Par-Salian picked up the parcel, studied it curiously. It was addressed to Antimodes, he had apparently forwarded it on. Par-Salian examined the handwriting on the address: quick, eager, impatient strokes, overlarge capital letters—flaunting creativity, a nervous curl to the tail of an s. A leftward slant and sharpness to the letters that was like a line of a lance. An image formed in his mind of the writer and he was not surprised to find, on opening the letter inside, that it had been written by young Raistlin Majere.
Par-Salian sat down and read with interest, astonishment, and wonder the forthright, bald, and unimpassioned account of the meetings between Raistlin and a wizard described as a renegade, a wizard who called himself Immolatus.
Immolatus. The name was familiar. Par-Salian finished his perusal of the missive, read it over twice more, then turned his attention to the small leather-bound book. He understood its secrets immediately. Not surprising. The mages who resided in the Tower often saw Par-Salian standing in the window, bathed in silver moonlight, his lips moving in a one-sided conversation. All knew he communed directly with Solinari.
Par-Salian’s heart lurched, his hands chilled and trembled as he realized the terrible danger, the awful tragedy that had very nearly occurred, a tragedy they had escaped through the valor of a dead Knight, the inadvertent courage of a young wizard, and the long-nurtured vengeance of a stick of wood.
Par-Salian believed, as did Horkin and with perhaps better cause, that everything happens for a reason. Still, he found this account amazing, astounding, terrifying.
There was no doubt in his mind that whoever had ordered that attack on the city of Hope’s End had known about the treasure beneath the mountain, had chosen that city to attack in order to win the treasure. But for what reason, what dark purpose, Par-Salian could not guess. Destruction of the eggs was the most likely, but there were arguments against that. Why go to the trouble to attack and take a walled city with an army when a few hardened men with pickaxes could do the job just as well?
A month had passed since young Majere had written this letter and it had reached Wayreth. In that time, word had come to Par-Salian that the king of Blödehelm, King Wilhelm, had been discovered in his own dungeon, having been made prisoner by strange and sinister people, who had run the business of the kingdom in his name. Par-Salian heard the story of how these same people had fled on the arrival of Baron Ivor of Langtree and his army, who marched into Vantal and laid siege to the castle. It was the baron himself who had freed the unfortunate king. Par-Salian had not given much thought to the story then. Now he viewed it with alarm.
Forces were at work in the world, dark forces. They had no face yet, but he could give them a name. Which reminded him. Immolatus. That name was undoubtedly familiar. Opening a secret compartment in a secret drawer, he drew forth the book he had been reading when Raistlin Majere left these very walls.
When Par-Salian read a book, he did not simply remember the gist of its contents, he remembered each and every page, the written text lithographed onto the stone tablet of his mind. He had only to turn through the pages of a thousand, thousand texts cataloged in his brain until he found the one he wanted. He turned immediately to the page he recalled and there it was.
The lists of the enemy arrayed against Huma were formidable, comprised of Her Dark Majesty’s strongest, most powerful, cruel, and terrible dragons. Included in their ranks were Thunderstrike the Great Blue, Werewrym the Black, Icekill the White, and Her Majesty’s favorite, the red known as Immolatus. …”
“Immolatus,” said Par-Salian and he sighed and shuddered. “So it has started. Thus we begin the long journey into darkness.”
He looked back at the letter written in that quick, nervous, bold, and hungry hand, signed at the bottom:
Raistlin Majere, Magus.
Par-Salian picked up the letter. Speaking a word of magic, he caused it to be consumed by fire.
“At least,” he said, “we do not walk alone.”
RAISTLIN CHRONICLES
MARGARET WEIS & DON PERRIN
An ambitious young man sacrifices all he has to gain the powers of a wizard. What happens will change him in ways he never expected.
The Soulforge
Brothers in Arms
DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
MARGARET WEIS & TRACY HICKMAN
A group of friends reunites to save their homeland from the forces of the Queen of Darkness. But can these disparate men and women come together to become heroes?
Dragons of Autumn Twilight
Dragons of Winter Night
Dragons of Spring Dawning
THE ELVEN NATIONS
PAUL B. THOMPSON, TONYA C. COOK,
AND DOUGLAS NILES
When the proud leader of the Silvanesti elves dies, his twin sons find themselves locked in a bitter battle for the future of the elves.
Firstborn
The Kinslayer Wars
The Qualinesti
Margaret Weis
Margaret Weis began her collaboration with Tracy Hickman on the DRAGONLANCE® series nearly twenty years ago. Two decades later, she is the author of numerous DRAGONLANCE novels, the four-volume galactic fantasy Star of the Guardian, co-author with Don Perrin of the Doom Brigade, Draconian Measures, Knights of the Black Earth, Robot Blues, Hung Out, and Brothers in Arms, and author of The Soulforge. She lives happily in a converted barn in southern Wisconsin and is currently working on a new series of novels for TOR.
DRAGONLANCE, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective
logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the
U.S.A. and other countries. ©2003 Wizards.
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