have already spent long hours working on it.”

  “What about assistance?”

  “No one, not even an apprentice. I will be exhausted at the end. See to the disbanding of the Conclave, will you, my friend?”

  “Certainly. And the kender and the gully dwarf?”

  “Return the gully dwarf to her home with whatever small treasures you
think she would like. As for the kender”—Par-Salian smiled—“you may send him wherever he would like to go—barring the moons, of course. As for treasure, I’m certain he will have acquired a sufficient amount before he leaves. Do a surreptitious check on his pouches, but, if it’s nothing important, let him keep what he finds.”

  Justarius nodded. “And Dalamar?”

  Par-Salian’s face grew grim. “The dark elf has undoubtedly left already. He would not want to keep his Shalafi waiting.” Par-Salian’s fingers drummed on the desk, his brow furrowed in frustration. “It is a strange charm Raistlin possesses! You never met him, did you? No. I felt it myself and I cannot understand.…”

  “Perhaps I can,” Justarius said. “We’ve all been laughed at one time in our lives. We’ve all been jealous of a sibling. We have felt pain and suffered, just as he has suffered. And we’ve all longed—just once—for the power to crush our enemies! We pity him. We hate him. We fear him—all because there is a little of him in each of us, though we admit it to ourselves only in the darkest part of the night.”

  “If we admit it to ourselves at all. That wretched cleric! Why did she have to get involved!” Par-Salian clasped his head in his shaking hands.

  “Farewell, my friend,” Justarius said gently. “I will wait for you outside the laboratory should you need help when it is all over.”

  “Thank you,” Par-Salian whispered without raising his head.

  Justarius limped from the study. Shutting the door too hastily, he caught the hem of his red robe and was forced to open it again to free himself. Before he closed the door again, he heard the sound of weeping.

  CHAPTER

  15

  asslehoff Burrfoot was bored.

  And, as everyone knows, there is nothing more dangerous on Krynn than a bored kender.

  Tas and Bupu and Caramon had finished their meal—a very dull one. Caramon, lost in his thoughts, never said a word but sat wrapped in bleak silence while absent-mindedly devouring nearly everything in sight. Bupu did not even sit. Grabbing a bowl, she scooped out the contents with her hands, shoveling it into her mouth with a rapidity learned long ago at gully dwarf dining tables. Putting that one down, she started on another and polished off a dish of gravy, the butter, the sugar and cream, and finally half a dish of milk potatoes before Tas realized what she was doing. He just barely saved a salt cellar.