"He has you there, Justarius," boomed a voice from out of the shadows. "What do you say to faith like that?"
Looking around quickly, Caramon saw four figures materialize out of the shadows of the vast chamber. Three he recognized and, even in this grim place with its storehouse of memories, his eyes blurred again, only these were tears of pride as he looked upon his sons. The older two, armor clanking and swords rattling, appeared somewhat subdued, he noticed. Not unusual, he thought grimly, considering all they had heard about the Tower both in legend and family history. Then, too, they felt about magic the way he himself felt-both disliked and distrusted it. The two stood protectively, as usual, one on either side of Car-amon's third son, their younger brother.
It was this youngest son that Caramon looked at anxiously as they entered. Dressed in his white robes, Palin approached the Head of the Conclave with his head bowed, his eyes on the floor as was proper for one of his low rank and station. Having just turned twenty, he wasn't even an apprentice yet and probably wouldn't be until he was twenty-five at least. That is the age when magic-users in Krynn may choose to take the Test-the grueling examination of their skills and talents in the Art which all must pass before they can acquire more advanced and dangerous knowledge. Because magicians wield such great power, the Test is designed to weed out those who are unskilled or who do not take their art seriously. It does this very effectively-failure means death. There is no turning back. Once a young man or woman of any race- elven, human, ogre-decides to enter the Tower of High Sorcery with the intent of taking the Test-he or she commits body and soul to the magic.
Palin seemed unusually troubled and serious, just as he had on their journey to the Tower-almost as if he was about to take the Test himself. But that's ridiculous, Caramon reminded himself. The boy is too young. Granted, Raistlin took the Test at this age, but that was because the Conclave needed him. Raistlin was strong in his magic, excelling in the art, and-even so-the Test had nearly killed him. Caramon could still see his twin lying on the blood-stained floor of the Tower… He clenched his fist. No! Palin is intelligent, he is skilled, but he's not ready. He's too young.
"Besides," Caramon muttered beneath his breath, "give him a few more years and he may decide to drop this fool notion…"
As if aware of his father's worried scrutiny, Palin raised his head slightly and gave him a reassuring smile. Caramon smiled back, feeling better. Maybe this weird place had opened his son's eyes.
As the four approached the semicircle of chairs where Justarius and Dalamar sat, Caramon kept a sharp eye on them. Seeing that his boys were well and acting as they were supposed to act (his oldest two tended to be a bit boisterous on occasion), the big man finally relaxed and studied the fourth figure, the one who had spoken to Justarius about faith.
He was an unusual sight. Caramon couldn't remember having seen anything stranger and he'd traveled most of the continent of Ansalon. He was from Northern Ergoth, that much Caramon could tell by the black skin-the mark of that sea-faring race. He was dressed like a sailor, too, except for the pouches on his belt and the white sash around his waist. His voice was the voice of one accustomed to shouting com mands over the crashing of waves and the roaring of the wind. So strong was this impression that Caramon glanced around somewhat uncertainly. He wouldn't have been the least surprised to see a ship under full sail materialize behind him.
"Caramon Majere, I take it," the man said, coming over to Caramon, who rose awkwardly to his feet. Gripping Caramon's hand with a firmness that made the warrior open his eyes wide, the man grinned and introduced himself. "Dunbar Mastersmate of Northern Ergoth, Head of the Order of White Robes."
Caramon gaped. "A mage?" he said wonderingly, shaking hands.
Dunbar laughed. "Exactly your sons' reaction. Yes, I've been visiting with your boys instead of doing my duty here, I'm afraid. Fine lads. The oldest two have been with the Knights, I understand, fighting mino-taurs near Kalaman. We came close to meeting there, that's what kept me so long." He glanced in apology at Justarius. "My ship was in Palanthas for repairs to damage taken fighting those same pirates. I am a Sea Wizard," Dunbar added by way of explanation, noticing Caramon's slightly puzzled look. "By the gods, but your boys take after you!" He laughed, and, reaching out, shook Caramon's hand again.
Caramon grinned back. Everything would be all right, now that these wizards understood about Raistlin. He could take his boys and go home.
Caramon suddenly became aware that Dunbar was regarding him intently, almost as if he could see the thoughts in his mind. The wizard's face grew serious. Shaking his head slightly, Dunbar turned and walked across the chamber with rapid, rolling strides, as though on the deck of his ship, to take his seat to the right of Justarius.
"Well," said Caramon, fumbling with the hilt of his sword, his confidence shaken by the look on the wizard's face. All three were staring at him now, their expressions solemn. Caramon's face hardened in resolve. "I guess that's that," he said coldly. "You've heard what I've had to say about… about Raistlin…"
"Yes," said Dunbar. "We ALL heard, some of us-I believe for the first time." The Sea Wizard glanced meaningfully at Palin, who was staring at the floor.
Clearing his throat nervously, Caramon continued. "I guess we'll be on our way."
The wizards exchanged looks. Justarius appeared uncomfortable, Dalamar stem, Dunbar sad. But none of'them said anything. Bowing, Caramon turned to leave and was just motioning to his sons when Dalamar, with an irritated gesture, rose to his feet.
"You cannot go, Caramon," the dark elf said. "There is still much to discuss."
"Then say what you have to say!" Caramon stated angrily, turning back around to face the wizards.
"I will say it, since these two"-he cast a scathing glance at his fellow wizards-"are squeamish about challenging such devoted faith as you have proclaimed. Perhaps they have forgotten the grave danger we faced twenty-five years ago. I haven't." His hand strayed to the torn robes. "I never can. My fears cannot be dispelled by a 'vision,' no matter how touching." His lip curled derisively. "Sit down, Caramon. Sit down and hear the truth these two fear to speak."
"I do not fear to speak it, Dalamar." Justarius spoke in rebuking tones. "I was thinking about the story Caramon related, its bearing upon the matter-"
The dark elf snorted, but-at a piercing look from his superior he sat back down, wrapping his black robes around him. Caramon remained standing, however, frowning and glancing from one wizard to the other. Behind him, he heard the jingle of armor as his two older boys shifted uncomfortably. This place made them nervous, just as it did him. He wanted to turn on his heel and walk out, never returning to the Tower that had been the scene of so much pain and heartbreak.
By the gods, he'd do it! Let them try to stop him! Caramon clasped the hilt of his sword and took a step backward, glancing around at his sons. The two older boys moved to leave. Only Palin remained standing still, a grave, thoughtful expression on his face that Caramon could not read. It reminded him of someone though. Caramon could almost hear Raistlin's whispering voice, "Go if you want to, my dear brother. Lose yourself in the magical forest of Wayreth as you most surely will without me. I intend to remain…"
No. He would not hear his son say those words. Flushing, his heart constricting painfully, Caramon seated himself heavily in the chair. "Say what you have to say," he repeated.