“It means our survival is in the hands of Raistlin Majere,” said Par-Salian.
And it seemed he could hear, hissing through the darkness, the young mage’s words.
“Remember our bargain, Master of the Conclave!”
8
Black Maelstrom.
The gods of magic, their moons gone from the skies, entered Dargaard Keep. Lord Soth was not there. He and his warriors were riding on the wings of fury to the Tower of Wayreth. The Forest of Wayreth was gone. The wizards who had gathered in the Tower for the Night of the Eye were bereft of their magic and would be vulnerable to the death knight’s horrific attack. Their joyous celebration might well end in bloody death and the destruction of their Tower.
That could not be helped, however. Takhisis must be fooled into thinking that the moon gods had fallen victim to her plot, that they had battled the three new Gods of the Gray and been slain by them. Warned in advance by Raistlin Majere, the three had come to the Tower to meet those new gods and ambush them when they tried to enter the world.
“Our world,” said Lunitari, and the other two echoed her.
The banshees hid away in terror at the coming of the gods. Kitiara was in the bedroom, asleep, dreaming of the Crown of Power.
The gods went at once to the chamber Raistlin had described to them, passing through stone and earth to reach it. They entered the vault and gathered around the sole object in the room, the Hourglass of Stars. They watched the sands of the future glitter and sparkle in the top half of the hourglass. The other was dark and empty.
Suddenly Nuitari pointed. “A face in the darkness!” he said. “One of the interlopers is coming!”
“I see one as well,” said Solinari.
“And I see the third,” said Lunitari.
The gods gathered the magic, drawing it from all parts of world, grasping the fire and the lightning bolt, the tempest and the hurricane, the blinding dark and the blinding light, and they entered the hourglass to challenge their foes.
But when they were inside the blackness into which the stars fell, the gods of magic saw no foe. They saw only each other and, in the distance, the stars glittering far above them. As they watched, the stars began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, whirling around a black vortex, spiraling away from them.
And all around them was darkness and silence, utter and eternal. They could no longer hear the song of the universe. They could no longer hear the voices of their fellow gods. They could no longer hear each other. Each could see the others falling away, being pulled into the emptiness. The three tried to reach out to each other, to grab hold, but they were falling much too fast. They desperately sought some way to escape, only to realize there was no escape.
They had fallen into a maelstrom—a maelstrom in time that would keep spinning and spinning, dragging down the stars, one by one, until the end of all things.
Their hands could not touch, but their thoughts could.
A mirror image, Solinari thought bitterly. There are no other gods. We looked into the hourglass and saw ourselves.
Trapped in time, Nuitari raved. Trapped for eternity. Raistlin Majere duped us. He betrayed us to Takhisis!
No, thought Lunitari in sorrow and despair, Raistlin was duped as well.
9
Brother and sister. The Hourglass of Stars.
Raistlin walked out of the corridors of magic and into Dargaard Keep. The glowing colors of the dragon orb in his hand were rapidly fading. The orb had shrunken to the size of a marble. He opened the pouch that hung at his side and dropped the orb into it.
The room was dark and, mercifully, silent. The banshees had no reason to sing their terrible song, for the master of the keep was away. Soth would be away for some time, Raistlin imagined. Cyan Bloodbane was not one to give up, especially when his foe had drawn blood.
The dragon would never be able to defeat the death knight. Soth would never be able to slay the dragon, for Cyan thought too well of himself to put himself in any true danger. So long as he could harass and torment his enemy, he would stay around to fight. Once the battle began to turn against him, the dragon would choose the better part of valor and leave the field to his foe.
Raistlin entered Kitiara’s bed chamber. Kit lay in her bed. Her eyes were closed; her breathing was deep and even. Raistlin smelled the foul stench of dwarf spirits, and he guessed she had not fallen asleep as much as passed out, for his sister was still dressed. She wore a man’s shirt, slit at the neck, with long, full sleeves, and tight-fitting leather trousers. She was even still wearing her boots.
She had good reason to celebrate. She would be leaving Dargaard Keep soon. A few days earlier, Queen Takhisis had summoned her Highlords to Neraka for a council of war.
“There is speculation that Takhisis will decide Ariakas has made one mistake too many in his handling of the war,” Kitiara had told her brother. “She will choose another to take over the empire, someone in whom she has more confidence. Someone who has actually done something to advance our cause.”
“Such as yourself,” Raistlin had said.
Kitiara had smiled her crooked smile.
Raistlin drew near his sleeping sister. She lay sprawled on her back, her black curls in disarray, one arm flung over her forehead. He remembered watching her sleep when they had been children. He had watched her during the nights he was ill, the fever burning his frail body, the nights Caramon had entertained his ill brother with his silly hand shadows. Raistlin remembered Kit waking and coming to him to bathe his forehead or give him a drink. He remembered her telling him, irritably, that he really should work on getting well.
Kit had always been impatient with his weakness. She had never been sick a day in her life. To her way of thinking, if Raistlin had just put his mind to it, he could have willed himself healthy. Yet despite that, she had treated him with a rough sort of gentleness. She had been the one who had recognized his talent for magic. She had been the one to seek out a master to teach him. He owed her a great deal, possibly his life.
“And I am wasting time,” he said to himself.
He reached into his pouch for the rose petals.
Kit’s eyes moved beneath her closed eyelids. She was deep in a dream, for she was mouthing words and starting to twitch and shift restlessly. Suddenly she gave a terrible cry and sat up in bed. Raistlin cursed and drew back, thinking he had awakened her. Kit’s eyes were wide with fear.
“Keep him away, Tanis!” Kitiara cried. She reached out her hands in pleading. “I have always loved you!”
Raistlin realized she was still asleep. He shook his head and gave a snort. “Love Tanis? Never!”
Kitiara moaned and slumped back down onto the pillow. Curling up into a ball, she pulled the rumpled blanket over her head, as though she could hide from whatever horror pursued her.
Raistlin stole near her and, opening his fingers, he let the rose petals drift down onto her face.
“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” he said.
He noticed as he spoke that the words did not feel right to him. They seemed dry, lifeless. He put it down to his own weariness. He waited until he was certain she was under the enchantment, sleeping soundly, then he left.
He was gliding out the door when the voice stopped him, the voice he’d hoped and prayed never to hear again.
“The wise say two suns cannot travel in the same orbit. I am weak now, after my imprisonment, but when I have recovered, this matter between us will finally be resolved.”
Raistlin did not respond to Fistandantilus. There was nothing to say. He was in complete agreement.