Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Legends 01 - Time Of The Twins

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Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins

---------------------------------------------------------------

Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins (1986)

("DragonLance Legends" #1).

---------------------------------------------------------------

DRAGONLANCE LEGENDS

Volume 1

Margaret Weis was born and grew up in Independence,

Missouri. Her first book, a biography of Frank and Jesse

James, was inspired by her childhood fascination with their

graves at a local cemetery. She graduated in creative writing

from the University of Missouri and worked for a publisher

for fourteen years, during which time she advanced to

the position of editor. She then accepted a job as fiction

editor with TSR, Inc., where she now works. Besides the

Dragonlance Chronicles, the Dragonlance Legends and the

Dragonlance Tales, she has published a great many books

for younger readers and is working on her own science

fantasy trilogy as well as a fantasy trilogy, with Tracy

Hickman, entitled The Necroclast. She lives in Wisconsin

with her two children and three cats.

Tracy Hickman was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, in 1955.

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He served as a missionary in Indonesia for nearly two years

before returning home to marry his childhood sweetheart.

He now combines being an author with being a games

designer with TSR, Inc., and is the creator of the complete

Dragonlance(TM) package, including games, books and minia-

tures. The Dragonlance Chronicles were his first novels. He

lives in Wisconsin with his wife and their two children.

LEGENDS

Volume 1

TIME OF THE TWINS

Poetry by Michael Williams

Illustrations by Valerie Valusek

Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

To Samuel G. and Alta Hickman

My grandpa who tossed me into bed in his own special way

and my grandma nanny who is always so very wise. Thank

you all for the bedtime stories, life, love, and history. You

will live forever - Tracy Raye Hickman

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This book about the physical and spiritual bonds binding

brothers together could be dedicated to only one

person - my sister. To Terry Lynn Weis Wilhelm, with love

- Margaret Weis

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We wish to gratefully acknowledge the work of the follow-

ing:

Michael Williams - for splendid poetry and warm friendship.

Steve Sullivan - for his wonderful maps. (Now you know

where you are, Steve!)

Patrick Price - for his helpful advice and thoughtful criticism.

Jean Black - our editor, who had faith in us from the begin-

ning.

Valerie Valusek - for her exquisite pen and ink drawings.

Ruth Hoyer - for cover and interior design.

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Roger Moore - for DRAGON(R) articles and the story of Tas-

slehoff and the woolly mammoth.

The DRAGONLANCE(TM) team: Harold Johnson, Laura Hick-

man, Douglas Niles, Jeff Grubb, Michael Dobson, Michael

Breault, Bruce Heard.

The 1987 DRAGONLANCE CALENDAR artists: Clyde

Caldwell, Larry Elmore, Keith Parkinson, and Jeff Easley.

* BOOK 1 *

The Meeting

A lone figure trod softly

toward the distant light. Walking unheard, his footfalls were

sucked into the vast darkness all around him. Bertrem indulged

in a rare flight of fancy as he glanced at the seemingly endless

rows of books and scrolls that were part of the Chronicles of

Astinus and detailed the history of this world, the history of

Krynn.

"It's like being sucked into time," he thought, sighing as he

glanced at the still, silent rows. He wished, briefly, that he were

being sucked away somewhere, so that he did not have to face

the difficult task ahead of him.

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"All the knowledge of the world is in these books," he said to

himself wistfully. "And I've never found one thing to help make

the intrusion upon their author any easier."

Bertrem came to a halt outside the door to summon his cour-

age. His flowing Aesthetic's robes settled themselves about

him, falling into correct and orderly folds. His stomach, how-

ever, refused to follow the robes' example and lurched about

wildly. Bertrem ran his hand across his scalp, a nervous gesture

left over from a younger age, before his chosen profession had

cost him his hair.

What was bothering him? he wondered bleakly - other than

going in to see the Master, of course, something he had not

done since... since... He shuddered. Yes, since the young

mage had nearly died upon their doorstep during the last war.

War... change, that was what it was. Like his robes, the

world had finally seemed to settle around him, but he felt

change coming once again, just as he had felt it two years ago.

He wished he could stop it....

Bertrem sighed. "I'm certainly not going to stop anything by

standing out here in the darkness," he muttered. He felt uncom-

fortable anyway, as though surrounded by ghosts. A bright

light shone from under the door, beaming out into the hallway.

Giving a quick glance backward at the shadows of the books,

peaceful corpses resting in their tombs, the Aesthetic quietly

opened the door and entered the study of Astinus of Palanthas.

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Though the man was within, he did not speak, nor even look

up.

Walking with gentle, measured tread across the rich rug of

lamb's wool that lay upon the marble floor, Bertrem paused

before the great, polished wooden desk. For long moments he

said nothing, absorbed in watching the hand of the historian

guide the quill across the parchment in firm, even strokes.

"Well, Bertrem?" Astinus did not cease his writing.

Bertrem, facing Astinus, read the letters that - even upside

down - were crisp and clear and easily decipherable.

This day, as above Darkwatch rising 29, Bertrem entered my

study.

"Crysania of the House of Tarinius is here to see you, Master.

She says she is expected...." Bertrem's voice trailed off in a

whisper, it having taken a great deal of the Aesthetic's courage

to get that far.

Astinus continued writing.

"Master," Bertrem began faintly, shivering with his daring.

"I - we are at a loss. She is, after all, a Revered Daughter of Pal-

adine and I - we found it impossible to refuse her admittance.

What sh -"

"Take her to my private chambers," Astinus said without

ceasing to write or looking up.

Bertrem's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, rendering

him momentarily speechless. The letters flowed from the quill

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pen to the white parchment.

This day, as above Afterwatch rising 28, Crysania of Tari-

nius arrived for her appointment with Raistlin Majere.

"Raistlin Majere!" Bertrem gasped, shock and horror prying

his tongue loose. "Are we to admit hi -"

Astinus looked up now, annoyance and irritation creasing

his brow. As his pen ceased its eternal scratching on the parch-

ment, a deep unnatural silence settled upon the room. Bertrem

paled. The historian's face might have been reckoned hand-

some in a timeless, ageless fashion. But none who saw his face

ever remembered it. They simply remembered the eyes - dark,

intent, aware, constantly moving, seeing everything. Those

eyes could also communicate vast worlds of impatience,

reminding Bertrem that time was passing. Even as the two

spoke, whole minutes of history were ticking by, unrecorded.

"Forgive me, Master!" Bertrem bowed in profound rever-

ence, then backed precipitately out of the study, closing the

door quietly on his way. Once outside, he mopped his shaved

head that was glistening with perspiration, then hurried down

the silent, marble corridors of the Great Library of Palanthas.

Astinus paused in the doorway to his private residence, his

gaze on the woman who sat within.

Located in the western wing of the Great Library, the resi-

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dence of the historian was small and, like all other rooms in the

library, was filled with books of every type and binding, lining

the shelves on the walls and giving the central living area a faint

musty odor, like a mausoleum that had been sealed for centu-

ries. The furniture was sparse, pristine. The chairs, wooden

and handsomely carved, were hard and uncomfortable to sit

upon. A low table, standing by a window, was absolutely free

of any ornament or object, reflecting the light from the setting

sun upon its smooth black surface. Everything in the room was

in the most perfect order. Even the wood for the evening fire -

the late spring nights were cool, even this far north - was

stacked in such orderly rows it resembled a funeral pyre.

And yet, cool and pristine and pure as was this private cham-

ber of the historian, the room itself seemed only to mirror the

cold, pristine, pure beauty of the woman who sat, her hands

folded in her lap, waiting.

Crysania of Tarinius waited patiently. She did not fidget or

sigh or glance often at the water-run timing device in the cor-

ner. She did not read - though Astinus was certain Bertrem

would have her offered a book. She did not pace the room or

examine the few rare ornaments that stood in shadowed nooks

within the bookcases. She sat in the straight, uncomfortable,

wooden chair, her clear, bright eyes fixed upon the red-stained

fringes of the clouds above the mountains as if she were watch-

ing the sun set for possibly the first - or last - time upon

Krynn.

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So intent was she upon the sight beyond the window that

Astinus entered without attracting her attention. He regarded

her with intense interest. This was not unusual for the histo-

rian, who scrutinized all beings living upon Krynn with the

same fathomless, penetrating gaze. What was unusual was

that, for a moment, a look of pity and of profound sorrow

passed across the historian's face.

Astinus recorded history. He had recorded it since the begin-

ning of time, watching it pass before his eyes and setting it

down in his books. He could not foretell the future, that was

the province of the gods. But he could sense all the signs of

change, those same signs that had so disturbed Bertrem. Stand-

ing there, he could hear the drops of water falling in the timing

device. By placing his hand beneath them, he could cease the

flow of the drops, but time would go on.

Sighing, Astinus turned his attention to the woman, whom

he had heard of but never met.

Her hair was black, blue-black, black as the water of a calm

sea at night. She wore it combed straight back from a central

part, fastened at the back of her head with a plain, unadorned,

wooden comb. The severe style was not becoming to her pale,

delicate features, emphasizing their pallor. There was no color

at all in her face. Her eyes were gray and seemingly much too

large. Even her lips were bloodless.

Some years ago, when she had been young, servants had

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braided and coiled that thick, black hair into the latest, fash-

ionable styles, tucking in pins of silver and of gold, decorating

the somber hues with sparkling jewels. They had tinted her

cheeks with the juice of crushed berries and dressed her in

sumptuous gowns of palest pinks and powdery blues. Once she

had been beautiful. Once her suitors had waited in lines.

The gown she wore now was white, as befitted a cleric of Pal-

adine, and plain though made of fine material. It was

unadorned save for the belt of gold that encircled her slim

waist. Her only ornament was Paladine's - the medallion of the

Platinum Dragon. Her hair was covered by a loose white hood

that enhanced the marble smoothness and coldness of her com-

plexion.

She might have been made of marble, Astinus thought, with

one difference - marble could be warmed by the sun.

"Greetings, Revered Daughter of Paladine," Astinus said,

entering and shutting the door behind him.

"Greetings, Astinus," Crysania of Tarinius said, rising to her

feet.

As she walked across the small room toward him, Astinus

was somewhat startled to note the swiftness and almost mascu-

line length of her stride. It seemed oddly incongruous with her

delicate features. Her handshake, too, was firm and strong, not

typical of Palanthian women, who rarely shook hands and

then did so only by extending their fingertips.

"I must thank you for giving up your valuable time to act as a

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MargaretWeis,TracyHickman.TimeoftheTwins---------------------------------------------------------------MargaretWeis,TracyHickman.TimeoftheTwins(1986)("DragonLanceLegends"#1).--------------------------------------------------------------- DRAGONLANCELEGENDS ...

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