Test of the Twins

by Margaret Weis

  And now, ahead of him—the Portal, the dragon’s heads shrieking in impotent fury, knowing they lacked the power to stop him.

  Just one more breath, one more lurching heartbeat, one more step.…

  He lifted his hooded head, and stopped.

  A figure, unseen before, obscured by a haze of pain and blood and the shadows of death, rose up before him, standing before the Portal, a gleaming sword in its hand. Raistlin, looking at it, stared for a moment in complete and total incomprehension. Then, joy surged through his shattered body.

  “Caramon!”

  He stretched out a trembling hand. What miracle this was, he didn’t know. But his twin was here, as he had ever been here, waiting for him, waiting to fight at his side.…

  “Caramon!” Raistlin panted. “Help me, my brother.”

  Exhaustion was overtaking him, pain claiming him. He was rapidly losing the power to think, to concentrate. His magic no longer sparkled through his body like quicksilver, but moved sluggishly, congealing like the blood upon his wounds.

  “Caramon, come to me. I cannot walk alone—”

  But Caramon did not move. He just stood there, his sword in his hand, staring at him with eyes of mingled love and sorrow, a deep, burning sorrow. A sorrow that cut through the haze of pain and exposed Raistlin’s barren, empty soul. And then he knew. He knew why his twin was here.

  “You block my way, brother,” Raistlin said coldly.

  “I know.”

  “Stand aside, then, if you will not help me!” Raistlin’s voice, coming from his raw throat, cracked with fury.

  “No.”

  “You fool! You will die!” This was a whisper, soft and lethal.

  Caramon drew a deep breath. “Yes,” he said steadily, “and this time, so will you.”

  The sky above them darkened. Shadows gathered around them, as if the light were slowly being sucked away. The air grew chill as the light dimmed, but Raistlin could feel a vast, flaming heat behind him, the rage of his Queen.

  Fear twisted his bowels, anger wrenched his stomach. The words of magic surged up, tasting like blood upon his lips. He started to hurl them at his twin, but he choked, coughed, and sank to his knees. Still the words were there, the magic was his to command. He would see his twin burn in flames as he had once, long ago, seen his twin’s illusion burn in the Tower of High Sorcery. If only, if only he could catch his breath.…

  The spasm passed. The words of magic seethed in his brain. He looked up, a grotesque snarl twisting his face, his hand raised.…

  Caramon stood before him, his sword in his hand, staring at him with pity in his eyes.

  Pity! The look slammed into Raistlin with the force of a hundred swords. Yes, his twin would die, but not with that look upon his face!

  Leaning upon his staff, Raistlin pulled himself to his feet. Raising his hand, he cast the black hood from his head so that his brother could see himself—doomed—reflected in his golden eyes.

  “So you pity me, Caramon,” he hissed. “You bumbling harebrained slob. You who are incapable of comprehending the power that I have achieved, the pain I have overcome, the victories that have been mine. You dare to pity me? Before I kill you—and I will kill you, my brother—I want you to die with the knowledge in your heart that I am going forth into the world to become a god!”

  “I know, Raistlin,” Caramon answered steadily. The pity did not fade from his eyes, it only deepened. “And that is why I pity you. For I have seen the future. I know the outcome.”

  Raistlin stared at his brother, suspecting some trick. Above him, the red-tinged sky grew darker still, but the hand that was outstretched had paused. He could feel the Queen hesitating. She had discovered Caramon’s presence. Raistlin sensed her confusion, her fear. The lingering doubt that Caramon might be some apparition conjured up to stop him vanished. Raistlin drew a step nearer his brother.

  “You have seen the future? How?”

  “When you went through the Portal, the magical field affected the device, throwing Tas and me into the future.”

  Raistlin devoured his brother eagerly with his eyes. “And? What will happen?”

  “You will win,” Caramon said simply. “You will be victorious, not only over the Queen of Darkness, but over all the gods. Your constellation alone will shine in the skies … for a time—”

  “For a time?” Raistlin’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me! What happens? Who threatens? Who deposes me?”

  “You do,” Caramon replied, his voice filled with sadness. “You rule over a dead world, Raistlin—a world of gray ash and smoldering ruin and bloated corpses. You are alone in those heavens, Raistlin. You try to create, but there is nothing left within you to draw upon, and so you suck life from the stars themselves until they finally burst and die. And then there is nothing around you, nothing inside you.”

  “No!” Raistlin snarled. “You lie! Damn you! You lie!” Hurling the Staff of Magius from him, Raistlin lurched forward, his clawing hands catching hold of his brother. Startled, Caramon raised his sword, but it fell to the shifting ground at a word from Raistlin. The big man’s grip tightened on his twin’s arms convulsively. He could break me in two, Raistlin thought, sneering. But he won’t. He is weak. He hesitates. He is lost. And I will know the truth!

  Reaching up, Raistlin pressed his burning blood-stained hand upon his brother’s forehead, dragging Caramon’s visions from his mind into his own.

  And Raistlin saw.

  He saw the bones of the world, the stumps of trees, the gray mud and ash, the blasted rock, the rising smoke, the rotting bodies of the dead.…

  He saw himself, suspended in the cold void, emptiness around him, emptiness within. It pressed down upon him, squeezed him. It gnawed at him, ate at him. He twisted in upon himself, desperately seeking nourishment—a drop of blood, a scrap of pain. But there was nothing there. There would never be anything there. And he would continue to twist, snaking inward, to find nothing … nothing … nothing.

  Raistlin’s head slumped, his hand slipped from his brother’s forehead, clenching in pain. He knew this would come to pass, knew it with every fiber of his shattered body. He knew it because the emptiness was already there. It had been there, within him, for so long, so long now. Oh, it had not consumed him utterly—not yet. But he could almost see his soul, frightened, lonely, crouched in a dark and empty corner.

  With a bitter cry, Raistlin shoved his brother away from him. He looked around. The shadows deepened. His Queen hesitated no longer. She was gathering her strength.

  Raistlin lowered his gaze, trying to think, trying to find the anger inside him, trying to kindle the burning flame of his magic—But even that was dying. Gripped by fear, he tried to run, but he was too feeble. Taking a step, he stumbled and fell on his hands and knees. Fear shook him. He sought for help, stretching out his hand.…

  He heard a sound, a moan, a cry. His hand closed over white cloth, he felt warm flesh!

  “Bupu,” Raistlin whispered. With a choked sob, he crawled forward.

  The body of the gully dwarf lay before him, her face pinched and starved, her eyes wide with terror. Wretched, terrified, she shrank away from him.

  “Bupu!” Raistlin cried, grasping hold of her in desperation, “Bupu, don’t you remember me? You gave me a book, once. A book and an emerald.” Fishing around in one of his pouches, he pulled out the shimmering, shining green stone. “Here, Bupu. Look, ‘the pretty rock.’ Take it, keep it! It will protect you!”

  She reached for it, but as she did, her fingers stiffened in death.

  “No!” Raistlin cried, and felt Caramon’s hand upon his arm.

  “Leave her alone!” Caramon cried harshly, catching hold of his twin and hurling him backward. “Haven’t you done enough to her already?”

  Caramon held his sword in his hand once more. Its bright light hurt Raistlin’s eyes. By its light, Raistlin saw—not Bupu—but Crysania, her skin blackened and blistered, her eyes staring at him without seeing him.

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nbsp; Empty … empty. Nothing within him? Yes.… Something there. Something, not much, but something. His soul stretched forth its hand. His own hand reached out, touched Crysania’s blistered skin. “She is not dead, not yet,” he said.

  “No, not yet,” Caramon replied, raising his sword. “Leave her alone! Let her at least die in peace!”

  “She will live, if you take her through the Portal.”

  “Yes, she will live,” Caramon said bitterly, “and so will you, won’t you, Raistlin? I take her through the Portal and you come right after us—”

  “Take her.”

  “No!” Caramon shook his head. Though tears glimmered in his eyes, and his face was pale with grief and anguish, he stepped toward his brother, his sword ready.

  Raistlin raised his hand. Caramon couldn’t move, his sword hung suspended in the hot, shifting air.

  “Take her, and take this as well.”

  Reaching out, Raistlin’s frail hand closed around the Staff of Magius that lay at his side. The light from its crystal glowed clear and strong in the deepening darkness, shedding its magical glow over the three of them. Lifting the staff, Raistlin held it out to his twin.

  Caramon hesitated, his brow furrowing.

  “Take it!” Raistlin snapped, feeling his strength dwindling. He coughed. “Take it!” he whispered, gasping for breath. “Take it and her and yourself back through the Portal. Use the staff to close it behind you.”

  Caramon stared at him, uncomprehending, then his eyes narrowed.

  “No, I’m not lying,” Raistlin snarled. “I’ve lied to you before, but not now. Try it. See for yourself. Look, I release you from the enchantment. I cannot cast another spell. If you find I am lying, you may slay me. I will not be able to stop you.”

  Caramon’s swordarm was freed. He could move it. Still holding his sword, his eyes on his twin, he reached out his other hand, hesitantly. His fingers touched the staff and he looked fearfully at the light in the crystal, expecting it to blink out and leave them all in the gathering, chilling darkness.

  But the light did not waver. Caramon’s hand closed around the staff, above his brother’s hand. The light gleamed brightly, shedding its radiance upon the torn and bloody black robes, the dull and mud-covered armor.

  Raistlin let go of the staff. Slowly, almost falling, he staggered to his feet and drew himself up, standing without aid, standing alone. The staff, in Caramon’s hand, continued to glow.

  “Hurry,” Raistlin said coldly, “I will keep the Queen from following you. But my strength will not last long.”

  Caramon stared at him a moment, then at the staff, its light still burning brightly. Finally, drawing a ragged breath, he sheathed his sword.

  “What will happen … to you?” he asked harshly, kneeling down to lift up Crysania in his arms.

  You will be tortured in mind and in body. At the end of each day, you will die from the pain. At the beginning of each night, I will bring you back to life. You will not be able to sleep, but will lie awake in shivering anticipation of the day to come. In the morning, my face will the first sight you see.

  The words curled about Raistlin’s brain like a snake. Behind him, he could hear sultry, mocking laughter.

  “Be gone, Caramon,” he said. “She comes.”

  Crysania’s head rested against Caramon’s broad chest. The dark hair fell across her pale face, her hand still clasped the medallion of Paladine. As Raistlin looked at her, he saw the ravages of the fire fade, leaving her face unscarred, softened by a look of sweet, peaceful rest. Raistlin’s gaze lifted to his brother’s face, and he saw that same stupid expression Caramon always wore—that look of puzzlement, of baffled hurt.

  “You blubbering fool! What do you care what becomes of me?” Raistlin snarled. “Get out!”

  Caramon’s expression changed, or maybe it didn’t change. Maybe it had been this way all the time. Raistlin’s strength was dwindling very fast, his vision dimmed. But, in Caramon’s eyes, he thought he saw understanding.…

  “Good-bye … my brother,” Caramon said.

  Holding Crysania in his arms, the Staff of Magius in one hand, Caramon turned and walked away. The light of the staff formed a circle around him, a circle of silver that shone in the darkness like the moonbeams of Solinari glistening upon the calm waters of Crystalmir Lake. The silver beams struck the dragon’s heads, freezing them, changing them to silver, silencing their screams.

  Caramon stepped through the Portal. Raistlin, watching him with his soul, caught a blurred glimpse of colors and life and felt a brief whisper of warmth touch his sunken cheek.

  Behind him, he could hear the mocking laughter gurgle into harsh, hissing breath. He could hear the slithering sounds of a gigantic scaled tail, the creaking of wing tendons. Behind him, five heads whispered words of torment and terror.

  Steadfastly, Raistlin stood, staring into the Portal. He saw Tanis run to help Caramon, he saw him take Crysania in his arms. Tears blurred Raistlin’s vision. He wanted to follow! He wanted Tanis to touch his hand! He wanted to hold Crysania in his arms … He took a step forward.

  He saw Caramon turn to face him, the staff in his hand.

  Caramon stared into the Portal, stared at his twin, stared beyond his twin. Raistlin saw his brother’s eyes grow wide with fright.

  Raistlin did not have to turn to know what his brother saw. Takhisis crouched behind him. He could feel the chill of the loathsome reptile body flow about him, fluttering his robes. He sensed her behind him, yet her thoughts were not on him. She saw her way to the world, standing open.…

  “Shut it!” Raistlin screamed.

  A blast of flame seared Raistlin’s flesh. A taloned claw stabbed him in the back. He stumbled, falling to his knees. But he never took his eyes from the Portal, and he saw Caramon, his twin’s face anguished, take a step forward, toward him!

  “Shut it, you fool!” Raistlin shrieked, clenching his fists. “Leave me alone! I don’t need you any more! I don’t need you!”

  And then the light was gone. The Portal slammed shut, and blackness pounced upon him with raging, slathering fury. Talons ripped his flesh, teeth tore through muscle, and crunched bone. Blood flowed from his breast, but it would not take with it his life.

  He screamed, and he would scream, and he would keep on screaming, unendingly.…

  Something touched him … a hand.… He clutched at it as it shook him, gently. A voice called, “Raist! Wake up! It was only a dream. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let them hurt you! Here, watch … I’ll make you laugh.”

  The dragon’s coils tightened, crushing out his breath. Glistening black fangs ate his living organs, devoured his heart. Tearing into his body, they sought his soul.

  A strong arm encircled him, holding him close. A hand raised, gleaming with silver light, forming childish pictures in the night, and the voice, dimly heard, whispered, “Look, Raist, bunnies.…”

  He smiled, no longer afraid. Caramon was here.

  The pain eased. The dream was driven back. From far away, he heard a wail of bitter disappointment and anger. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Now he just felt tired, so very, very tired.…

  Leaning his head upon his brother’s arm, Raistlin closed his eyes and drifted into a dark, dreamless, endless sleep.

  CHAPTER

  11

  he drops of water in the water clock dripped steadily, relentlessly, echoing in the silent laboratory. Staring into the Portal with eyes that burned from the strain, Tanis believed the drops must be falling, one by one, upon his taut, stretched nerves.

  Rubbing his eyes, he turned from the Portal with a bitter snarl and walked over to look out the window. He was astonished to see that it was only late afternoon. After what he had been through, he would not have been much surprised to find that spring had come and gone, summer had bloomed and died, and autumn was setting in.

  The thick smoke no longer swirled past the window. The fires, having eaten what they fed upon, were dying. He glanced up
into the sky. The dragons had vanished from sight, both good and evil. He listened. No sound came from the city beneath him. A haze of fog and storm and smoke still hung over it, further shadowed by the darkness of the Shoikan Grove.

  The battle is over, he realized numbly. It has ended. And we have won. Victory. Hollow, wretched victory.

  And then, a flutter of bright blue caught his eye. Looking out over the city, Tanis gasped.

  The flying citadel had suddenly drifted into view. Dropping down from the storm clouds, it was careening along merrily, having somewhere acquired a brilliant blue banner that streamed out in the wind. Tanis looked closer, thinking he recognized not only the banner but the graceful minaret from which it flew and which was now perched drunkenly on a tower of the citadel.

  Shaking his head, the half-elf could not help smiling. The banner—and the minaret—had once both been part of the palace of Lord Amothus.

  Leaning against the window, Tanis continued watching the citadel, which had acquired a bronze dragon as honor guard. He felt his bleakness and grief and fear ease and the tension in his body relax. No matter what happened in the world or on the planes beyond, some things—kender among them—never changed.

  Tanis watched as the flying castle wobbled out over the bay, then he was, however, considerably startled to see the citadel suddenly flip over and hang in the air, upside down.

  “What is Tas doing?” he muttered.

  And then he knew. The citadel began to bob up and down rapidly, like a salt shaker. Black shapes with leathery wings tumbled out of the windows and from doorways. Up and down, up and down bobbed the citadel, more and more black shapes dropping out. Tanis grinned. Tas was clearing out the guards! Then, when no more draconians could be seen spilling out into the water, the citadel righted itself again and continued on its way … then, as it skipped merrily along, its blue flag fluttering in the wind, it dove in a wild, unfortunate plunge, right into the ocean!

  Tanis caught his breath, but almost immediately the citadel appeared again, leaping out of the water like a blue-bannered dolphin to soar up into the sky once more—water now streaming out of every conceivable opening—and vanish amidst the storm clouds.