Time of the Twins

by Margaret Weis

  Bupu, belching contently, had already wrapped herself up in a rug before the fire, using the remainder of the bowl of milk potatoes for a pillow.

  Caramon eyed the kender suspiciously. Tas assumed the most innocent look a kender could possibly assume, the result of which was that Caramon shook his finger at him sternly.

  “Promise me you won’t leave this room, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. Promise just like you’d promise … say, Tanis, if he were here.”

  “I promise,” Tas said solemnly, “just like I’d promise Tanis—if he were here.”

  “Good.” Caramon sighed and collapsed onto a bed that creaked in protest, the mattress sagging clear to the floor beneath the big man’s weight. “I guess someone’ll wake us up when they decide what they’re going to do.”

  “Will you really go back in time, Caramon?” Tas asked wistfully, sitting down on his own bed and pretending to unlace his boots.

  “Yeah, sure. ’S no big thing,” Caramon murmured sleepily. “Now get some sleep and … thanks, Tas. You’ve been … you’ve been … a big help.…” His words trailed off into a snore.

  Tas held perfectly still, waiting until Caramon’s breathing became even and regular. That didn’t take long because the big man was emotionally and physically exhausted. Looking at Caramon’s pale, careworn, and tear-streaked face, the kender felt a moment’s twinge of conscience. But kender are accustomed to dealing with twinges of conscience—just as humans are accustomed to dealing with mosquito bites.

  “He’ll never know I’ve been gone,” Tas said to himself as he sneaked across the floor past Caramon’s bed. “And I really didn’t promise him I wouldn’t go anywhere. I promised Tanis. And Tanis isn’t here, so the promise doesn’t count. Besides, I’m certain he would have wanted to explore, if he hadn’t been so tired.”

  By the time Tas crept past Bupu’s grubby little body, he had firmly convinced himself that Caramon had ordered him to look around before going to bed. He tried the door handle with misgivings, remembering Caramon’s warning. But it opened easily. We are guests then, not prisoners. Unless there was a lich standing guard outside. Tas poked his head around the door frame. He looked up the hall, then down the hall. Nothing. Not a lich in sight. Sighing a bit in disappointment, Tas slipped out the door, then shut it softly behind him.

  The hallway ran to his left and to his right, vanishing around shadowy corners at either end. It was barren, cold, and empty. Other doors branched off from the hallway, all of them dark, all of them closed. There were no decorations of any kind, no tapestries hung on the walls, no carpets covered the stone floor. There weren’t even any lights, no torches, no candles. Apparently the mages were supposed to provide their own if they did any wandering about after dark.

  A window at one end did allow the light of Solinari, the silver moon, to filter through its glass panes, but that was all. The rest of the hallway was completely dark. Too late Tas thought of sneaking back into the room for a candle. No. If Caramon woke up, he might not remember he had told the kender to go exploring.

  “I’ll just pop into one of these other rooms and borrow a candle,” Tas said to himself. “Besides, that’s a good way to meet people.”

  Gliding down the hall quieter than the moonbeams that danced on the floor, Tas reached the next door. “I won’t knock, in case they’re asleep,” he reasoned and carefully turned the doorknob. “Ah, locked!” he said, feeling immensely cheered.

  This would give him something to do for a few minutes at least. Pulling out his lock-picking tools, he held them up to the moonlight to select the proper size wire for this particular lock.

  “I hope it’s not magically locked,” he muttered, the sudden thought making him grow cold. Magicians did that sometimes, he knew—a habit kender consider highly unethical. But maybe in the Tower of High Sorcery, surrounded by mages, they wouldn’t figure it would be worthwhile. “I mean, anyone could just come along and blow the door down,” Tas reasoned.

  Sure enough, the lock opened easily. His heart beating with excitement, Tas shoved the door open quietly and peered inside. The room was lit only by the faint glow of a dying fire. He listened. He couldn’t hear anyone in it, no sounds of snoring or breathing, so he walked in, padding softly. His sharp eyes found the bed. It was empty. No one home.

  “Then they won’t mind if I borrow their candle,” the kender said to himself happily. Finding a candlestick, he lit the wick with a glowing coal. Then he gave himself up to the delights of examining the occupant’s belongings, noticing as he did so that whoever resided in this room was not a very tidy person.

  About two hours and many rooms later, Tas was wearily returning to his own room, his pouches bulging with the most fascinating items—all of which he was fully determined to return to their owners in the morning. He had picked most of them up off the tops of tables where they had obviously been carelessly tossed. He found more than a few on the floor (he was certain the owners had lost them) and had even rescued several from the pockets of robes that were probably destined to be laundered, in which case these items would certainly have been misplaced.

  Looking down the hall, he received a severe shock, however, when he saw light streaming out from under their door!

  “Caramon!” He gulped, but at that moment a hundred plausible excuses for being out of the room entered his brain. Or perhaps Caramon might not even have missed him yet. Maybe he was into the dwarf spirits. Considering this possibility, Tas tiptoed up to the closed door of their room and pressed his ear against it, listening.

  He heard voices. One he recognized immediately—Bupu’s. The other … he frowned. It seemed familiar … where had he heard it?

  “Yes, I am going to send you back to the Highpulp, if that is where you want to go? But first you must tell where the Highpulp is.”

  The voice sound faintly exasperated. Apparently, this had been going on for some time. Tas put his eye to the keyhole. He could see Bupu, her hair clotted with milk potatoes, glaring suspiciously at a red-robed figure. Now Tas remembered where he’d heard the voice—that was the man at the Conclave, who kept questioning Par-Salian!

  “Highbulp!” Bupu repeated indignantly. “Not Highpulp! And Highbulp is home. You send me home.”

  “Yes, of course. Now where is home?”

  “Where Highbulp is.”

  “And where is the Highpul-bulp?” the red-robed mage asked in hopeless tones.

  “Home,” Bupu stated succinctly. “I tell you that before. You got ears under that hood? Maybe you deaf.” The gully dwarf disappeared from Tas’s sight for a moment, diving into her bag. When she reappeared, she held another dead lizard, a leather thong wrapped around its tail. “Me cure. You stick tail in ear and—”

  “Thank you,” said the mage hastily, “but my hearing is quite perfect, I assure you. Uh, what do you call your home? What is the name?”

  “The Pitt. Two Ts. Some fancy name, huh?” Bupu said proudly. “That Highbulp’s idea. Him ate book once. Learned lots. All right here.” She patted her stomach.

  Tas clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. The red-robed mage was experiencing similar problems as well. Tas saw the man’s shoulders shake beneath his red robes, and it took him a while to respond. When he did, his voice had a faint quiver.

  “What … what do humans call the name of your—the—uh—Pitt?”

  Tas saw Bupu scowl. “Dumb name. Sound like someone spit up. Skroth.”

  “Skroth,” the red-robed mage repeated, mystified. “Skroth,” he muttered. Then he snapped his fingers. “I remember. The kender said it in the Conclave. Xak Tsaroth?”

  “Me say that once already. You sure you not want lizard cure for ears? You put tail—”

  Heaving a sigh of relief, the red-robed mage held his hand out over Bupu’s head. Sprinkling what looked like dust down over her (Bupu sneezed violently), Tas heard the mage chant strange words.

  “Me go home now?” Bupu asked hopefully.

  The mage did not answer, he
kept chanting.

  “Him not nice,” she muttered to herself, sneezing again as the dust slowly coated her hair and body. “None of them nice. Not like my pretty man.” She wiped her nose, snuffling. “Him not laugh … him call me ‘little one.’ ”

  The dust on the gully dwarf began to glow a faint yellow. Tas gasped softly. The glow grew brighter and brighter, changing color, turning yellow-green, then green, then green-blue, then blue and suddenly—

  “Bupu!” Tas whispered.

  The gully dwarf was gone!

  “And I’m next!” Tas realized in horror. Sure enough, the red-robed mage was limping across the room to the bed where the thoughtful kender had made up a dummy of himself so that Caramon wouldn’t be worried in case he woke up.

  “Tasslehoff Burrfoot” the red-robed mage called softly. He had passed beyond Tas’s sight. The kender stood frozen, waiting for the mage to discover he was missing. Not that he was afraid of getting caught. He was used to getting caught and was fairly certain he could talk his way out of it. But he was afraid of being sent home! They didn’t really expect Caramon to go anywhere without him, did they?

  “Caramon needs me!” Tas whispered to himself in agony. “They don’t know what bad shape he’s in. Why, what would happen if he didn’t have me along to drag him out of bars?”

  “Tasslehoff,” the red-robed mage’s voice repeated. He must be nearing the bed.

  Hurriedly, Tas’s hand dove into his pouch. Pulling out a fistful of junk, he hoped against hope he’d found something useful. Opening his small hand, he held it up to the candlelight. He had come up with a ring, a grape, and a lump of mustache wax. The wax and the grape were obviously out. He tossed them to the floor.

  “Caramon!” Tas heard the red-robed mage say sternly. He could hear Caramon grunt and groan and pictured the mage shaking him. “Caramon, wake up. Where’s the kender?”

  Trying to ignore what was happening in the room, Tas concentrated on examining the ring. It was probably magical. He’d picked it up in the third room to the left. Or was it the fourth? And magical rings usually worked just by being worn. Tas was an expert on the subject. He’d accidentally put on a magical ring once that had teleported him right into the heart of an evil wizard’s palace. There was every possibility this might do the same. He had no idea what it did.

  Maybe there was some sort of clue on the ring?

  Tas turned it over, nearly dropping it in his haste. Thank the gods Caramon was so hard to wake up!

  It was a plain ring, carved out of ivory, with two small pink stones. There were some runes traced on the inside. Tas recalled his magical Glasses of Seeing with a pang, but they were lost in Neraka, unless some draconian was wearing them.

  “Wha … wha …” Caramon was babbling. “Kender? I told him … don’t go out there … liches.…”

  “Damn!” The red-robed mage was heading for the door.

  Please, Fizban! the kender whispered, if you remember me at all, which I don’t suppose you do, although you might—I was the one who kept finding your hat. Please, Fizban! Don’t let them send Caramon off without me. Make this a Ring of Invisibility. Or at least a Ring of Something that will keep them from catching me!

  Closing his eyes tightly so he wouldn’t see anything Horrible he might accidentally conjure up, Tas thrust the ring over his thumb. (At the last moment he opened his eyes, so that he wouldn’t miss seeing anything Horrible he might conjure up.)

  At first, nothing happened. He could hear the red-robed mage’s halting footsteps coming nearer and nearer the door.

  Then—something was happening, although not quite what Tas expected. The hall was growing! There was a rushing sound in the kender’s ears as the walls swooped past him and the ceiling soared away from him. Open-mouthed, he watched as the door grew larger and larger, until it was an immense size.

  What have I done? Tas wondered in alarm. Have I made the Tower grow? Do you suppose anyone’ll notice? If they do, will they be very upset?

  The huge door opened with a gust of wind that nearly flattened the kender. An enormous red-robed figure filled the doorway.

  A giant! Tas gasped. I’ve not only made the Tower grow! I’ve made the mages grow, too! Oh, dear. I guess they’ll notice that! At least they will the first time they try to put on their shoes! And I’m sure they’ll be upset. I would be if I was twenty feet tall and none of my clothes fit.

  But the red-robed mage didn’t seem at all perturbed about suddenly shooting up in height, much to Tas’s astonishment. He just peered up and down the hall, yelling, “Tasslehoff Burrfoot!”

  He even looked right at where Tas was standing—and didn’t see him!

  “Oh, thank you, Fizban!” the kender squeaked. Then he coughed. His voice certainly did sound funny. Experimentally, he said, “Fizban?” again. Again, he squeaked.

  At that moment, the red-robed mage glanced down.

  “Ah, ha! And whose room have you escaped from, my little friend?” the mage said.

  As Tasslehoff watched in awe, a giant hand reached down—it was reaching down for him! The fingers got nearer and nearer. Tas was so startled he couldn’t run or do anything except wait for that gigantic hand to grab him. Then it would be all over! They’d send him home instantly, if they didn’t inflict a worse punishment on him for enlarging their Tower when he wasn’t at all certain that they wanted it enlarged.

  The hand hovered over him and then picked him up by his tail.

  “My tail!” Tas thought wildly, squirming in midair as the hand lifted him off the floor. “I haven’t got a tail! But I must! The hand’s got hold of me by something!”

  Twisting his head around. Tas saw that indeed, he did have a tail! Not only a tail, but four pink feet! Four! And instead of bright blue leggings, he was wearing white fur!

  “Now, then,” boomed a stern voice right in one of his ears, “answer me, little rodent! Whose familiar are you?”

  CHAPTER

  16

  amiliar! Tasslehoff clutched at the word. Familiar.… Talks with Raistlin came back to his fevered mind.

  “Some magi have animals that are bound to do their bidding,” Raistlin had told him once. “These animals, or familiars as they are called, can act as an extension of a mage’s own senses. They can go places he cannot, see things he is unable to see, hear conversations he has not been invited to share.”

  At the time, Tasslehoff had thought it a wonderful idea, although he recalled Raistlin had not been impressed. He seemed to consider it a weakness, to be so heavily dependent upon another living being.

  “Well, answer me?” the red-robed mage demanded, shaking Tasslehoff by the tail. Blood rushed to the kender’s head, making him dizzy, plus being held by the tail was quite painful, to say nothing of the indignity! All he could do, for a moment, was to give thanks that Flint couldn’t see him.

  I suppose, he thought bleakly, that familiars can talk. I hope they speak Common, not something strange—like Mouse, for example.

  “I’m—I—uh—belong to”—what was a good name for a mage?—“Fa—Faikus,” Tas squeaked, remembering hearing Raistlin use this name in connection with a fellow student long ago.

  “Ah,” the red-robed mage said with a frown, “I might have known. Were you out upon some errand for your master or simply roaming around loose?”

  Fortunately for Tas, the mage changed his hold upon the kender, releasing his tail to grasp him firmly in his hand. The kender’s front paws rested quivering on the red-robed mage’s thumb, his now beady, bright-red eyes stared into the mage’s cool, dark ones.

  What shall I answer? Tas wondered frantically. Neither choice sounded very good.

  “It—it’s my n-night off,” Tas said in what he hoped was an indignant tone of squeak.

  “Humpf!” The mage sniffed. “You’ve been around that lazy Faikus too long, that’s for certain. I’ll have a talk with that young man in the morning. As for you, no, you needn’t start squirming! Have you forgotten that Sudora’s fa
miliar prowls the halls at night? You could have been Marigold’s dessert! Come along with me. After I’m finished with this evening’s business, I’ll return you to your master.”

  Tas, who had just been ready to sink his sharp little teeth into the mage’s thumb, suddenly thought better of the idea. “Finished with this evening’s business!” Of course, that had to be Caramon! This was better than being invisible! He would just go along for the ride!

  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.”