“Shut it, you fool!” Raistlin shrieked, clenching his fists. “Leave me alone! I don’t need you any more! I don’t need you!”
And then the light was gone. The Portal slammed shut, and blackness pounced upon him with raging, slathering fury. Talons ripped his flesh, teeth tore through muscle, and crunched bone. Blood flowed from his breast, but it would not take with it his life.
He screamed, and he would scream, and he would keep on screaming, unendingly...
Something touched him... a hand... He clutched at it as it shook him, gently. A voice called,
“Raist! Wake up! It was only a dream. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let them hurt you! Here, watch... I’ll make you laugh.”
The dragons coils tightened, crushing out his breath. Glistening black fangs ate his living organs, devoured his heart. Tearing into his body, they sought his soul.
A strong arm encircled him, holding him close. A hand raised, gleaming with silver light, forming childish pictures in the night, and the voice, dimly heard, whispered, “Look, Raist, bunnies... .”
He smiled, no longer afraid. Caramon was here.
The pain eased. The dream was driven back. From far away, he heard a wail of bitter disappointment and anger. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Now he just felt tired, so very, very tired...
Leaning his head upon his brother’s arm, Raistlin closed his eyes and drifted into a dark, dreamless, endless sleep.
11
The drops of water in the water clock dripped steadily, relentlessly, echoing in the silent laboratory. Staring into the Portal with eyes that burned from the strain, Tanis believed the drops must be falling, one by one, upon his taut, stretched nerves.
Rubbing his eyes, he turned from the Portal with a bitter snarl and walked over to look out the window. He was astonished to see that it was only late afternoon. After what he had been through, he would not have been much surprised to find that spring had come and gone, summer had bloomed and died, and autumn was setting in.
The thick smoke no longer swirled past the window. The fires, having eaten what they fed upon, were dying. He glanced up into the sky. The dragons had vanished from sight, both good and evil. He listened. No sound came from the city beneath him. A haze of fog and storm and smoke still hung over it, further shadowed by the darkness of the Shoikan Grove. The battle is over, he realized numbly. It has ended. And we have won. Victory. Hollow, wretched victory.
And then, a flutter of bright blue caught his eye. Looking out over the city, Tanis gasped. The flying citadel had suddenly drifted into view. Dropping down from the storm clouds, it was careening along merrily, having somewhere acquired a brilliant blue banner that streamed out in the wind. Tanis looked closer, thinking he recognized not only the banner but the graceful minaret from which it flew and which was now perched drunkenly on a tower of the citadel. Shaking his head, the half-elf could not help smiling. The banner—and the minaret—had once both been part of the palace of Lord Amothus.
Leaning against the window, Tanis continued watching the citadel, which had acquired a bronze dragon as honor guard. He felt his bleakness and grief and fear ease and the tension in his body relax. No matter what happened in the world or on the planes beyond, some things—kender among them—never changed.
Tanis watched as the flying castle wobbled out over the bay, then he was, however, considerably startled to see the citadel suddenly flip over and hang in the air, upside down.
“What is Tas doing?” he muttered.
And then he knew. The citadel began to bob up and down rapidly, like a salt shaker. Black shapes with leathery wings tumbled out of the windows and from doorways. Up and down, up and down bobbed the citadel, more and more black shapes dropping out. Tanis grinned. Tas was clearing out the guards! Then, when no more draconians could be seen spilling out into the water, the citadel righted itself again and continued on its way... then, as it skipped merrily along, its blue flag fluttering in the wind, it dove in a wild, unfortunate plunge, right into the ocean! Tanis caught his breath, but almost immediately the citadel appeared again, leaping out of the water like a blue bannered dolphin to soar up into the sky once more—water now streaming out of every conceivable opening—and vanish amidst the storm clouds.
Shaking his head, smiling, Tanis turned to see Dalamar gesture toward the Portal. “There he is. Caramon has returned to his position.”
Swiftly, the half-elf crossed the room and stood before the Portal once again.
He could see Caramon, still a tiny figure in gleaming armor. This time, he carried someone in his arms.
“Raistlin?” Tanis asked, puzzled.
“Lady Crysania,” Dalamar replied.
“Maybe she’s still alive!”
“It would be better for her were she not,” Dalamar said coldly. Bitterness further hardened his voice and his expression. “Better for all of us! Now Caramon must make a difficult choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“It will inevitably occur to him that he could save her by bringing her back through the Portal himself. Which would leave us all at the mercy of either his brother or the Queen or both.”
Tanis was silent, watching. Caramon was drawing closer and closer to the Portal, the white-robed figure of the woman in his arms.
“What do you know of him?” Dalamar asked abruptly. “What decision will he make? The last I saw of him he was a drunken buffoon, but his experiences appear to have changed him.”
“I don’t know,” Tanis said, troubled, talking more to himself than to Dalamar. “The Caramon I once knew was only half a person, the other half belonged to his brother. He is different now. He has changed.” Tanis scratched his beard, frowning. “Poor man. I don’t know...”
“Ah, it seems his choice has been made for him,” Dalamar said, relief mixed with fear in his voice. Looking into the Portal, Tanis saw Raistlin. He saw the final meeting between the twins.
Tanis never spoke to anyone of that meeting. Though the visions seen and words heard were indelibly etched upon his memory, he found he could not talk about them. To give them voice seemed to demean them, to take away their terrible horror, their terrible beauty. But often, if he was depressed or unhappy, he would remember the last gift of a benighted soul, and he would close his eyes and thank the gods for his blessings.
Caramon brought Lady Crysania through the Portal. Running forward to help him, Tanis took Crysania in his arms, staring in wonder at the sight of the big man carrying the magical staff, its light still glowing brightly.
“Stay with her, Tanis,” Caramon said, “I must close the Portal.”
“Do it quickly!” Tanis heard Dalamar’s sharp intake of breath. He saw the dark elf staring into the Portal in horror. “Close it!” he cried.
Holding Crysania in his arms, Tanis looked down at her and realized she was dying. Her breath faltered, her skin was ashen, her lips were blue. But he could do nothing for her, except take her to a place of safety.
Safety! He glanced about, his gaze going to the shadowed corner where another dying woman had lain. It was farthest from the Portal. She would be safe there—as safe as anywhere, he supposed sorrowfully. Laying her down, making her as comfortable as possible, he hastily returned to the opening in the void.
Tanis halted, mesmerized by the sight before his eyes.
A shadow of evil filled the Portal, the metallic dragon’s heads that formed the gate howled in triumph. The living dragons heads beyond the Portal writhed above the body of their victim as the archmage fell to their claws.
“No! Raistlin!” Caramon’s face twisted in. anguish. He took a step toward the Portal.
“Stop!” Dalamar screamed in fury. “Stop him, Half-Elven! Kill him if you must! Close the Portal!”
A woman’s hand lunged for the opening and, as they watched in stunned terror, the hand became a dragon’s claw, the nails tipped with red, the talons stained with blood. Nearer and nearer the Portal the hand of the Queen came, intent upon keeping this door to the world open so that, once more, she could gain entry.