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

by Tracy Hickman

  The kender hung his head in what he imagined was a mousy expression of meekness and contrition. It seemed to satisfy the red-robed mage, for he smiled in a preoccupied manner and began to search the pocket of his robes for something.

  “What is it, Justarius?” There was Caramon, looking befuddled and still half asleep, He peered vaguely up and down the hallway. “You find Tas?”

  “The kender? No.” The mage smiled again, this time rather ruefully. “It may be a while before we find him, I’m afraid—kender being very adept at hiding.”

  “You won’t hurt him?” Caramon asked anxiously, so anxiously Tas felt sorry for the big man and longed to reassure him.

  “No, of course not,” Justarius replied soothingly, still searching through his robes. “Though,” he added as an afterthought, “he might inadvertently hurt himself. There are objects lying around here it wouldn’t be advisable to play with. Well, now, are you ready?”

  “I really don’t want to go until Tas is back and I know he’s all right,” Caramon said stubbornly.

  “I’m afraid you haven’t any choice,” the mage said, and Tas heard the man’s voice grow cool. “Your brother travels in the morning. You must be prepared to go then as well. It takes hours for Par-Salian to memorize and cast this complex spell. Already he has started. I have stayed too long searching for the kender, in fact. We are late. Come along.”

  “Wait … my things.…” Caramon said pathetically. “My sword …”

  “You need not worry about any of that,” Justarius answered. Apparently finding what he had been searching for, he drew a silken bag out of the pocket of his robes. “You may not go back in time with any weapon or any device from this time period. Part of the spell will see to it that you are suitably dressed for the period you journey within.”

  Caramon looked down at his body, bewildered. “Y-you mean, I’ll have to change clothes? I won’t have a sword? What—”

  And you’re sending this man back in time by himself! Tas thought indignantly. He’ll last five minutes. Five minutes, if that long! No, by all the gods, I’m—

  Just exactly what the kender was going to do was lost as he suddenly found himself popped headfirst into the silken bag!

  Everything went inky black. He tumbled down to the bottom of the bag, feet over tail, landing on his head. From somewhere inside of him came a horrifying fear of being on his back in a vulnerable position. Frantically, he fought to right himself, scrabbling wildly at the slick sides of the bag with his clawed feet. Finally he was right side up, and the terrible feeling subsided.

  So that’s what it’s like to be panic-stricken, Tas thought with a sigh. I don’t think much of it, that’s certain. And I’m very glad kender don’t get that way, as a general rule. Now what?

  Forcing himself to calm down and his little heart to stop racing, Tas crouched in the bottom of the silken bag and tried to think what to do next. He appeared to have lost track of what was going on in his wild scrambling, for—by listening—he could hear two pairs of footsteps walking down a stone hall; Caramon’s heavy, booted feet and the mage’s shuffling tread.

  He also experienced a slight swaying motion, and he could hear the soft sounds of cloth rubbing against cloth. It suddenly occurred to him that the red-robed mage had undoubtedly suspended the sack he was in from his belt!

  “What am I supposed to do back there? How’m I supposed to get back here afterwards—”

  That was Caramon’s voice, muffled a bit by the cloth bag but still fairly clear.

  “All that will be explained to you.” The mage’s voice sounded overly patient. “I wonder—Are you having doubts, second thoughts perhaps. If so, you should tell us now—”

  “No,” Caramon’s voice sounded firm, firmer than it had in a long time. “No, I’m not having doubts. I’ll go. I’ll take Lady Crysania back. It’s my fault she’s hurt, no matter what that old man says. I’ll see that she gets the help she needs and I’ll take care of this Fistandantilus for you.”

  “M-m-m-m.”

  Tas heard that “m-m-m-m,” though he doubted Caramon could. The big man was rambling on about what he would do to Fistandantilus when he caught up with him. But Tas felt chilled, as he had when Par-Salian gave Caramon that strange, sad look in the Hall. The kender, forgetting where he was, squeaked in frustration.

  “Shhhh,” Justarius murmured absently, patting the bag with his hand. “This is only for a short while, then you’ll be back in your cage, eating corn.”

  “Huh?” Caramon said. Tas could almost see the big man’s startled look. The kender gnashed his small teeth. The word “cage” called up a dreadful picture in his mind and a truly alarming thought occurred to him—what if I can’t get back to being myself?

  “Oh, not you!” the mage said hastily. “I was talking to my little furry friend here. He’s getting restless. If we weren’t late, I’d take him back right now.” Tas froze. “There, he seems to have settled down. Now, what were you saying?”

  Tas didn’t pay any more attention. Miserably, he clung to the bag with his small feet as it swayed back and forth, bumping gently against the mage’s thigh as he limped along. Surely the spell could be reversed by simply taking off the ring?

  Tas’s fingers itched to try it and see The last magic ring he’d put on he hadn’t been able to get off! What if this was the same? Was he doomed to a life of white fur and pink feet forever? At the thought, Tas wrapped one foot around the ring that was still stuck to a toe (or whatever) and almost pulled it off, just to make sure.

  But the thought of suddenly bursting out of a silk bag, a full-grown kender, and landing at the mage’s feet came to his mind. He forced his quivering little paw to stop. No. At least this way he was being taken to wherever Caramon was being taken. If nothing else, maybe he could go back with him in mouse shape. There might be worse things.…

  How was he going to get out of the bag!

  The kender’s heart sank to his hind feet. Of course, getting out was easy if he turned back into himself. Only then they’d catch him and send him home! But if he stayed a mouse, he’d end up eating corn with Faikus! The kender groaned and hunkered down, his nose between his paws. This was by far the worst predicament he’d ever been in in his entire life, even counting the time the two wizards caught him running off with their woolly mammoth. To top it off, he was beginning to feel queasy, what with the swaying motion of the bag, being cooped up, the funny smell inside the bag, and the bumping around and all.

  “The whole mistake lay in saying a prayer to Fizban,” the kender told himself gloomily. “He may be Paladine in reality, but I bet somewhere that wacky old mage is getting a real chuckle out of this.”

  Thinking about Fizban and how much he missed the crazy old mage wasn’t making Tas feel any better, so he put the thought out of his mind and tried once more to concentrate on his surroundings, hoping to figure a way out. He stared into the silky darkness and suddenly—

  “You idiot!” he told himself excitedly. “You lamebrained doorknob of a kender, as Flint would say! Or lamebrained mouse, because I’m not a kender anymore! I’m a mouse … and I have teeth!”

  Hurriedly Tas took an experimental nibble. At first he couldn’t get a grip on the slick fabric and he despaired once more.

  “Try the seam, fool,” he scolded himself severely, and sank his teeth into the thread that held the fabric together. It gave way almost instantly as his sharp little teeth sheared right through. Tas quickly nibbled away several more stitches and soon he could see something red—the mage’s red robes! He caught a whiff of fresh air (what had that man been keeping in here!) and was so elated he quickly started to chew through some more.

  Then he stopped. If he enlarged the hole anymore, he’d fall out. And he wasn’t ready to, at least not yet. Not until they got to wherever it was they were going. Apparently that wasn’t far off. It occurred to Tas that they had been climbing a series of stairs for some time now. He could hear Caramon wheezing from the unaccustomed
exercise and even the red-robed mage appeared a bit winded.

  “Why can’t you just magic us up to this laboratory place?” Caramon grumbled, panting.

  “No!” Justarius answered softly, his voice tinged with awe. “I can feel the very air tingle and crackle with the power Par-Salian extends to perform this spell. I would have no minor spell of mine disturb the forces that are at work here this night!”

  Tas shivered at this beneath his fur, and he thought Caramon might have done the same, for he heard the big man clear his throat nervously and then continue to climb in silence. Suddenly, they came to a halt.

  “Are we here?” Caramon asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “Yes,” came the whispered answer. Tas strained to hear. “I will take you up these last few stairs, then—when we come to the door at the top—I will open it very softly and allow you to enter. Speak no word! Say nothing that might disturb Par-Salian in his concentration. This spell takes days of preparation—”

  “You mean he knew days ago he was going to be doing this?” Caramon interrupted harshly.

  “Hush!” Justarius ordered, and his voice was tinged with anger. “Of course, he knew this was a possibility. He had to be prepared. It was well he did so, for we had no idea your brother intended to move this fast!” Tas heard the man draw a deep breath. When he spoke again, it was in calmer tones. “Now, I repeat, when we climb these last few stairs—speak no word! Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Caramon sounded subdued.

  “Do exactly as Par-Salian commands you to do. Ask no questions! Just obey. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” Caramon sounded more subdued still. Tas heard a small tremor in the big man’s reply.

  He’s scared, Tas realized. Poor Caramon. Why are they doing this to him? I don’t understand. There’s more going on here than meets the eye. Well, that makes it final. I don’t care if I do break Par-Salian’s concentration. I’ll just have to risk it. Somehow, someway—I’m going to go with Caramon! He needs me. Besides—the kender sighed—to travel back in time! How wonderful.…

  “Very well.” Justarius hesitated, and Tas could feel his body grow tense and rigid. “I will say my farewells here, Caramon. May the gods go with you. What you are doing is dangerous … for us all. You cannot begin to comprehend the danger.” This last was spoken so softly only Tas heard it, and the kender’s ears twitched in alarm. Then the red-robed mage sighed. “I wish I could say I thought your brother was worth it”

  “He is,” Caramon said firmly. “You will see.”

  “I pray Gilean you are right.… Now, are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Tas heard a rustling sound, as if the hooded mage nodded his head. Then they began to move again, climbing the stairs slowly. The kender peered out of the hole in the bottom of the sack, watching the shadowy steps slide by underneath him. He would have seconds only, he knew.

  The stairs came to an end. He could see a broad stone landing beneath him. This is it! he told himself with a gulp. He could hear the rustling sound again and feel the mage’s body move. A door creaked. Quickly, Tas’s sharp teeth sliced through the remaining threads that held the seam together. He heard Caramon’s slow steps, entering the door. He heard the door starting to close.…

  The seam gave way. Tas fell out of the sack. He had a passing moment to wonder if mice always landed on their feet—like cats. (He had once dropped a cat off the roof of his house to see if that old saying was true. It is.) And then he hit the stone floor running. The door was shut, the red-robed mage had turned away. Without stopping to look around, the kender darted swiftly and silently across the floor. Flattening his small body, he wriggled through the crack between the door and the floor and dove beneath a bookcase that was standing near the wall.

  Tas paused to catch his breath and listen.

  What if Justarius discovered him missing? Would he come back and look for him?

  Stop this, Tas told himself sternly. He won’t know where I fell out. And he probably wouldn’t come back here, anyway. Might disturb the spell.

  After a few moments, the kender’s tiny heart slowed down its pace so that he could hear over the blood pounding in his ears. Unfortunately, his ears told him very little. He could hear a soft murmuring, as if someone were rehearsing lines for a street play. He could hear Caramon try to catch his breath from the long climb and still keep his breathing muffled so as not to disturb the mage. The big man’s leather boots creaked as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

  But that was all.

  “I have to see!” Tas said to himself. “Otherwise I won’t know what’s going on.”

  Creeping out from underneath the bookcase, the kender truly began to experience this tiny, unique world he had tumbled into. It was a world of crumbs, a world of dust balls and thread, of pins and ash, of dried rose petals and damp tea leaves. The insignificant was suddenly a world in itself. Furniture soared above him, like trees in a forest, and served about the same purpose—it provided cover. A candle flame was the sun, Caramon a monstrous giant.

  Tas circled the man’s huge feet warily. Catching a glimpse of movement out of one corner of his eye, he saw a slippered foot beneath a white robe. Par-Salian. Swiftly, Tas made a dart for the opposite end of the room, which was, fortunately, lit only by candles.

  Then Tas skidded to a stop. He had been in a mage’s laboratory once before this, when he’d been wearing that cursed teleporting ring. The strange and wonderful sights he’d seen there remained with him, and now he halted just before he stepped inside a circle drawn on the stone floor with silver powder. Within the center of the circle that glistened in the candlelight lay Lady Crysania, her sightless eyes still staring up at nothing, her face as white as the linen that shrouded her.

  This was where the magic would be performed!

  The fur rising on the back of his neck, Tas hastily scrambled back, out of the way, cowering beneath an overturned chamber pot. On the outside of the circle stood Par-Salian, his white robes glowing with an eerie light. In his hands, he held an object encrusted with jewels that sparkled and flashed as he turned it. It looked like a sceptre Tas had seen a Nordmaar king holding once, yet this device looked far more fascinating. It was faceted and jointed in the most unique fashion. Parts of it moved, Tas saw, while—more amazing still—other parts moved without moving! Even as he watched, Par-Salian deftly manipulated the object, folding and bending and twisting, until it was no bigger than an egg. Muttering strange words over it, the archmage dropped it into the pocket of his robe.

  Then, though Tas could have sworn Par-Salian never took a step, he was suddenly standing inside the silver circle, next to Crysania’s inert figure. The mage bent over her, and Tas saw him place something in the folds of her robes. Then Par-Salian began to chant the language of magic, moving his gnarled hands above her in ever-widening circles. Glancing quickly at Caramon, Tas saw him standing near the circle, a strange expression on his face. It was the expression of one who is somewhere unfamiliar, yet who feels completely at home.

  Of course, Tas thought wistfully, he grew up with magic. Maybe this is just like being back with his brother again.

  Par-Salian rose to his feet, and the kender was shocked at the change that had come over the man. His face had aged years, it was gray in color, and he staggered as he stood. He made a beckoning motion to Caramon and the man came forward, walking slowly, stepping carefully over the silver powder. His face fixed in a dreamlike trance, he stood silently beside the still form of Crysania.

  Par-Salian removed the device from his pocket and held it out to Caramon. The big man placed his hand on it and, for a moment, the two stood holding it together. Tas saw Caramon’s lips move, though he heard no sound. It was as if the warrior were reading to himself, memorizing some magically communicated information. Then Caramon ceased to speak. Par-Salian raised his hands and, with the motion, lifted himself from the floor and floated backward out of the circle into the shadowy darknes
s of the laboratory.

  Tas could no longer see him, but he could hear his voice. The chanting grew louder and louder and suddenly a wall of silver light sprang from the circle traced upon the floor. It was so bright it made Tas’s red mouse eyes burn, but the kender could not look away. Par-Salian cried out now with such a loud voice that the very stones of the chamber themselves began to answer in a chorus of voices that rose from the depths of the ground.

  Tas’s gaze was fixed upon that shimmering curtain of power. Within it, he could see Caramon standing near Crysania, still holding the device in his hand. Then Tas gasped a tiny gasp that made no more sound in the chamber than a mouse’s breath. He could still see the laboratory itself through that shimmering curtain, but now it seemed to wink on and off, as if fighting for its own existence. And—when it winked out—the kender caught a glimpse of somewhere else! Forests, cities, lakes, and oceans blurred in his vision, coming and going, people seen for an instant than vanishing, replaced by others.

  Caramon’s body began to pulse with the same regularity as the strange visions as he stood within the column of light. Crysania, too, was there and then she wasn’t.

  Tears streaked down past Tas’s quivering nose, sliding down his whiskers. “Caramon’s going on the greatest adventure of all time!” the kender thought bleakly. “And he’s leaving me behind!”

  For one wild moment, Tas fought with himself. Everything inside of him that was logical and conscientious and Tanis-like told him—Tasslehoff, don’t be a fool. This is Big Magic. You’re likely to really Mess Things Up! Tas heard that voice, but it was being drowned out by all the chanting and the stones singing and, soon, it vanished altogether.…

  Par-Salian never heard the small squeak. Lost in his casting of the spell, he caught only the barest glimpse of movement out of the comer of his eye. Too late, he saw the mouse streak out of its hiding place, heading straight for the silvery wall of light! Horrified, Par-Salian ceased his chant, the voices of the stones rang hollow and died. In the silence he could now hear the tiny voice, “Don’t leave me, Caramon! Don’t leave me! You know what trouble you’ll get into without me!”