The mage lifted his head, looked up.
“Palin! What are you doing here? What’s happened to you? Are you hurt? Drat these fleas!” Gerard scrubbed viciously at his neck, wriggled about in his clothes.
Palin stared vacantly at Gerard for long moments, as if waiting for him to do something or say something more. When Gerard only repeated his earlier questions, Palin shifted his eyes away and once more stared at nothing.
Gerard tried several more times but finally gave up and concentrated on ridding himself of the itching vermin. He managed to do so at last, or so he assumed, for the tickling sensation ceased.
“What happened to those two?” Gerard asked his cellmate.
“Dunno,” was the answer. “They were like that when I was brought here, and that was three days ago. Every day, someone comes in and gives ’em food and water and sees that they eat it. All day, they just sit like that. Gives a fellow the horrors, don’t it.” Yes, Gerard thought, indeed it did. He wondered what had happened to Palin. Seeing splotches of what appeared to be dried blood on his robes, Gerard concluded that the mage had been beaten or tortured so much that his wits had left him. His heart heavy with pity, Gerard scratched absently at his neck, then turned away. He couldn’t do anything to help Palin now, but, if all went as he planned, he might be able to do something in the future.
He squatted down in the cell, keeping his distance from a loathsome-looking straw mattress. He had no doubt that’s where he’d picked up the fleas.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” remarked Dalamar.
The elf’s spirit lingered near the prison’s single window. ‘Even in this twilight world that he was forced to inhabit—neither dead nor alive—he felt as if he were suffocating inside the stone walls. He found it comforting at least to imagine he was breathing fresh air.
“What were you trying to accomplish?” he asked. “I take it you weren’t indulging in a practical joke.”
“No, no joke,” said Palin’s spirit quietly. “If you must know, I was hoping to be able to contact the man, to speak to him.”
“Bah!” Dalamar snorted. “I would have thought you had more sense. He cares nothing for us. None of them do. Who is he, anyhow?”
“His name is Gerard. He’s a Solamnic Knight. I knew him in Qualinesti. We were friends . . . well, maybe not friends. I don’t think he liked me. You know how Solamnics feel about mages, and I wasn’t very pleasant company, I have to admit. Still”—Palin remembered what it was to sigh—“I thought perhaps I might be able to communicate with him, just as my father was able to communicate with me.”
“Your father loved you, and he had something of importance |to relate to you,” said Dalamar.
“Besides, Caramon was quite thoroughly dead. We are not, at least I must suppose we are not. Perhaps that has something to do with it. What were you hoping he could do for you, anyhow?” Palin was silent.
“Come now,” said Dalamar. “We are hardly in a position to keep secrets from one another.” If that is true, Palin thought, than what do you do on those solitary rambles of yours? And don’t tell me you are lingering beneath the pine trees to enjoy nature. Where do you go and why?
For a long time after their return from death, the mages’ spirits remained tethered to the bodies they had once inhabited, as a prisoner is chained to a wall. Dalamar, restless, searching for a way back to life, was the first to discover that their bonds were self-created. Perhaps because they were not wholly dead, their spirits were not enslaved to Takhisis, as were the souls caught up in the river of the dead. Dalamar was able to sever the link that bound body and soul together. His spirit left its jail, left Solanthus, or so he told Palin, although he didn’t say where he had gone. Yet, even though he could leave, the mage was always forced to return.
Their spirits tended to be as jealous of their bodies as any miser of the chest that holds his wealth. Palin had tried venturing out into the sad world of the other imprisoned souls only to be consumed by fear that something might happen to his body in his absence. He flitted back to find it still sitting there, staring at nothing. He knew he should feel glad, and part of him was, but another part was bitterly disappointed. After that, he did not leave his body. He could not join with the dead souls, who neither saw nor heard him. He did not like to be around the living for the same reason.
Dalamar was often away from his body, though never for long. Palin was convinced that Dalamar was meeting with Mina, trying to bargain with her for the return of his life. He could not prove it, but he was certain it was so.
“If you must know,” said Palin, “I was hoping to persuade Gerard to kill me.”
“It would never work,” said Dalamar. “Don’t you think I’ve already considered it?”
“It might,” Palin insisted. “The body lives. The wounds we suffered are healed. Killing the body again might sever the cord that binds us.”
“And once again, Takhisis would bring us back to this charade of life. Haven’t you figured out why? Why does our Queen feed us and watch over us as the Shalafi once fed and cared for those poor wretches he termed the Live Ones? We are her experiment, as they were his. The time will come when she will determine if her experiment has succeeded or failed. She will determine it. We will not. Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
He spoke the last bitterly, confirming Palin’s suspicions.
“First,” Palin said, “Takhisis is not my queen, so don’t include me in your thinking. Second, what do you mean—experiment? She’s obviously keeping us around to make use of the magical Device of Time Journeying, should she ever get hold of it.”
“In the beginning that was true. But now that we’ve done so well-thrived, so to speak—she’s starting to have other ideas, Why waste good flesh and bone by letting it rot in the ground when it could be animated and put to use? She already has an army of souls. She plans to augment her forces by creating an army of corpses to go along with it.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am,”said Dalamar. “One might say I’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth.”
“All the more reason for us to end this,” said Palin firmly. “I—” Dalamar’s spirit made a sudden move, darted quickly back to be near the body.
“We are about to have visitors,” he warned.
Guards entered the cells, dragging along several kender, tied together with ropes around their waists. The guards marched the kender through the cells to the clamorous amusement of the other prisoners. Then jeering and insults ceased abruptly. The prison grew hushed, quiet. Mina walked along the rows of cells. She glanced neither to the right nor the left, took no interest in those behind the bars. Some of the prisoners looked at her with fear, some shrank from her. Others reached out their hands in wordless pleading. She ignored them all. Halting in front of the cell in which the bodies of the two mages were incarcerated, Mina took hold the rope and dragged the assorted kender forward.
“Every one of them claims to be Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” she said, speaking to the corpses. “Is one of these the kender I seek? Do either of you recognize him?”
Dalamar’s corpse responded with a shake of the head.
“Palin Majere?” she asked. “Do you recognize any of these kender?” Palin could tell at a glance that none of them were Tasslehoff, but he refused to answer. If Mina imagined she had the kender, let her waste her time finding out otherwise. He sat there, did nothing.
Mina was not been pleased at his show of defiance.
“Answer me,” she commanded. “You see the shining light, the realms beyond?” Palin saw them. They were his constant hope, his constant torment.