Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [81]
“What is it?” he croaked in fear, clutching at Tanis.
The half-elf shook his head. He could not speak. The terrible implications of where they were and what was going on were breaking over him like red waters of the Blood Sea.
In confusion, Berem looked at the center of the map. The man’s eyes widened, then he shrieked, a scream unlike any Tanis had heard before. Suddenly Berem threw himself bodily upon the crystal dome, beating at it as if he would tear it apart.
“The City of Damnation!” Berem moaned. “The City of Damnation.”
Tanis started forward to calm him, then he heard Riverwind’s shrill whistle. Grabbing Berem, Tanis hauled him away from the crystal. “I know,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”
But how? How did you get out of a city that was supposed to have been blasted off the face of Krynn? How did you get out of a city that must lie at the very bottom of the Blood Sea? How did you get out of—
As he shoved Berem through the door of the map room, Tanis glanced above the doorway. Words were carved in its crumbling marble. Words that had once spoken of one of the wonders of the world. Words whose letters were now cracked and covered with moss. But he could read them.
Welcome, O noble visitor, to our beautiful city.
Welcome to the city beloved of the gods.
Welcome, honored guest, to Istar.
5
“I killed him once …”
I ’ve seen what you’re doing to him! You’re trying to murder him!” Caramon shouted at Par-Salian. Head of the Tower of High Sorcery, the last Tower of High Sorcery located in the weird, alien forests of Wayreth, Par-Salian was the highest ranking in the Order of magic-users currently living on Krynn.
To the twenty-year-old warrior, the withered old man in the snowy white robes was a thing he might have broken with his bare hands. The young warrior had put up with a good deal the last two days, but now his patience had run out.
“We are not in the business of murder,” Par-Salian said in his soft voice. “Your brother knew what he faced when he agreed to undergo these Trials. He knew death was the penalty for failure.”
“He didn’t, not really,” Caramon mumbled, brushing his hand across his eyes. “Or if he did, he didn’t care. Sometimes his … his love for his magic clouds his thinking.”
“Love? No.” Par-Salian smiled sadly. “I do not think we could call it love.”
“Well, whatever,” Caramon muttered. “He didn’t realize what you were going to do to him! It’s all so damn serious—”
“Of course,” Par-Salian said mildly “What would happen to you, warrior, if you went into battle without knowing how to use your sword?”
Caramon scowled. “Don’t try to weasel out—”
“What would happen?” Par-Salian persisted.
“I’d be killed,” Caramon said with the elaborate patience one uses when speaking to an elderly person who is growing a bit childish. “Now—”
“Not only would you die,” Par-Salian continued, “but your comrades, those who depend on you, might they also die because of your incompetence?”
“Yes,” Caramon said impatiently, starting to continue his tirade. Then, pausing, he fell silent.
“You see my point,” Par-Salian said gently. “We do not require this Test of all who would use magic. There are many with the gift who go through life content with using the first elementary spells taught by the schools. These are enough to help them in their day-today lives, and that is all they want. But sometimes there comes a person like your brother. To him, the gift is more than a tool to help him through life. To him, the gift is life. He aspires higher. He seeks knowledge and power that can be dangerous, not only to the user but to those around him as well. Therefore we force all magic-users who would enter into those realms where true power can be attained to take the Test, to submit themselves to the Trials. Thus we weed out the incompetent.…”
“You’ve done your best to weed out Raistlin!” Caramon snarled. “He’s not incompetent, but he’s frail and now he’s hurt, maybe dying!”
“No, he isn’t incompetent. Quite the contrary. Your brother has done very well, warrior. He has defeated