Dragons of Spring Dawning

by Margaret Weis

  The red robes brought Raistlin’s image back to Tanis with such force that the half-elf’s vision blurred. For a moment he thought it was Raistlin. Then he saw clearly. This mage was older, much older, and his face was kind.

  “Where are we?” Tanis demanded harshly. “Who are you? Why were we brought here?”

  “KreeaQUEKH,” the man said in disgust. Turning, he walked away.

  “Damn!” Tanis jumped forward, intent on grabbing the man and dragging him back. But he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” Riverwind counseled. “Calm down, Tanis. He’s a magic-user. You couldn’t fight him even if you had a sword. We’ll follow him, see where he goes. If he laid a spell on this place, perhaps he’ll have to lift it to get out himself.”

  Tanis drew a deep breath. “You’re right, of course.” He gasped for air. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel tight and stretched, like the skin over a drum. We’ll follow him. Goldmoon, you stay here with Berem—”

  “No!” Berem shouted. Throwing himself out of the chair, he clutched at Tanis with such force he nearly knocked him down. “Don’t leave me here! Don’t!”

  “We’re not going to leave you!” Tanis said, trying to extricate himself from Berem’s deathlike grip. “Oh, all right. Maybe we’d all better stay together anyway.”

  Hurrying out into the narrow corridor, they started down the bleak, deserted hallway.

  “There he goes!” Riverwind pointed.

  In the dim light, they could just see a bit of red robe whisking around a corner. Walking softly, they followed after it. The hallway led down another hallway with other rooms branching off it.

  “This was never here before!” Riverwind exclaimed. “There was always solid wall.”

  “Solid illusion,” Tanis muttered.

  Stepping into the hallway, they looked around curiously. Rooms filled with the same ancient, mismatched furniture as in their room opened from the empty corridor. These rooms, too, were empty, but all lit with the same strange glowing lights. Perhaps it was an inn. If so, they appeared to be its only customers and might have been its only customers for a hundred years.

  They made their way through broken corridors and vast pillared halls. There wasn’t time to investigate their surroundings, not while trailing the red-robed man, who was proving remarkably quick and elusive. Twice they thought they had lost him, only to catch a glimpse of the red robes floating down a circular stairway beneath them, or flitting through an adjacent hallway.

  It was at one such juncture that they stood for a moment, glancing down two divergent hallways, feeling lost and frustrated.

  “Split up,” Tanis said after a moment. “But don’t go far. We’ll meet back here. If you see any sign of him, Riverwind, whistle once. I’ll do the same.”

  Nodding, the Plainsman and Goldmoon slipped down one hallway while Tanis—with Berem practically tripping on his heels—searched the other one.

  He found nothing. The hallway led to a large room, eerily lit as was everything else in this strange place. Should he look in it or turn back? After hesitating a moment, Tanis decided to take a quick glance inside. The room was empty, except for a huge round table. And on the table, he saw as he drew closer, was a remarkable map!

  Tanis bent quickly over the map, hoping for a clue as to where and what this mysterious place was. The map was a miniature replica of the city! Protected by a dome of clear crystal, it was so exact in detail that Tanis had the strange feeling the city beneath the crystal was more real than the one where he stood.

  “Too bad Tas isn’t here,” he thought to himself wistfully, picturing the kender’s delight.

  The buildings were constructed in the ancient style; delicate spires rose into the crystal sky, light sparkled off the white domes. Stone archways spanned garden boulevards. The streets were laid out like a great spider web, leading directly into the heart of the city itself.

  Tanis felt Berem pluck nervously at his sleeve, gesturing that they should leave. Even though he could talk, it was obvious that the man had grown accustomed to, and perhaps even preferred, silence.

  “Yes, just a moment,” Tanis said, reluctant to go. He had heard nothing from Riverwind and there was every possibility this map might lead them out of this place.

  Bending over the glass, he stared at the miniature more closely. Around the center of the city stood great pavilions and columned palaces. Domes made of glass cradled summer flowers amid the winter snows. In the exact center of the city itself rose a building that seemed familiar to Tanis, though he knew he had never been in this city in his life. Still, he recognized it. Even as he studied it, searching his memory, the hair prickled on the back of his neck.

  It seemed to be a temple to the gods. And it was the most beautiful structure he had ever seen, more beautiful than the Towers of the Sun and the Stars in the elven kingdoms. Seven towers rose to the heavens as if praising the gods for their creation. The center tower soared into the skies far above the rest, as if it did not praise the gods, but rivaled them. Confused memories of his elven teachers came back to him, telling him stories of the Cataclysm, stories of the Kingpriest—

  Tanis drew back from the miniature, his breath catching in his throat. Berem stared at him in alarm, the man’s face going white.

  “What is it?” he croaked in fear, clutching at Tanis.

  The half-elf shook his head. He could not speak. The terrible implications of where they were and what was going on were breaking over him like red waters of the Blood Sea.

  In confusion, Berem looked at the center of the map. The man’s eyes widened, then he shrieked, a scream unlike any Tanis had heard before. Suddenly Berem threw himself bodily upon the crystal dome, beating at it as if he would tear it apart.

  “The City of Damnation!” Berem moaned. “The City of Damnation.”

  Tanis started forward to calm him, then he heard Riverwind’s shrill whistle. Grabbing Berem, Tanis hauled him away from the crystal. “I know,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  But how? How did you get out of a city that was supposed to have been blasted off the face of Krynn? How did you get out of a city that must lie at the very bottom of the Blood Sea? How did you get out of—

  As he shoved Berem through the door of the map room, Tanis glanced above the doorway. Words were carved in its crumbling marble. Words that had once spoken of one of the wonders of the world. Words whose letters were now cracked and covered with moss. But he could read them.

  Welcome, O noble visitor, to our beautiful city.

  Welcome to the city beloved of the gods.

  Welcome, honored guest, to Istar.

  5

  “I killed him once …”

  I ’ve seen what you’re doing to him! You’re trying to murder him!” Caramon shouted at Par-Salian. Head of the Tower of High Sorcery, the last Tower of High Sorcery located in the weird, alien forests of Wayreth, Par-Salian was the highest ranking in the Order of magic-users currently living on Krynn.

  To the twenty-year-old warrior, the withered old man in the snowy white robes was a thing he might have broken with his bare hands. The young warrior had put up with a good deal the last two days, but now his patience had run out.

  “We are not in the business of murder,” Par-Salian said in his soft voice. “Your brother knew what he faced when he agreed to undergo these Trials. He knew death was the penalty for failure.”

  “He didn’t, not really,” Caramon mumbled, brushing his hand across his eyes. “Or if he did, he didn’t care. Sometimes his … his love for his magic clouds his thinking.”

  “Love? No.” Par-Salian smiled sadly. “I do not think we could call it love.”

  “Well, whatever,” Caramon muttered. “He didn’t realize what you were going to do to him! It’s all so damn serious—”

  “Of course,” Par-Salian said mildly “What would happen to you, warrior, if you went into battle without knowing how to use your sword?�
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  Caramon scowled. “Don’t try to weasel out—”

  “What would happen?” Par-Salian persisted.

  “I’d be killed,” Caramon said with the elaborate patience one uses when speaking to an elderly person who is growing a bit childish. “Now—”

  “Not only would you die,” Par-Salian continued, “but your comrades, those who depend on you, might they also die because of your incompetence?”

  “Yes,” Caramon said impatiently, starting to continue his tirade. Then, pausing, he fell silent.

  “You see my point,” Par-Salian said gently. “We do not require this Test of all who would use magic. There are many with the gift who go through life content with using the first elementary spells taught by the schools. These are enough to help them in their day-today lives, and that is all they want. But sometimes there comes a person like your brother. To him, the gift is more than a tool to help him through life. To him, the gift is life. He aspires higher. He seeks knowledge and power that can be dangerous, not only to the user but to those around him as well. Therefore we force all magic-users who would enter into those realms where true power can be attained to take the Test, to submit themselves to the Trials. Thus we weed out the incompetent.…”

  “You’ve done your best to weed out Raistlin!” Caramon snarled. “He’s not incompetent, but he’s frail and now he’s hurt, maybe dying!”

  “No, he isn’t incompetent. Quite the contrary. Your brother has done very well, warrior. He has defeated all of his enemies. He has handled himself like a true professional. Almost too professional.” Par-Salian appeared thoughtful. “I wonder if someone hasn’t taken an interest in your brother.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Caramon’s voice hardened with resolve. “And I don’t care. All I know is that I am putting a stop to it. Right now.”

  “You cannot. You will not be permitted. He isn’t dying—”

  “You can’t stop me!” Caramon stated coldly. “Magic! Tricks to keep kids amused! True power! Bah! It’s not worth getting killed over—”

  “Your brother believes it is,” Par-Salian said softly. “Shall I show you how much he believes in his magic? Shall I show you true power?”

  Ignoring Par-Salian, Caramon took a step forward, determined to end his brother’s suffering. That step was his last, at least for some time. He found himself immobilized, frozen in place as surely as if his feet were encased in ice. Fear gripped Caramon. It was the first time he had ever been spellbound, and the helpless feeling of being totally under another’s control was more terrifying than facing six axe-wielding goblins.

  “Watch.” Par-Salian began to chant strange words. “I am going to show you a vision of what might have been.…”

  Suddenly Caramon saw himself entering the Tower of High Sorcery! He blinked in astonishment. He was walking through the doors and down the eerie corridors! The image was so real that Caramon looked down at his own body in alarm, half-afraid he might find he wasn’t really there. But he was. He seemed to be in two places at the same time. True power: The warrior began to sweat, then shivered with a chill.

  Caramon—the Caramon in the Tower—was searching for his brother. Up and down empty corridors he wandered, calling Raistlin’s name. And finally he found him.

  The young mage lay on the cold stone floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. Near him was the body of a dark elf, dead, by Raistlin’s magic. But the cost had been terrible. The young mage himself seemed near death.

  Caramon ran to his brother and lifted the frail body in his strong arms. Ignoring Raistlin’s frantic pleas to leave him alone, the warrior began to carry his twin from this evil Tower. He would take Raistlin from this place if it was the last thing he did.

  But, just as they came near the door that led out of the Tower, a wraith appeared before them. Another test, Caramon thought grimly. Well, this will be one test Raistlin won’t have to handle. Gently laying his brother down, the warrior turned to meet this final challenge.

  What happened then made no sense. The watching Caramon blinked in astonishment. He saw himself cast a magic spell! Dropping his sword, he held strange objects in his hands and began to speak words he didn’t understand! Lightning bolts shot from his hands! The wraith vanished with a shriek.

  The real Caramon looked wildly at Par-Salian, but the mage only shook his head and—wordlessly—pointed back to the image that wavered before Caramon’s eyes. Frightened and confused, Caramon turned back to watch.

  He saw Raistlin rise slowly

  “How did you do that?” Raistlin asked, propping himself up against the wall.

  Caramon didn’t know. How could he do something that took his brother years of study! But the warrior saw himself rattling off a glib explanation. Caramon also saw the look of pain and anguish on his brother’s face.

  “No, Raistlin!” the real Caramon cried. “It’s a trick! A trick of this old man’s! I can’t do that! I’d never steal your magic from you! Never!”

  But the image Caramon, swaggering and brash, went over to “rescue” his “little” brother, to save him from himself.

  Raising his hands, Raistlin held them out toward his brother. But not to embrace him. No. The young mage, sick and injured and totally consumed with jealousy, began to speak the words of the one spell, the last spell he had strength to cast.

  Flames flared from Raistlin’s hands. The magical fire billowed forth, and engulfed his brother.

  Caramon watched in horror, too stunned to speak, as his own image was consumed in fire.… He watched as his brother collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

  “No! Raist—”

  Cool, gentle hands touched his face. He could hear voices, but their words were meaningless. He could understand, if he chose. But he didn’t want to understand. His eyes were closed. He could open them, but he refused. Opening his eyes, hearing those words, would only make the pain real.

  “I must rest,” Caramon heard himself say, and he sank back into darkness.

  He was approaching another Tower, a different Tower. The Tower of the Stars in Silvanesti. Once more Raistlin was with him, only now his brother wore the Black Robes. And now it was Raistlin’s turn to help Caramon. The big warrior was wounded. Blood pulsed steadily from a spear-wound that had nearly taken off his arm.

  “I must rest,” Caramon said again.

  Gently Raistlin laid him down, making him comfortable, his back propped up against the cold stone of the Tower. And then Raistlin started to leave.

  “Raist! Don’t,” Caramon cried. “You can’t leave me here!”

  Looking around, the injured, defenseless warrior saw hordes of the undead elves who had attacked them in Silvanesti waiting to leap upon him. Only one thing held them back, his brother’s magical power.

  “Raist! Don’t leave me!” he screamed.

  “How does it feel to be weak and alone?” Raistlin asked him softly.

  “Raist! My brother …”

  “I killed him once, Tanis. I can do it again!”

  “Raist! No! Raist!”

  “Caramon, please …” Another voice. This one gentle. Soft hands touched him.

  “Caramon, please! Wake up! Come back, Caramon. Come back to me. I need you.”

  No! Caramon pushed away that voice. He pushed away the soft hands. No, I don’t want to come back. I won’t. I’m tired. I hurt. I want to rest.

  But the hands, the voice, wouldn’t let him rest. They grabbed him, pulling him from the depths where he longed to sink.

  And now he was falling, falling into a horrible red darkness. Skeletal fingers clutched at him, eyeless heads whirled past him, their mouths gaping in silent cries. He drew a breath, then sank into blood. Struggling, smothering, he finally fought his way back to the surface and gasped for air once more. Raistlin! But no, he’s gone. His friends. Tanis. Gone, too. He saw him swept away. The ship. Gone. Cracked in half. Sailors cut apart, their blood mingling with the blood-red sea.

  Tika! She was near him. He pulled her close
. She was gasping for air. But he could not hold onto her. The swirling water tore her from his arms and swept him under. This time he could not find the surface. His lungs were on fire, bursting. Death … rest … sweet, warm.…

  But always those hands! Dragging him back to the gruesome surface. Making him breathe the burning air. No, let me go!

  And then other hands, rising up from the blood-red water. Firm hands, they took him down from the surface. He fell down … down … into merciful darkness. Whispered words of magic soothed him, he breathed … breathed water … and his eyes closed … the water was warm and comforting … He was a child once more.

  But not complete. His twin was missing.

  No! Waking was agony Let him float in that dark dream forever. Better than the sharp, bitter pain.

  But the hands tugged at him. The voice called to him.

  “Caramon, I need you …”

  Tika.

  “I’m no cleric, but I believe he’ll be all right now. Let him sleep awhile.”

  Tika brushed away her tears quickly, trying to appear strong and in control.

  “What … what was wrong?” she made herself ask calmly, though she was unable to restrain a shudder. “Was he hurt when the ship … went into th-the whirlpool? He’s been like this for days! Ever since you found us.”

  “No, I don’t think so. If he had been injured, the sea elves would have healed him. This was something within himself. Who is this ‘Raist’ he talks about?”

  “His twin brother,” Tika said hesitantly.

  “What happened? Did he die?”

  “No—no. I—I’m not quite sure what happened. Caramon loved his brother very much and he … Raistlin betrayed him.”

  “I see.” The man nodded solemnly. “It happens, up there. And you wonder why I choose to live down here.”

  “You saved his life!” Tika said. “And I don’t know you … your name.”

  “Zebulah,” the man answered, smiling. “And I didn’t save his life. He came back for love of you.”

  Tika lowered her head, her red curls hid her face. “I hope so,” she whispered. “I love him so much. I would die myself, if it would save him.”