“No!” Caramon cried. Reaching out, he laid his hands upon the pages.
Astinus looked at him, and Caramon faltered beneath the gaze of those deathless eyes. His hands shook, but they remained pressed firmly across the white parchment of the leather-bound volume. The dying wizard wailed in dreadful agony.
Astinus released the open book.
“Hold this,” Caramon ordered, closing the precious volume and thrusting it into Tasslehoff’s hands. Nodding numbly, the kender wrapped his arms around the book, which was almost as big as he was, and remained, crouched in his corner, staring around him in horror as Caramon lurched across the room toward the dying wizard.
“No!” shrieked Par-Salian. “Do not come near me!” His white, flowing hair and long beard crackled, his skin bubbled and sizzled, the terrible cloying stench of burning flesh mingling with the smell of sulfur.
“Tell me!” cried Caramon, raising his arm against the heat, getting as near the mage as he could.
“Tell me, Par-Salian! What must I do? How can I prevent this?”
The wizard’s eyes were melting. His mouth was a gaping hole in the black formless mass that was his face. But his dying words struck Caramon like another bolt of lightning, to be burned into his mind forever.
“Raistlin must not be allowed to leave the Abyss!”
Book 2
The Knight of the Black Rose
Lord Soth sat upon the crumbling, fire-blackened throne in the blasted, desolate ruins of Dargaard Keep. His orange eyes flamed in their unseen sockets, the only visible sign of the cursed life that burned within the charred armor of a Knight of Solamnia. Soth sat alone.
The death knight had dismissed his attendants—former knights, like himself, who had remained loyal to him in life and so were cursed to remain loyal to him in death. He had also sent away the banshees, the elven women who had played a role in his downfall and who were now doomed to spend their lives in his service. For hundreds of years, ever since that terrible night of his death, Lord Soth had commanded these unfortunate women to relive that doom with him. Every night, as he sat upon his ruined throne, he forced them to serenade him with a song that related the story of his disgrace and their own.
That song brought bitter pain to Soth, but he welcomed the pain. It was ten times better than the nothingness that pervaded his unholy life-in-death at all other times. But tonight he did not listen to the song. He listened, instead, to his story as it whispered like the bitter night wind through the eaves of the crumbling keep.
“Once, long ago, I was a Lord Knight of Solamnia. I was everything then—handsome, charming, brave, married to a woman of fortune, if not of beauty. My knights were devoted to me. Yes, men envied me—Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep.
“The spring before the Cataclysm, I left Dargaard Keep and rode to Palanthas with my retinue. A Knights’ Council was being held, my presence was required. I cared little for the Council meeting—it would drag on with endless arguments over insignificant rules. But there would be drinking, good fellowship, tales of battle and adventure. That was why I went.
“We rode slowly, taking our time, our days filled with song and jesting. At night we’d stay in inns when we could, sleep beneath the stars when we could not. The weather was fine, it was a mild spring. The sunshine was warm upon us, the evening breeze cooled us. I was thirty-two years old that spring. Everything was going well with my life. I do not recall ever being happier.
“And then, one night—curse the silver moon that shone upon it—we were camped in the wilderness. A cry cut through the darkness, rousing us from our slumbers. It was a woman’s cry, then we heard many women’s voices, mingled with the harsh shouts of ogres.
“Grabbing our weapons, we rushed to battle. It was an easy victory; only a roving band of robbers. Most fled at our approach, but the leader, either more daring or more drunken than the rest, refused to be deprived of his spoils. Personally, I didn’t blame him. He’d captured a lovely young elfmaiden. Her beauty in the moonlight was radiant, her fear only enhanced her fragile loveliness. Alone, I challenged him. We fought, and I was the victor. And it was my reward—ah, what bitter-sweet reward—to carry the fainting elfmaid in my arms back to her companions.
“I can still see her fine, golden hair shining in the moonlight. I can see her eyes when she wakened, looking into mine, and I can see even now—as I saw then—her love for me dawn in them. And she saw—in my eyes—the admiration I could not hide. Thoughts of my wife, of my honor, of my castle—everything fled as I gazed upon her beautiful face.
“She thanked me; how shyly she spoke. I returned her to the elven women—a group of clerics they were, traveling to Palanthas and thence to Istar on a pilgrimage. She was just an acolyte. It was on this journey that she was to be made a Revered Daughter of Paladine. I left her and the women, returning with my men to my camp. I tried to sleep, but I could still feel that lithe, young body in my arms. Never had I been so consumed with passion for a woman.
“When I did sleep, my dreams were sweet torture. When I awoke, the thought that we must part was like a knife in my heart. Rising early, I returned to the elven camp. Making up a tale of roving bands of goblins between here and Palanthas, I easily convinced the elven women that they needed my protection. My men were not averse to such pleasant companions, and so we traveled with them. But this did not ease my pain. Rather, it intensified it. Day after day I watched her, riding near me—but not near enough. Night after night I slept alone—my thoughts in turmoil.
“I wanted her, wanted her more than anything I had ever wanted in this world. And yet, I was a Knight, sworn by the strictest vows to uphold the Code and the Measure, sworn by holy vows to remain true to my wife, sworn by the vows of a commander to lead my men to honor. Long I fought with myself and, at last, I believed I had conquered. Tomorrow, I will leave, I said, feeling peace steal over me.
“I truly intended to leave, and I would have. But, curse the fates, I went upon a hunting expedition in the woods and there, far from camp, I met her. She had been sent to gather herbs.
“She was alone. I was alone. Our companions were far away. The love that I had seen in her eyes shone there still. She had loosened her hair, it fell to her feet in a golden cloud. My honor, my resolve, were destroyed in an instant, burned up by the flame of desire that swept over me. She was easy to seduce, poor thing. One kiss, then another. Then drawing her down beside me on the new grass, my hands caressing, my mouth stopping her protests, and... after I had made her mine... kissing away her tears.
“That night, she came to me again, in my tent. I was lost in bliss. I promised her marriage, of course. What else could I do? At first, I didn’t mean it. How could I? I had a wife, a wealthy wife. I needed her money. My expenses were high. But then one night, when I held the elf maid in my arms, I knew I could never give her up. I made arrangements to have my wife permanently removed...
“We continued our journey. By this time, the elven women had begun to suspect. How not? It was hard for us to hide our secret smiles during the day, difficult to avoid every opportunity to be together.
“We were, of necessity, separated when we reached Palanthas. The elven women went to stay in one of the fine houses that the Kingpriest used when he visited the city. My men and I went to our lodgings. I was confident, however, that she would find a way to come to me since I could not go to her. The first night passed, I was not much worried. But then a second and a third, and no word.
“Finally, a knock on my door. But it was not her. It was the head of the Knights of Solamnia, accompanied by the heads of each of the three Orders of Knights. I knew then, when I saw them, what must have happened. She had discovered the truth and betrayed me.