Dalamar’s fist clenched. “I told the mages so! Fools! I told them they were playing right into his hands.”
“You told them?” Tanis felt master of himself enough now to ask this question. “You betrayed him, your Shalafi?” He snorted in disbelief.
“It is a dangerous game I play, Half-Elven.” Dalamar looked at him now, his eyes alight from within, like the burning embers of the fire. “I am a spy, sent by the Conclave of Mages to watch Raistlin’s every move. Yes, you may well look astonished. They fear him—all of the Orders fear him, the White, the Red, the Black. Most especially the Black, for we know what our fate will be should he rise to power.”
As Tanis stared, the dark elf lifted his hand and slowly parted the front closure of his black robes, laying bare his breast. Five oozing wounds marred the surface of the dark elf’s smooth skin. “The mark of his hand,” Dalamar said in an expressionless tone. “My reward for my treachery.”
Tanis could see Raistlin laying those thin, golden fingers upon the young dark elf’s chest, he could see Raistlin’s face—without feeling, without malice, without cruelty, without any touch of humanity whatsoever—and he could see those fingers burn through the flesh of his victim. Shaking his head, feeling sickened, Tanis sank back in his chair, his gaze on the floor.
“But they would not listen to me,” Dalamar continued. “They grasped at straws. As Raistlin had foreseen, their greatest hope lay in their greatest fear. They decided to send Lady Crysania back in time, ostensibly so that the Kingpriest could aid her. That is what they told Caramon, for they knew he would not go otherwise. But, in reality, they sent her back to die or to at least disappear as did all other clerics before the Cataclysm. And they hoped that Caramon, when he went back into time and learned the truth about his twin—learned that Raistlin was, in reality, Fistandantilus—that he would be forced to kill his brother.”
“Caramon?” Tanis laughed bitterly, then scowled again in anger. “How could they do such a thing? The man is sick! The only thing Caramon can kill now is a bottle of dwarf spirits! Raistlin’s already destroyed him. Why didn’t they—”
Catching Astinus’s irritated glance, Tanis subsided. His mind reeled in turmoil. None of this made sense! He looked over at Elistan. The cleric must have known much of this already. There was no look of shock or surprise on his face even when he heard that the mages had sent Crysania back to die. There was only an expression of deep sorrow.
Dalamar was continuing. “But the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, disrupted Par-Salian’s spell and accidentally traveled back in time with Caramon. The introduction of a kender into the flow of time made it possible for time to be altered. What happened back there, in Istar, we can only surmise. What we do know is that Crysania did not die. Caramon did not kill his brother. And Raistlin was successful in obtaining the knowledge of Fistandantilus. Taking Crysania and Caramon with him, he moved forward in time to the one period when he would possess, in Crysania, the only true cleric in the land. He traveled to the one period in our history when the Queen of Darkness would be most vulnerable and unable to stop him.
“As Fistandantilus did before him, Raistlin fought the Dwarfgate War, and so obtained access to the Portal that stood, then, in the magical fortress of Zhaman. If history had repeated itself, Raistlin should have died at that Portal, for thus did Fistandantilus meet his doom.”
“We counted on this,” Elistan murmured, his hands plucking feebly at the bedclothes that covered him. “Par-Salian said that there was no way Raistlin could change history—”
“That wretched kender!” Dalamar snarled. “Par-Salian should have known, he should have realized the miserable creature would do exactly what he did—leap at a chance for some new adventure! He should have taken our advice and smothered the little bastard—”
“Tell me what’s happened to Tasslehoff and Caramon,” Tanis interrupted coldly. “I don’t care what’s become of Raistlin or—and I apologize, Elistan—Lady Crysania. She was blinded by her own goodness. I am sorry for her, but she refused to open her eyes and see the truth. I care about my friends. What has become of them?”
“We do not know,” Dalamar said. He shrugged. “But if I were you, I would not look to see them again in this life, Half-Elven... They would be of little use to the Shalafi.”
“Then you have told me all I need to hear,” Tanis said, rising, his voice taut with grief and fury. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll seek out Raistlin and I’ll—”
“Sit down, Half-Elven,” Dalamar said. He did not raise his voice, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Tanis’s hand reach for the hilt of his sword, only to remember that—since he was visiting the Temple of Paladine—he had not worn it. More furious still, not trusting himself to speak, Tanis bowed to Elistan, then to Astinus, and started for the door.
“You will care what becomes of Raistlin, Tanis Half-Elven,” Dalamar’s smooth voice intercepted him, “because it affects you. It affects all of us. Do I speak truly, Revered Son?”
“He does, Tanis,” Elistan said. “I understand your feelings, but you must put them aside!”
Astinus said nothing, the scratching of his pen was the only indication that the man was in the room. Tanis clenched his fists, then, with a vicious oath that caused even Astinus to glance up, the half-elf turned to Dalamar. “Very well, then. What could Raistlin possibly do that would further hurt and injure and destroy those around him?”
“I said when I began that our worst fears were realized,” Dalamar replied, his slanted, elven eyes looking into the slightly slanted eyes of the half-elf.
“Yes,” snapped Tanis impatiently, still standing.
Dalamar paused dramatically. Astinus, looking up again, raised his gray eyebrows in mild annoyance.
“Raistlin has entered the Abyss. He and Lady Crysania will challenge the Queen of Darkness.”
Tanis stared at Dalamar in disbelief. Then he burst out laughing. “Well,” he said, shrugging, “it seems I have little to worry about. The mage has sealed his own doom.”
But Tanis’s laughter fell flat. Dalamar regarded him with cool, cynical amusement, as if he might have expected this absurd response from a half-human. Astinus snorted and kept writing. Elistan’s frail shoulders slumped. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against his pillows.
Tanis stared at all of them. “You cant consider this a serious threat!” he demanded. “By the gods, I have stood before the Queen of Darkness! I have felt her power and her majesty—and that was when she was only partially in this plane of existence.” The half-elf shuddered involuntarily. “I cant imagine what it would be like to meet her on her own... her own...”
“You are not alone, Tanis,” said Elistan wearily. “I, too, have conversed with the Dark Queen.” He opened his eyes, smiling wanly. “Does that surprise you? I have had my trials and temptations as have all men.”
“Once only has she come to me.” Dalamar’s face paled, and there was fear in his eyes. He licked his lips. “And that was to bring me these tidings.”
Astinus said nothing, but he had ceased to write. Rock itself was more expressive than the historians face.
Tanis shook his head in wonder. “You’ve met the Queen, Elistan? You acknowledge her power? Yet you still think that a frail and sickly wizard and an old-maid cleric can somehow do her harm?”
Elistan’s eyes flashed, his lips tightened, and Tanis knew he had gone too far. Flushing, he scratched his beard and started to apologize, then stubbornly snapped his mouth shut. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled, walking back and throwing himself down in his chair.
“Well, how in the Abyss do we stop him?” Realizing what he’d said, Tanis’s flush deepened. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t mean to make this a joke. Everything I’m saying seems to be coming out wrong. But, damn it, I don’t understand! Are we supposed to stop Raistlin or cheer him on?”