2

Regrets. Instructions. Choices.

he rising sun, fierce and fiery, even this early in the day, glittered in the stained-glass windows of the inn. The twin brothers sat watching it. Tika had long ago gone to bed, as had Palin-still somewhat weak from his wound. Caramon and Raistlin had stayed up. They were awake all night, talking first of the distant past, of past times, of past mistakes and past regrets.

“If you’d known how it would turn out, would you have chosen differently, Raist?” Caramon asked.

“No,” Raistlin returned with a hint of his old irritability. “For then it would not have been me doing the choosing.”

Caramon didn’t quite understand, but he was accustomed to not understanding his brother and he didn’t let it worry him. He understood enough. He began to tell his brother about the family.

Raistlin sat hunched in a corner of the booth, nursing in his hands a cup of the tea that soothed his cough. The archmage listened to Caramon’s stories, saw Palin and his brothers clearly in his mind, knew things about them that Caramon did not. All those years spent on that distant plane, peaceful in his deathlike slumber-such visions had been Raistlin’s dreams.

It was not until the very darkest hour before the dawn that the two spoke of the present... and of the future.

Now Caramon gazed, troubled and disturbed, out the window, watching the sun rise through the brittle brown leaves of the vallenwood.

“The end of all things, you say,” Caramon murmured. “Of all things,” he repeated, turning to face his brother. “I know I’m going to die. Everything, even the elves, has to die. But... I always knew that this”- he made a gesture that encompassed window, tree, grass, dirt, and cloudless sky- “would still be here when I’m gone. You’re saying nothing . . . nothing would remain?”

“When Chaos comes to destroy this ‘plaything of the gods,’ the ground will open, fire will spew up from the cracks. A wind with the fury of a thousand storms will roar down from the heavens, fan the flames. Fire dragons, ridden by fiendish warriors, will ride over the land, and soon the fire will consume everything. Lakes will evaporate, oceans boil. The air itself will be scorched; people will die just breathing it. No one, nothing will survive.”

Raistlin spoke in a calm, detached voice that was utterly convincing, utterly frightening. His words sent a thrill of horror through Caramon.

“You sound like you’ve seen it,” he said in a low voice.

“I have,” Raistlin returned. His gaze shifted. He had been staring into the steam rising from the tea. Now he turned his gaze toward his brother. “You have forgotten what I see with these cursed eyes of mine. I see time as it moves forward and, thus, I have seen time stop.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” Caramon argued. “I’ve learned that much. The future is what we make it.”

“True,” Raistlin agreed. “There are alternatives.”

“And?” Caramon persisted, eternally hopeful.

Raistlin stared back into the cooling tea. “I have told you the worst that can happen, my brother.” He was thoughtful, silent, then added, “Or perhaps that was the best.”

“What?” Caramon was shocked. “The best? People being burned alive! Oceans boiling! That’s the best?”

“It depends on how you look at it, my brother.” Raistlin shoved the tea away. “I can’t drink that. It’s grown cold.” Coughing, he drew his robes closer around him, though it was already stifling inside the inn.

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Caramon protested, rising and heading for the kitchen. He returned with a kettle of hot water. “We’ll fight, fight alongside the gods, if need be.”

“Oh, yes,” Raistlin said. “We will fight. And many of us will die. We might even win. And that could be the greatest loss of all.”

“I don’t understand, Raist- “ Caramon began.

“ ‘I don’t understand, Raist.. .’ “ Raistlin mimicked.

Caramon flushed uncomfortably, looked down at his feet.

Raistlin sighed. “This time, Caramon, I don’t understand either. No, don’t fix me any more tea. We haven’t time. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“We? You . . . you want me to come?” Caramon asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Raistlin replied brusquely. “I need the support of your strong arm. And you are the only one who ever knew how to brew this properly.” He waved his thin hand at the teacup.

“Sure, Raist. I’ll go anywhere with you. Where are we going?”

“To the Tower of Wayreth. Dalamar will meet us there. He is calling a Wizards’ Conclave.”

“Then we’ll be taking Palin with us ...”

“No, Palin is going on another errand. He must journey to Palanthas.”

“Alone?” Caramon frowned. “But he would be in danger on the road- “

“He is not going by the road,” Raistlin interrupted irritably.

“Ah, then you’re going to magic him there,” Caramon said.

“No, I am not,” Raistlin said shortly. “Speaking of Palin, I must have a word with him. Come, come, my brother,” Raistlin continued, noting Caramon still standing there, the teakettle in his hand. “Make haste! Every minute that passes is another minute closer to disaster. We need to be ready to leave in an hour.”

“Sure, Raist,” Caramon said, and he started to return to the kitchen.

In the doorway, he paused, watched his brother. Raistlin rose slowly to his feet, leaning on the table to help himself up. Once, long ago, he would have leaned on his staff. Pausing, he picked up the bag containing the tea mixture and hung it from the belt around his thin waist. No other bags dangled from his belt, no smell of rose petals clung to him. He carried no scroll case, no book...

And then, for once, Caramon understood.

“They’ve taken away your magic, haven’t they, Raist?” he said softly.

Raistlin was silent for long moments, then said-oddly, “I notice you drink nothing stronger than water, my dear brother.”

“Yes,” Caramon said steadily. “But what-?”

Raistlin carried on, as if he hadn’t heard. “Why? Why nothing but water?”

“You know why, Raist. The dwarf spirits take hold of me. Once I start, I can’t quit. ...” Caramon paused, his face twisted in a puzzled frown. “Do you mean it’s the same? You ... ?”

“I might not have been able to resist the temptation,” Raistlin said quietly.

“But... what’s coming. Won’t we need you?”

“We have Palin,” Raistlin said.

Caramon’s flush vanished. He was pale, unhappy. “You can’t mean that, Raist. He’s young yet and he’s not high ranking- “

“Neither was I, my brother,” Raistlin said softly. “Neither was I.”

Caramon swallowed. “Yes, but you ... Well, you ...”

“Had help?” Raistlin sneered. “Yes, I had help. Fistandantilus was with me. And so will Palin have help. So will Palin ...” He coughed, sank back down in his chair. “But don’t worry, my dear brother. Palin will have the choice, as did I.”

Caramon did not find that knowledge at all comforting. He left his twin sitting at the table, watching the day dawn as hot as summer flame.

Palin came down to breakfast to find the house in turmoil. His mother stood at the bar, cutting hunks of the warm, fruit-laced bread she always baked whenever anyone in her family was traveling. “Walking bread,” the boys called it, because they ate it while walking, though-as older brother Sturm once said jokingly-the bread was hard enough that it also could be walked on while eating.

The smell conjured memories both vivid and painful. Palin was forced to stop on the staircase and hold fast to the staff until the blurring cleared from his eyes and the choke from his throat. He descended just as Caramon emerged, carrying a large knapsack, which he deposited at the door.

“Father,” said Palin, in astonishment, “are you coming with us to Wayreth?”

“He is coming with me, Palin,” Raistlin said, turning. “I’m glad you are up. I was just going to wake you.”

“But, I’m going with you, too,” Palin protested. “I feel perfectly well. My shoulder is a little stiff, but I used more of that ointment this morning and the wound is healing- “

“What wound?” Tika said sharply, looking up from her work.

“A slight injury he suffered on his travels. Nothing serious,” Raistlin returned.

“We’ll see about that. Caramon, finish cutting this bread and then put some in those sacks. As for you, young man, sit down there where I can take a look at you. I wondered why you kept your cloak on last night.”

“Mother!” Palin felt his cheeks burn. He cast his uncle an embarrassed glance. “It’s all right, Mother, really. There’s no need to fuss over me- “

“Tika,” Caramon broke in, “there isn’t time- “

She turned, hands on her hips. “Are dragons going to attack us in the next five minutes, Caramon Majere?”

“Well, no,” Caramon began. “But- “

“Then there’s time.” Tika motioned to a chair. “Sit down, young man, and let me take a look at that shoulder. What did you do with the bloodstained robes? Hide them under your bed, like you used to when you were little?”

Palin sent out a silent plea for reinforcements, but his father had already been routed and was leaving the field. His uncle, a ghost of a smile on his face, came over to take a seat across from Palin.

“I need to give you instructions, Nephew,” Raistlin said. “Besides, sometimes it is pleasant to be ‘fussed over.’ “

Caramon halted in his bread-cutting, stared at his brother in amazement. Then, smiling a little sadly, shaking his head, the big man began stuffing the bread into sacks.

Palin squirmed out of the sleeve of his robe, submitted to his mother’s touch.

Tika poked and prodded and peered and sniffed, then, nodding, said, “It’s healing well enough, but it should be washed out. There’s little bits of fiber stuck to it. I’ll be back.”

She went to the kitchen for hot water and a cloth.

“And now, Nephew,” said Raistlin, “here are your instructions. Your father and I are going to Wayreth. I want you to return to Palanthas...”

Palin opened his mouth to protest.

“That young woman you mentioned,” Raistlin continued. “The one who claims to be my daughter. I want you to find her.”

Palin shut his mouth on his protest. “Yes, Uncle,” he said instead, so quickly and with such eagerness that his father, lifting his head, gave his son a long, hard look. “Do you believe her story, then?”

“No,” Raistlin returned coldly, “but her connection with the Irda intrigues me.”

“I’ll be glad to find her for you, Uncle,” Palin said, ignoring his father’s grin, his teasing whistle, “but are you certain she’s still in Palanthas?”

“According to Dalamar, she is. That sorceress companion of his keeps in contact with her. She’ll know where the young woman can be found.”

“You and Dalamar discussed this, then. Why didn’t you include me?”

“You were resting,” Raistlin said. “We did not want to disturb you. Here.” He reached into a pocket of his black robes, withdrew an ordinary-looking ring, and handed it to Palin. “Take this. Dalamar has arranged for your transportation back to Palanthas.”

“He arranged,” Palin repeated with a sigh. Taking the ring, barely glancing at it, he thrust it into a pouch, “Because I could not do so myself. But, you, Uncle. You could cast the Span Land and Time spell. I would like to hear it, even though I can’t yet cast it- What is it, Father? What do you want?”

Palin had gradually become aware of his father, frowning at him and shaking his head.

“Your uncle’s not feeling well this morning, Son,” Caramon said sternly. “Do what he tells you and don’t badger him.”

Palin noted that Raistlin did look extremely pale. “I didn’t mean, of course, if you’re not well...”

“I am well,” Raistlin retorted, “at least as well as I ever am. You deserve to know the truth. I have no magic anymore, Nephew. It was taken from me. That was the condition I was forced to make in order to return to this plane of existence.”

“And you didn’t want to return. You came because of me. Uncle, I- “

“Do not pity me,” Raistlin snarled. The golden eyes glared fiercely, hotter than the sun.

Palin, startled, fell silent.

“I take it as a compliment,” Raistlin said, his anger cooling. “It is a sign that she fears me still. But enough talk. Caramon, we should be on our way. Go say your good-byes to Tika and give her my thanks for the hospitality. I want to have a few words in private with Palin.”

“Sure, Raist,” Caramon said, but he didn’t move. He glanced uncertainly at his son.

“Go along, Caramon,” Raistlin repeated. He was about to add something further, but his words were cut short by a spell of coughing. “Go!” he gasped. “Don’t you see how you upset me?”

Caramon hesitated, looked from his son to his twin brother. Then he left, reluctantly, heading for the kitchen.

When they were alone, Raistlin beckoned Palin to come nearer. He spoke in a whisper, his throat raw from coughing. “When you have located this young woman, I forget her name- “

“Usha,” Palin said softly.

“Don’t interrupt me! I barely have breath enough to speak as it is. I repeat, when you have found her, take her with you to the Great Library. I will meet you there the day after tomorrow, on midnight of Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I understand, Uncle,” Palin replied, subdued. “Midnight of Midsummer’s Eve. I will be there.”

Raistlin relaxed, breathed easier.

“And now, Nephew, you had best go say your own goodbyes and be on your way. The ring is simple to use. Put it on your finger, form an image of Palanthas in your mind, and the spell will carry you there.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Palin said, adding bitterly, “Of course it’s simple. I couldn’t handle anything complicated.”

Raistlin regarded him silently a moment, then, reaching out, he rested his wasted hand on Palin’s bare shoulder. The arch-mage’s touch was unnaturally hot, almost burning. Palin flinched beneath it, forced himself to hold still as the thin fingers bit into his flesh.

Raistlin bent near and his whispering words brushed against Palin’s cheek. “You will be made the offer, as I was. You will be given the choice.”

“When?” Palin grasped his uncle’s hand. “Soon? How will I know?”

“I can say no more.” Raistlin straightened, drew back. “I have said more than I was supposed to. Choose wisely, Nephew.”

“I will,” Palin said, standing. “I’ve thought about this a long time. I know what choice I will make.”

“Good for you, Nephew,” Raistlin said, smiling, and there was a chill in the smile.

Shivering, feeling again the touch of the cursed blade, Palin drew his robe up around his injured shoulder.

“And now, go fetch your father, young one,” Raistlin ordered. “Time moves, and we are standing still.”