Raistlin’s head slumped, his hand slipped from his brother’s forehead, clenching in pain. He knew this would come to pass, knew it with every fiber of his shattered body. He knew it because the emptiness was already there. It had been there, within him, for so long, so long now. Oh, it had not consumed him utterly—not yet. But he could almost see his soul, frightened, lonely, crouched in a dark and empty corner.
With a bitter cry, Raistlin shoved his brother away from him. He looked around. The shadows deepened. His Queen hesitated no longer. She was gathering her strength.
Raistlin lowered his gaze, trying to think, trying to find the anger inside him, trying to kindle the burning flame of his magic—But even that was dying. Gripped by fear, he tried to run, but he was too feeble. Taking a step, he stumbled and fell on his hands and knees. Fear shook him. He sought for help, stretching out his hand...
He heard a sound, a moan, a cry. His hand closed over white cloth, he felt warm flesh!
“Bupu,” Raistlin whispered. With a choked sob, he crawled forward.
The body of the gully dwarf lay before him, her face pinched and starved, her eyes wide with terror. Wretched, terrified, she shrank away from him.
“Bupu!” Raistlin cried, grasping hold of her in desperation, “Bupu, don’t you remember me? You gave me a book, once. A book and an emerald.” Fishing around in one of his pouches, he pulled out the shimmering, shining green stone. “Here, Bupu. Look, ‘the pretty rock.’ Take it, keep it! It will protect you!”
She reached for it, but as she did, her fingers stiffened in death.
“No!” Raistlin cried, and felt Caramon’s hand upon his arm.
“Leave her alone!” Caramon cried harshly, catching hold of his twin and hurling him backward.
“Haven’t you done enough to her already?”
Caramon held his sword in his hand once more. Its bright light hurt Raistlin’s eyes. By its light, Raistlin saw—not Bupu—but Crysania, her skin blackened and blistered, her eyes staring at him without seeing him.
Empty... empty. Nothing within him? Yes... Something there. Something, not much, but something. His soul stretched forth its hand. His own hand reached out, touched Crysania’s blistered skin. “She is not dead, not yet,” he said.
“No, not yet,” Caramon replied, raising his sword. “Leave her alone! Let her at least die in peace!”
“She will live, if you take her through the Portal.”
“Yes, she will live,” Caramon said bitterly, “and so will you, won’t you, Raistlin? I take her through the Portal and you come right after us—”
“Take her.”
“No!” Caramon shook his head. Though tears glimmered in his eyes, and his face was pale with grief and anguish, he stepped toward his brother, his sword ready.
Raistlin raised his hand. Caramon couldn’t move, his sword hung suspended in the hot, shifting air.
“Take her, and take this as well.”
Reaching out, Raistlin’s frail hand closed around the Staff of Magius that lay at his side. The light from its crystal glowed clear and strong in the deepening darkness, shedding its magical glow over the three of them. Lifting the staff, Raistlin held it out to his twin.
Caramon hesitated, his brow furrowing.
“Take it!” Raistlin snapped, feeling his strength dwindling. He coughed. “Take it!” he whispered, gasping for breath. “Take it and her and yourself back through the Portal. Use the staff to close it behind you.”
Caramon stared at him, uncomprehending, then his eyes narrowed.
“No, I’m not lying,” Raistlin snarled. “I’ve lied to you before, but not now. Try it. See for yourself. Look, I release you from the enchantment. I cannot cast another spell. If you find I am lying, you may slay me. I will not be able to stop you.”
Caramon’s swordarm was freed. He could move it. Still holding his sword, his eyes on his twin, he reached out his other hand, hesitantly. His fingers touched the staff and he looked fearfully at the light in the crystal, expecting it to blink out and leave them all in the gathering, chilling darkness. But the light did not waver. Caramon’s hand closed around the staff, above his brother’s hand. The light gleamed brightly, shedding its radiance upon the torn and bloody black robes, the dull and mud-covered armor.
Raistlin let go of the staff. Slowly, almost falling, he staggered to his feet and drew himself up, standing without aid, standing alone. The staff, in Caramon’s hand, continued to glow.
“Hurry,” Raistlin said coldly, “I will keep the Queen from following you. But my strength will not last long.”
Caramon stared at him a moment, then at the staff, its light still burning brightly. Finally, drawing a ragged breath, he sheathed his sword.
“What will happen... to you?” he asked harshly, kneeling down to lift up Crysania in his arms. You will be tortured in mind and in body. At the end of each day, you will die from the pain. At the beginning of each night, I will bring you back to life. You will not be able to sleep, but will lie awake in shivering anticipation of the day to come. In the morning, my face will the first sight you see.
The words curled about Raistlin’s brain like a snake. Behind him, he could hear sultry, mocking laughter.
“Be gone, Caramon,” he said. “She comes.”
Crysania’s head rested against Caramon’s broad chest. The dark hair fell across her pale face, her hand still clasped the medallion of Paladine. As Raistlin looked at her, he saw the ravages of the fire fade, leaving her face unscarred, softened by a look of sweet, peaceful rest. Raistlin’s gaze lifted to his brother’s face, and he saw that same stupid expression Caramon always wore—that look of puzzlement, of baffled hurt.
“You blubbering fool! What do you care what becomes of me?” Raistlin snarled. “Get out!”
Caramon’s expression changed, or maybe it didn’t change. Maybe it had been this way all the time. Raistlin’s strength was dwindling very fast, his vision dimmed. But, in Caramon’s eyes, he thought he saw understanding...
“Good-bye... my brother,” Caramon said.
Holding Crysania in his arms, the Staff of Magius in one hand, Caramon turned and walked away. The light of the staff formed a circle around him, a circle of silver that shone in the darkness like the moonbeams of Solinari glistening upon the calm waters of Crystalmir Lake. The silver beams struck the dragon’s heads, freezing them, changing them to silver, silencing their screams. Caramon stepped through the Portal. Raistlin, watching him with his soul, caught a blurred glimpse of colors and life and felt a brief whisper of warmth touch his sunken cheek. Behind him, he could hear the mocking laughter gurgle into harsh, hissing breath. He could hear the slithering sounds of a gigantic scaled tail, the creaking of wing tendons. Behind him, five heads whispered words of torment and terror.
Steadfastly, Raistlin stood, staring into the Portal. He saw Tanis run to help Caramon, he saw him take Crysania in his arms. Tears blurred Raistlin’s s vision. He wanted to follow! He wanted Tanis to touch his hand! He wanted to hold Crysania in his arms... He took a step forward.
He saw Caramon turn to face him, the staff in his hand.
Caramon stared into the Portal, stared at his twin, stared beyond his twin. Raistlin saw his brother’s eyes grow wide with fright.
Raistlin did not have to turn to know what his brother saw. Takhisis crouched behind him. He could feel the chill of the loathsome reptile body flow about him, fluttering his robes. He sensed her behind him, yet her thoughts were not on him. She saw her way to the world, standing open...
“Shut it!” Raistlin screamed.
A blast of flame seared Raistlin’s flesh. A taloned claw stabbed him in the back. He stumbled, falling to his knees. But he never took his eyes from the Portal, and he saw Caramon, his twins face anguished, take a step forward, toward him!