Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Legends 02 - War Of The Twins

Footsteps in the sand, leading me on ...

Looking up, I see the scaffold, the hooded figure with its head on the block,

the hooded figure of the executioner, the sharp blade of the axe glinting in

the burning sun.

The axe falls, the victim's severed head rolls on the wooden platform, the

hood comes off

"My head!" Raistlin whispered feverishly, twisting his thin hands together in

anguish.

The executioner, laughing, removes his hood, revealing

"My face!" Raistlin murmured, his fear spreading through his body like a

malign growth, making him sweat and chill by turns. Clutching at his head, he

tried to banish the evil visions that haunted his dreams continually, night

after night, and lingered to disturb his waking hours as well, turning all he

ate or drank to ashes in his mouth.

But they would not depart. "Master of Past and Present!" Raistlin laughed

hollowly-bitter, mocking laughter. "I am Master of nothing! All this power,

and I am trapped! Trapped! Following in his footsteps, knowing that every

second that passes has passed before! I see people I've never seen, yet I know

them! I hear the echo of my own words before I speak them! This face!" His

hands pressed against his cheeks. "This face! His face! Not mine! Not mine!

Who am I? I am my own executioner!"

Book 1

The River Flows On....

The dark waters of time swirled about the archmage's black robes, carrying him

and those with him forward through the years.

The sky rained fire, the mountain fell upon the city of Istar, plunging it

down, down into the depths of the ground. The sea waters, taking mercy on the

terrible destruction, rushed in to fill the void. The great Temple, where the

Kingpriest was still waiting for the gods to grant him his demands, vanished

from the face of the world. Even those sea elves who ventured into the

newly-created Blood Sea of Istar looked in wonder at the place where the

Temple had stood. There was nothing there now but a deep black pit. The sea

water within was so dark and chill that even these elves, born and bred and

living beneath the water, dared not swim near it.

But there were many on Ansalon who envied the inhabitants of Istar. For them

at least, death had come swiftly.

For those who survived the immediate destruction on Ansalon, death came

slowly, in hideous aspect-starvation, disease, murder ...

War.

CHAPTER 1

A hoarse, bellowing yell of fear and horror shattered Crysania's sleep. So

sudden and awful was the yell and so deep her sleep that, for a moment, she

could not even think what had wakened her. Terrified and confused, she stared

around, trying to understand where she was, trying to discover what had

frightened her so that she could scarcely breathe.

She was lying on a damp, hard floor. Her body shook convulsively from the

chill that penetrated her bones; her teeth chattered from the cold. Holding

her breath, she sought to hear something or see something. But the darkness

around was thick and impenetrable, the silence was intense.

She let go her breath and tried to draw another, but the darkness seemed to be

stealing it away. Panic gripped her. Desperately she tried to structure the

darkness, to people it with shapes and forms. But none came to her mind. There

was only the darkness and it had no dimension. It was eternal....

Then she heard the yell again and recognized it as what had awakened her. And,

though she came near gasping in relief at the sound of another human voice,

the fear she heard in that yell echoed in her soul.

Desperately, frantically trying to penetrate the darkness, she forced herself

to think, to remember. . . .

There had been singing stones, a chanting voice -Raistlin's voice-and his arms

around her. Then the sensation of stepping into water and being carried into a

swift, vast darkness.

Raistlin! Reaching out a trembling hand, Crysania felt nothing near her but

damp, chill stone. And then memory returned with horrifying impact. Caramon

lunging at his brother with the flashing sword in his hand.... Her words as

she cast a clerical spell to protect the mage.... The sound of a sword

clanging on stone.

But that yell-it was Caramon's voice! What if he

"Raistlin!" Crysania called fearfully, struggling to her feet. Her voice

vanished, disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness. It was such a terrible

feeling that she dared not speak again. Clasping her arms about her, shivering

in the intense cold, Crysania's hand went involuntarily to the medallion of

Paladine that hung around her neck. The god's blessing flowed through her.

"Light," she whispered and, holding the medallion fast, she prayed to the god

to light the darkness.

Soft light welled from the medallion between her fingers, pushing back the

black velvet that smothered her, letting her breathe. Lifting the chain over

her head, Crysania held the medallion aloft. Shining it about her

surroundings, she tried to remember the direction from which the yell had

come.

She had quick impressions of shattered, blackened furniture, cobwebs, books

lying scattered about the floor, bookshelves falling off walls. But these were

almost as frightening as the darkness itself; it was the darkness that gave

them birth. These objects had more right to this place than she.

And then the yell came again.

Her hand shaking, Crysania turned swiftly toward the sound. The light of the

god parted the darkness, bringing two figures into shockingly stark relief.

One, dressed in black robes, lay still and silent on the cold floor. Standing

above that unmoving figure was a huge man. Dressed in blood-stained golden

armor, an iron collar bolted around his neck, he stared into the darkness, his

hands outstretched, his mouth open wide, his face white with terror.

The medallion slipped from Crysania's nerveless hand as she recognized the

body lying huddled at the feet of the warrior.

"Raistlin!" she whispered.

Only as she felt the platinum chain slither through her fingers, only as the

precious light around her wavered, did she think to catch the medallion as it

fell.

She ran across the floor, her world reeling with the light that swung crazily

from her hand. Dark shapes scurried from beneath her feet, but Crysania never

noticed them. Filled with a fear more suffocating than the darkness, she knelt

beside the mage.

He lay face down upon the floor, his hood cast over his head. Gently, Crysania

lifted him, turning him over. Fearfully she pushed the hood back from his face

and held the glowing medallion above him. Fear chilled her heart.

The mage's skin was ashen, his lips blue, his eyes closed and sunken into his

hollow cheekbones.

"What have you done?" she cried to Caramon, looking up from where she knelt

beside the mage's seemingly lifeless body. "What have you done?" she demanded,

her voice breaking in her grief and her fury.

"Crysania?" Caramon whispered hoarsely.

The light from the medallion cast strange shadows over the form of the

towering gladiator. His arms still outstretched, his hands grasping feebly at

the air, he bent his head toward the sound of her voice. "Crysania?" he

repeated again, with a sob. Taking a step toward her, he fell over his

brother's legs and plunged headlong to the floor.

Almost instantly, he was up again, crouched on his hands and knees, his breath

coming in quick gasps, his eyes still wide and staring. He reached out his

hand.

"Crysania?" He lunged toward the sound of her voice. "Your light! Bring us

your light! Quickly!"

"I have a light, Caramon! I-Blessed Paladine!" Crysania murmured, staring at

him in the medallion's soft glow. "You are blind!"

Reaching out her hand, she took hold of his grasping, twitching fingers. At

her touch, Caramon sobbed again in relief. His clinging hand closed over hers

with crushing strength, and Crysania bit her lip with the pain. But she held

onto him firmly with one hand, the medallion with the other.

Rising to her feet, she helped Caramon to his. The warrior's big body shook,

and he clutched at her in desperate terror, his eyes still staring straight

ahead, wild, unseeing. Crysania peered into the darkness, searching

desperately for a chair, a couch ... something.

And then she became aware, suddenly, that the darkness was looking back.

Hurriedly averting her eyes, keeping her gaze carefully within the light of

her medallion, she guided Caramon to the only large piece of furniture she

saw.

"Here, sit down," she instructed. "Lean up against this."

She settled Caramon on the floor, his back against an ornately carved wooden

desk that, she thought, seemed vaguely familiar to her. The sight brought a

rush of painful, familiar memories-she had seen it somewhere. But she was too

worried and preoccupied to give it much thought.

"Caramon?" she asked shakily. "Is Raistlin d- Did you kill-" Her voice broke.

"Raistlin?" Caramon turned his sightless eyes toward the sound of her voice.

The expression on his face grew alarmed. He tried to stand. "Raist! Where-"

"No. Sit back!" Crysania ordered in swift anger and fear. Her hand on his

shoulder, she shoved him down.

Caramon's eyes closed, a wry smile twisted his face. For a moment, he looked

very like his twin.

"No, I didn't kill him!" he said bitterly. "How could I? The last thing I

heard was you cry out to Paladine, then everything went dark. My muscles

wouldn't move, the sword fell from my hand. And then-"

But Crysania wasn't listening. Running back to where Raistlin lay a few feet

from them, she knelt down beside the mage once again. Holding the medallion

near his face, she reached her hand inside the black hood to feel for the

lifebeat in his neck. Closing her eyes in relief, she breathed a silent prayer

to Paladine.

"He's alive!" she whispered. "But then, what's wrong with him?"

"What is wrong with him?" Caramon asked, bitterness and fear still tingling

his voice. "I can't see-"

Flushing almost guiltily, Crysania described the mage's condition.

Caramon shrugged. "Exhausted by the spell casting," he said, his voice

expressionless. "And, remember, he was weak to begin with, at least so you

told me. Sick from the nearness of the gods or some such thing." His voice

sank. "I've seen him like that before. The first time he used the dragon orb,

he could scarcely move afterward. I held him in my arms-"

He broke off, staring into the darkness, his face calm now, calm and grim.

"There's nothing we can do for him, " he said. "He has to rest."

After a short pause, Caramon asked quietly, "Lady Crysania, can you heal me?"

Crysania's skin burned. "I-I'm afraid not," she replied, distraught. "It-it

must have been my spell that blinded you." Once more, in her memory, she saw

the big warrior, the bloodstained sword in his hand, intent on killing his

twin, intent on killing her-if she got in his way.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, feeling so tired and chilled she was almost

sick. "But I was desperate and ... and afraid. Don't worry, though," she

added, "the spell is not permanent. It will wear off, in time."

Caramon sighed. "I understand," he said. "Is there a light in this room? You

said you had one."

"Yes," she answered. "I have the medallion-"

"Look around. Tell me where we are. Describe it."

"But Raistlin-"

"He'll be all right!" Caramon snapped, his voice harsh and commanding. "Come

back here, near me. Do as I say! Our lives-his life-may depend on it! Tell me

where we are!"

Looking into the darkness, Crysania felt her fear return. Reluctantly leaving

the mage, she came back to sit beside Caramon.

"I-I don't know," she faltered, holding the glowing medallion high again. "I

can't see much of anything beyond the medallion's light. But it seems to be

some place I've been before, I just can't place it. There's furniture lying

around, but it's all broken and charred, as though it had been in a fire.

There are lots of books scattered about. There's a big wooden desk-you're

leaning against it. It seems to be the only piece of furniture not broken. And

it seems familiar to me," she added softly, puzzled. "It's beautiful, carved

with all sorts of strange creatures."

Caramon felt beneath him with his hand. "Carpet," he said, "over stone."

"Yes, the floor is covered with carpet-or was. But it's torn now, and it looks

like something's eaten it-"

She choked, seeing a dark shape suddenly skitter away from her light.

"What?" Caramon asked sharply.

"What's been eating the carpet apparently," Crysania replied with a nervous

little laugh. "Rats." She tried to continue, "There's a fireplace, but it

hasn't been used in years. It's all filled with cobwebs. In fact, the place is

covered with cobwebs-"

But her voice gave out. Sudden images of spiders dropping from the ceiling and

rats running past her feet made her shudder and gather her torn white robes

around her. The bare and blackened fireplace reminded her of how cold she was.

Feeling her body tremble, Caramon smiled bleakly and reached out for her hand.

Clasping it tightly, he said in a voice that was terrible in its calm, "Lady

Crysania, if all we have to face are rats and spiders, we may count ourselves

lucky."

She remembered the shout of sheer terror that had awakened her. Yet he hadn't

been able to see! Swiftly, she glanced about. "What is it? You must have heard

or sensed something, yet-"

"Sensed," Caramon repeated softly. "Yes, I sensed it. There are things in this

place, Crysania. Horrible things. I can feel them watching us! I can feel

their hatred. Wherever we are, we have intruded upon them. Can't you feel it,

too?"

Crysania stared into the darkness. So it had been looking back at her. Now

that Caramon spoke of it, she could sense something out there. Or, as Caramon

said, some things!

The longer she looked and concentrated upon them, the more real they became.

Although she could not see them, she knew they waited, just beyond the circle

of light cast by the medallion. Their hatred was strong, as Caramon had said,

and, what was worse, she felt their evil flow chillingly around her. It was

like ... like ...

Crysania caught her breath.

"What?" Caramon cried, starting up.

"Sst," she hissed, gripping his hand tightly. "Nothing. It's just-I know where

we are!" she said in hushed tones.

He did not answer but turned his sightless eyes toward her.

"The Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas!" she whispered.

"Where Raistlin lives?" Caramon looked relieved.

"Yes . . . no." Crysania shrugged helplessly. "It's the same room I was in-his

study-but it doesn't look the same. It looks like no one's lived here for

maybe a hundred years or more and-Caramon! That's it! He said he was taking me

to 'a place and time when there were no clerics!' That must be after the

Cataclysm and before the war. Before-"

"Before he returned to claim this Tower as his own," Caramon said grimly. "And

that means the curse is still upon the Tower, Lady Crysania. That means we are

in the one place in Krynn where evil reigns supreme. The one place more feared

than any other upon the face of the world. The one place where no mortal dare

tread, guarded by the Shoikan Grove and the gods know what else! He has

brought us here! We have materialized within its heart!"

Crysania suddenly saw pale faces appear outside the circle of light, as if

summoned by Caramon's voice. Disembodied heads, staring at her with eyes long

ago closed in dark and dismal death, they floated in the cold air, their

mouths opening wide in anticipation of warm, living blood.

"Caramon, I can see them!" Crysania choked, shrinking close to the big man. "I

can see their faces!"

"I felt their hands on me," Caramon said. Shivering convulsively, feeling her

shivering as well, he put his arm about her, drawing her close to him. "They

attacked me. Their touch froze my skin. That was when you heard me yell."

"But why didn't I see them before? What keeps them from attacking now?"

"You, Lady Crysania," Caramon said softly. "You are a cleric of Paladine.

These are creatures spawned of evil, created by the curse. They do not have

the power to harm you."

Crysania looked at the medallion in her hands. The light welled forth still,

but-even as she stared at it-it seemed to dim. Guiltily, she remembered the

elven cleric, Loralon. She remembered her refusal to accompany him. His words

rang in her mind: You will see only when you are blinded by the darkness....

"I am a cleric, true," she said softly, trying to keep the despair from her

voice, "but my faith is ... imperfect. These things sense my doubts, my

weakness. Perhaps a cleric as strong as Elistan would have the power to fight

them. I don't think I do '" The glow dimmed further. "My light is failing,

Caramon," she said, after a moment. Looking up, she could see the pallid faces

eagerly drift nearer, and she shrank closer to him. "What can we do?"

"What can we do! I have no weapon! I can't see!" Caramon cried out in agony,

clenching his fist.

"Hush!" Crysania ordered, grasping his arm, her eyes on the shimmering

figures. "They seem to grow stronger when you talk like that! Perhaps they

feed off fear. c hose in he Shoikan Grove do, so Dalamar told me."

Caramon drew a deep breath. His body glistened with sweat, and he began to

shake violently.

"We've got to try to wake up Raistlin," Crysania said.

"No good!" Caramon whispered through chattering teeth. "I know-"

"We have to try!" Crysania said firmly, though she shuddered at the thought of

walking even a few feet under that terrible scrutiny.

"Be careful, move slowly," Caramon advised, letting her go.

Holding the medallion high, her eyes oh the eyes of the darkness, Crysania

crept over to Raistlin. She placed one hand oh the mage's thin, black-robed

shoulder. "Raistlin!" she said as loudly as she dared, shaking him.

"Raistlin!"

There was ho response. She might as well have tried to rouse a corpse.

Thinking of that, she glanced out at the waiting figures. Would they kill him?

she wondered. After all, he didn't exist in this time. The "master of past and

present" had hot yet returned to claim his property-this Tower.

Or had he?

Crysania called to the mage again and, as she did so, she kept her eyes oh the

undead, who were moving hearer as her light grew weaker.

"Fistandantilus!" she said to Raistlin.

"Yes!" Caramon cried, hearing her and understanding. "They recognize that

name. What's happening? I feel a change... ."

"They've stopped!" Crysania said breathlessly. "They're looking at him how."

"Get back!" Caramon ordered, rising to a half-crouch. "Keep away from him. Get

that light away from him! Let them see him as he exists in their darkness!"

"No!" Crysania retorted angrily. "You're mad! Once the light's gone, they'll

devour him-"

"It's our only chance!"

Lunging for Crysania blindly, Caramon caught her off guard. He grabbed her in

his strong arms and yanked her away from Raistlin, hurling her to the floor.

Then he fell across her, smashing the breath from her body.

"Caramon!" She gasped for air. "They'll kill him! No-" Frantically, Crysania

struggled against the big warrior, but he held her pinned beneath him.

The medallion was still clutched in her fingers. its light glowed weaker and

weaker. Twisting her body, she saw Raistlin, lying in darkness how, outside

the circle of her light.

"Raistlin!" she screamed. "No! Let me up, Caramon! They're going to him... ."

But Caramon held her all the more firmly, pressing her down against the cold

floor. His face was anguished, yet grim and determined, his sightless eyes

staring down at her. His flesh was cold against her own, his muscles tense and

knotted.

She would cast another spell oh him! The words were oh her lips when a shrill

cry of pain pierced the darkness.

"Paladine, help me!" Crysania prayed....

Nothing happened.

Weakly, she tried one more time to escape Caramon, but it was hopeless and she

knew it. And how, apparently, even her god had abandoned her. Crying out in

frustration, cursing Caramon, she could only watch.

The pale, shimmering figures surrounded Raistlin how. She could see him only

by the light of the horrid aura their decaying bodies cast. Her throat ached

and a low moan escaped her lips as one of the ghastly creatures raised its

cold hands and laid them upon his body.

Raistlin screamed. Beneath the black robes, his body jerked in spasms of

agony.

Caramon, too, heard his brother's cry. Crysania could see it reflected in his

deathly, pale face. "Let me up!" she pleaded. But, though cold sweat beaded

his forehead, he shook his head resolutely, holding her hands tightly.

Raistlin screamed again. Caramon shuddered, and Crysania felt his muscles grow

flaccid. Dropping the medallion, she freed her arms to strike at him with her

clenched fists. But as she did so, the medallion's light vanished, plunging

them both into complete darkness. Caramon's body was suddenly wrenched off

hers. His hoarse, agonized scream mingled with the screams of his brother.

Dizzily, her heart racing in terror, Crysania struggled to sit up, her hand

pawing the floor frantically for the medallion.

A face came hear hers. She glanced up quickly from her search, thinking it was

Caramon.. . .

It wasn't. A disembodied head floated hear her.

"No!" she whispered, unable to move, feeling life drain from her hands, her

body, her very heart. Fleshless hands grasped her arms, drawing her near;

bloodless lips gaped, eager for warmth.

"Paladi-" Crysania tried to pray, but she felt her soul being sucked from her

body by the creature's deadly touch.

Then she heard, dimly and far away, a weak voice chanting words of magic.

Light exploded around her. The head so near her own vanished with a shriek,

the fleshless hands loosed their grasp. There was an acrid smell of sulphur.

"Shirak." The explosive light was gone. A soft glow lit the room.

Crysania sat up. "Raistlin!" she whispered thankfully. Staggering to her hands

and knees, she crawled forward across the blackened, blasted floor to reach

the mage, who lay on his back, breathing heavily. One hand rested on the Staff

of Magius. Light radiated from the crystal ball clutched in the golden

dragon's claw atop the staff.

"Raistlin! Are you all right?"

Kneeling beside him, she looked into his thin, pale face as he opened his

eyes. Wearily, he nodded. Then, reaching up, he drew her down to him.

Embracing her, he stroked her soft, black hair. She could feel his heart beat.

The strange warmth of his body drove away the chill.

"Don't be afraid!" he whispered soothingly, feeling her tremble. "They will

not harm us. They have seen me and recognized me. They didn't hurt you?"

She could not speak but only shook her head. He sighed again. Crysania, her

eyes closed, lay in his embrace, lost in comfort.

Then, as his hand went to her hair once more, she felt his body tense. Almost

angrily, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her away from him.

"Tell me what happened," he ordered in a weak voice.

"I woke up here-" Crysania faltered. The horror of her experience and the

memory of Raistlin's warm touch confused and unnerved her. Seeing his eyes

grow cold and impatient, however, she made herself continue, keeping her voice

steady. "I heard Caramon shout-"

Raistlin's eyes opened wide. "My brother?" he said, startled. "So the spell

brought him, too. I'm amazed I am still alive. Where is he?" Lifting his head

weakly, he saw his brother, lying unconscious on the floor. "What's the matter

with him?"

"I-I cast a spell. He's blind," Crysania said, flushing. "I didn't mean to, it

was when he was trying to ki-kill you-in Istar, right before the Cataclysm-"

"You blinded him! Paladine . . . blinded him! Raistlin laughed. The sound

reverberated off the cold stones, and Crysania cringed, feeling a chill of

horror. But the laughter caught in Raistlin's throat. The mage began to choke

and gag, gasping for breath.

Crysania watched, helpless, until the spasm passed and Raistlin lay quietly

once more. "Go on," he whispered irritably.

"I heard him yell, but I couldn't see in the darkness. The medallion gave me

light, though, and I found him and I-I knew he was blind. I found you, too.

You were unconscious. We couldn't wake you. Caramon told me to describe where

we were and then I saw'-she shuddered-"I saw those ... those horrible-"

"Continue," Raistlin said.

Crysania drew a deep breath, "Then the light from the medallion began to

fail-"

Raistlin nodded.

"-and those ... things came toward us. I called out to you, using the name

Fistandantilus. That made them pause. Then" -Crysania's voice lost its fear

and was edged with anger-"your brother grabbed me and threw me down on the

floor, shouting something about 'let them see him as he exists in their own

darkness!' When Paladine's light no longer touched you, those creatures-" She

shuddered and covered her face with her hands, still hearing Raistlin's

terrible scream echoing in her mind.

"My brother said that?" Raistlin asked softly after a moment.

Crysania moved her hands to look at him, puzzled at his tone of mingled

admiration and astonishment. "Yes," she said coldly after a moment. "Why?"

"He saved our lives," Raistlin remarked, his voice once more caustic. "The

great dolt actually had a good idea. Perhaps you should leave him blind-it

aids his thinking''

Raistlin tried to laugh, but it turned to a cough that nearly choked him

instead. Crysania started toward him to help him, but he halted her with a

fierce look, even as his body twisted in pain. Rolling to his side, he

retched.

He fell back weakly, his lips stained with blood, his hands twitching. His

breathing was shallow and too fast. Occasionally a coughing spasm wrenched his

body.

Crysania stared at him helplessly.

"You told me once that the gods could not heal this malady. But you're dying,

Raistlin! Isn't there something I can do?" she asked softly, not daring to

touch him.

He nodded, but for a minute could neither speak nor move. Finally, with an

obvious effort, he lifted a trembling hand from the chill floor and motioned

Crysania near. She bent over him. Reaching up, he touched her cheek, drawing

her face close to his. His breath was warm against her skin.

"Water!" He gasped inaudibly. She could understand him only by reading the

movements of his blood-caked lips. "A potion ... will help. . . ." Feebly, his

hand moved to a pocket in his robes. "And ... and warmth, fire! I ... have not

... the strength......

Crysania nodded, to show she understood.

"Caramon?" His lips formed the words.

"Those-those things attacked him," she said, glancing over at the big

warrior's motionless body. "I'm not sure if he's still alive. . . ."

"We need him! You ... must ... heal him!" He could not continue but lay

panting for air, his eyes closed.

Crysania swallowed, shivering. "Are-are you sure?" she asked hesitantly. "He

tried to murder you-"

Raistlin smiled, then shook his head. The black hood rustled gently at the

motion. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Crysania and she could see deep

within their brown depths. The flame within the mage burned low, giving the

eyes a soft warmth much different from the raging fire she had seen before.

"Crysania . . ." he breathed, "I ... am going ... to lose consciousness....

You ... will ... be alone ... in this place of darkness.... My brother ... can

help.... Warmth . . ." His eyes closed, but his grasp on Crysania's hand

tightened, as though endeavoring to use her lifeforce to cling to reality.

With a violent struggle, he opened his eyes again to look directly into hers.

"Don't leave this room!" he mouthed. His eyes rolled back in his head.

You will be alone! Crysania glanced around fearfully, feeling suffocated with

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Legends 02 - War Of The Twins

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