Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [59]
Caramon shrugged. “I’ll go anywhere, fight anything, Tanis. You know that. What say you, brother?”
But Raistlin, staring into the darkness, did not answer.
Goldmoon and Riverwind were speaking together in low voices. They nodded to each other, then Goldmoon said to Tanis, “We will go to Xak Tsaroth. We appreciate everything you’ve done for us—”
“But we ask for no man’s help any longer,” Riverwind stated proudly. “This is the completion of our quest. As we began alone, so we will finish it alone.”
“And you will die alone!” Raistlin said softly.
Tanis shivered. “Raistlin,” he said, “a word with you.”
The mage turned obediently and walked with the half-elf into a small thicket of gnarled and stunted trees. Darkness closed around them.
“Just like the old days,” Caramon said, his eyes following his brother uneasily.
“And look at all the trouble we got into then,” Flint reminded him, plopping down onto the grass.
“I wonder what they talk about?” Tasslehoff said. Long ago, the kender had tried to eavesdrop on these private conversations between the mage and the half-elf, but Tanis had always caught him and shooed him away. “And why can’t they discuss it with us?”
“Because we’d probably rip Raistlin’s heart out,” Sturm answered, in a low, pain-filled voice. “I don’t care what you say, Caramon, there’s a dark side to your brother, and Tanis has seen it. For which I’m grateful. He can deal with it. I couldn’t.”
Uncharacteristically, Caramon said nothing. Sturm stared at the warrior, startled. In the old days, the fighter would have leaped to his brother’s defense. Now he sat silent, preoccupied, his face troubled. So there is a dark side to Raistlin, and now Caramon, too, knows what it is. Sturm shuddered, wondering what had happened in these past five years that cast such a dark shadow across the cheerful warrior.
Raistlin walked close to Tanis. The mage’s arms were crossed in the sleeves of his robes, his head bowed in thought. Tanis could feel the heat of Raistlin’s body radiate through the red robes, as though he were being consumed by an inner fire. As usual, Tanis felt uncomfortable in the young mage’s presence. Yet, right now, he knew of no one else he could turn to for advice. “What do you know of Xak Tsaroth?” Tanis asked.
“There was a temple there—a temple to the ancient gods,” Raistlin whispered. His eyes glittered in the eerie light of the red moon. “It was destroyed in the Cataclysm and its people fled, certain that the gods had abandoned them. It passed from memory. I did not know it still existed.”
“What did you see, Raistlin?” Tanis asked softly, after a long pause. “You looked far away—what did you see?”
“I am magi, Tanis, not a seer.”
“Don’t give me that,” Tanis snapped. “It’s been a long time, but not that long. I know you don’t have the gift of foresight. You were thinking, not scrying. And you came up with answers. I want those answers. You’ve got more brains than all of us put together, even if—” He stopped.
“Even if I am twisted and warped.” Raistlin’s voice rose with harsh arrogance. “Yes, I am smarter than you—all of you. And someday I will prove it! Someday you—with all your strength and charm and good looks—you, all of you, will call me master!” His hands clenched to fists inside his robes, his eyes flared red in the crimson moonlight. Tanis, who was accustomed to this tirade, waited patiently. The mage relaxed, his hands unclenched. “But for now, I give you my advice. What did I see? These armies, Tanis, armies of draconians, will overrun Solace and Haven and all the lands of your fathers. That is the reason we must reach Xak Tsaroth. What we find there will prove this army’s undoing.”
“But why are there