Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [82]
“I wouldn’t know.” Caramon’s voice hardened with resolve. “And I don’t care. All I know is that I am putting a stop to it. Right now.”
“You cannot. You will not be permitted. He isn’t dying—”
“You can’t stop me!” Caramon stated coldly. “Magic! Tricks to keep kids amused! True power! Bah! It’s not worth getting killed over—”
“Your brother believes it is,” Par-Salian said softly. “Shall I show you how much he believes in his magic? Shall I show you true power?”
Ignoring Par-Salian, Caramon took a step forward, determined to end his brother’s suffering. That step was his last, at least for some time. He found himself immobilized, frozen in place as surely as if his feet were encased in ice. Fear gripped Caramon. It was the first time he had ever been spellbound, and the helpless feeling of being totally under another’s control was more terrifying than facing six axe-wielding goblins.
“Watch.” Par-Salian began to chant strange words. “I am going to show you a vision of what might have been.…”
Suddenly Caramon saw himself entering the Tower of High Sorcery! He blinked in astonishment. He was walking through the doors and down the eerie corridors! The image was so real that Caramon looked down at his own body in alarm, half-afraid he might find he wasn’t really there. But he was. He seemed to be in two places at the same time. True power: The warrior began to sweat, then shivered with a chill.
Caramon—the Caramon in the Tower—was searching for his brother. Up and down empty corridors he wandered, calling Raistlin’s name. And finally he found him.
The young mage lay on the cold stone floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. Near him was the body of a dark elf, dead, by Raistlin’s magic. But the cost had been terrible. The young mage himself seemed near death.
Caramon ran to his brother and lifted the frail body in his strong arms. Ignoring Raistlin’s frantic pleas to leave him alone, the warrior began to carry his twin from this evil Tower. He would take Raistlin from this place if it was the last thing he did.
But, just as they came near the door that led out of the Tower, a wraith appeared before them. Another test, Caramon thought grimly. Well, this will be one test Raistlin won’t have to handle. Gently laying his brother down, the warrior turned to meet this final challenge.
What happened then made no sense. The watching Caramon blinked in astonishment. He saw himself cast a magic spell! Dropping his sword, he held strange objects in his hands and began to speak words he didn’t understand! Lightning bolts shot from his hands! The wraith vanished with a shriek.
The real Caramon looked wildly at Par-Salian, but the mage only shook his head and—wordlessly—pointed back to the image that wavered before Caramon’s eyes. Frightened and confused, Caramon turned back to watch.
He saw Raistlin rise slowly
“How did you do that?” Raistlin asked, propping himself up against the wall.
Caramon didn’t know. How could he do something that took his brother years of study! But the warrior saw himself rattling off a glib explanation. Caramon also saw the look of pain and anguish on his brother’s face.
“No, Raistlin!” the real Caramon cried. “It’s a trick! A trick of this old man’s! I can’t do that! I’d never steal your magic from you! Never!”
But the image Caramon, swaggering and brash, went over to “rescue” his “little” brother, to save him from himself.
Raising his hands, Raistlin held them out toward his brother. But not to embrace him. No. The young mage, sick and injured and totally consumed with jealousy, began to speak the words of the one spell, the last spell he had strength to cast.
Flames flared from Raistlin’s hands. The magical fire billowed forth, and engulfed his brother.
Caramon watched in horror, too stunned to speak, as his own image was consumed in fire.… He watched as his brother collapsed onto the cold stone floor.