“You cannot stop him.” Dalamar interposed coolly as Elistan seemed about to speak. “That we mages alone can do. Our plans for this have been underway for many weeks now, ever since we first learned of this threat. You see, Half-Elven, what you have said is—in part—correct. Raistlin knows, we all know, that he cannot defeat the Queen of Darkness on her own plane of existence. Therefore, it is his plan to draw her out, to bring her back through the Portal and into the world—”
Tanis felt as if he had been punched hard in the stomach. For a moment, he could not draw a breath. “That’s madness,” he managed to gasp finally, his hands curling over the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the strain. “We barely defeated her at Neraka as it was! He’s going to bring her back into the world?”
“Unless he can be stopped,” Dalamar continued, “which is my duty, as I have said.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Tanis demanded, leaning forward. “Why have you brought us here? Are we to sit around and watch? I—”
“Patience, Tanis!” Elistan interrupted. “You are nervous and afraid. We all share these feelings.”
With the exception of that granite-hearted historian over there, Tanis thought bitterly.
“But nothing will be gained by rash acts or wild words.” Elistan looked over at the dark elf and his voice grew softer. “I believe that we have not yet heard the worst, is that true, Dalamar?”
“Yes, Revered Son,” Dalamar said, and Tanis was surprised to see a trace of emotion flicker in the elf’s slanted eyes. “I have received word that Dragon Highlord Kitiara” the elf choked slightly, cleared his throat, and continued speaking more firmly—“Kitiara is planning a full-scale assault on Palanthas.”
Tanis sank back in his chair. His first thought was one of bitter, cynical amusement—I told you so, Lord Amothus. I told you so, Porthios. I told you, all of you who want to crawl back into your nice, warm little nests and pretend the war never happened. His second thoughts were more sobering. Memories returned—the city of Tarsis in flames, the dragonarmies taking over Solace, the pain, the suffering... death.
Elistan was saying something, but Tanis couldn’t hear. He leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to think. He remembered Dalamar talking about Kitiara, but what was it he had said? It drifted on the fringes of his consciousness. He had been thinking about Kit. He hadn’t been paying attention. The words were vague...
“Wait!” Tanis sat up, suddenly remembering. “You said Kitiara was furious with Raistlin. You said she was just as frightened of the Queen reentering the world as we are. That was why she ordered Soth to kill Crysania. If that’s true, why is she attacking Palanthas? That doesn’t make sense! She grows in strength daily in Sanction. The evil dragons have congregated there and we have reports that the draconians who were scattered after the war have also been regrouping under her command. But Sanction is a long way from Palanthas. The lands of t he Knights of Solamnia lie in between. The good dragons will rise up and fight if the evil ones take to the skies again. Why? Why would she risk all she has gained? And for what—”
“You know Lord Kitiara I believe, Half-Elven?” Dalamar interrupted.
Tanis choked, coughed, and muttered something.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, damn it, I know her!” Tanis snapped, caught Elistan’s glance, and sank back into his chair once again, feeling his skin burn.
“You are right,” Dalamar said smoothly, a glint of amusement in his light, elven eyes. “When Kitiara first heard about Raistlin’s s plan, she was frightened. Not for him, of course, but for fear that he would bring the wrath of the Dark Queen down upon her. But”—Dalamar shrugged—“this was when Kitiara believed Raistlin must lose. Now, it seems, she thinks he has a chance to win. And Kit will always try to be on the winning side. She plans to conquer Palanthas and be prepared to greet the wizard as he passes through the Portal. Kit will offer the might of her armies to her brother. If he is strong enough—and by this time, he should be—he can easily convert the evil creatures from their allegiance to the Dark Queen to serving his cause.”
“Kit?” It was Tanis’s turn to look amused. Dalamar sneered slightly.
“Oh, yes, Half-Elven. I know Kitiara every bit as well as you do.”
But the sarcastic tone in the dark elf’s voice faltered, twisting unconsciously to one of bitterness. His slender hands clenched. Tanis nodded in sudden understanding, feeling, oddly enough, a strange kind of sympathy for the young elf.
“So she has betrayed you, too,” Tanis murmured softly. “She pledged you her support. She said she would be there, stand beside you. When Raistlin returned, she would fight at your side.”
Dalamar rose to his feet, his black robes rustling around him. “I never trusted her,” he said coldly, but he turned his back upon them and stared intently into the flames, keeping his face averted. “I knew what treachery she was capable of committing, none better. This came as no surprise.”
But Tanis saw the hand that gripped the mantelpiece turn white.
“Who told you this?” Astinus asked abruptly. Tanis started. He had almost forgotten the historians presence. “Surely not the Dark Queen. She would not care about this.”
“No, no.” Dalamar appeared confused for a moment. His thoughts had obviously been far away. Sighing, he looked up at them once more. “Lord Soth, the death knight, told me.”
“Soth?” Tanis felt himself losing his grip on reality.
Frantically his brain scrambled for a handhold. Mages spying on mages. Clerics of light aligned with wizards of darkness. Dark trusting light, turning against darkness. Light turning to the dark...
“Soth has pledged allegiance to Kitiara!” Tanis said in confusion. “Why would he betray her?”
Turning from the fire, Dalamar looked into Tanis’s eyes. For the span of a heartbeat, there was a bond between the two, a bond forged by a shared understanding, a shared misery, a shared torment, a shared passion. And, suddenly, Tanis understood, and his soul shriveled in horror.
“He wants her dead,” Dalamar replied.
4
The young boy walked down the streets of Solace. He was not a comely boy, and he knew it—as he knew so much about himself that is not often given children to know. But then, he spent a great deal of time with himself, precisely because he was not comely and because he knew too much.
He was not walking alone today, however. His twin brother, Caramon, was with him. Raistlin scowled, scuffing through the dust of the village street, watching it rise in clouds about him. He may not have been walking alone, but in a way he was more alone with Caramon than without him. Everyone called out greetings to his likeable, handsome twin. No one said a word to him. Everyone yelled for Caramon to come join their games. No one invited Raistlin. Girls looked at Caramon out of the corners of their eyes in that special way girls had. Girls never even noticed Raistlin.
“Hey, Caramon, wanna play King of the Castle?” a voice yelled.
“You want to, Raist?” Caramon asked, his face lighting up eagerly. Strong and athletic, Caramon enjoyed the rough, strenuous game. But Raistlin knew that if he played he would soon start to feel weak and dizzy. He knew, too, that the other boys would argue about whose team had to take him.
“No. You go ahead, though.”
Caramon’s s face fell. Then, shrugging, he said, “Oh, that’s all right, Raist. I’d rather stay with you.”
Raistlin felt his throat tighten, his stomach clenched. “No, Caramon,” he repeated softly, “it’s all right. Go ahead and play.”
“You don’t look like you’re feeling good, Raist,” Caramon said. “It’s no big deal. Really. C’mon, show me that new magic trick you learned—the one with the coins—”