For a moment, she was quiet, remembering. Then she heaved a gusty sigh. "I-I want to stay with him. But him tell me, 'no,' Him say he must walk roads that be dark. Him tell me, he want me to be safe. Him lay his hand on my head"—Bupu bowed her head, as if in memory—"and I feel warm inside. Then him tell me, 'Farewell, Bupu.' Him call me 'little one.' " Looking up, Bupu glanced around at the semi-circle. "Him never laugh at me," she said, choking. "Never!" She began to cry.
The only sounds in the room, for a moment, were the gully dwarf's sobs. Caramon put his hands over his face, overcome. Tas drew a shuddering breath and fished around for a handkerchief. After a few moments, Par-Salian rose from his stone chair and came to stand in front of the gully dwarf, who was regarding him with suspicion and hiccuping at the same time.
The great mage extended his hand. "Forgive me, Bupu," he said gravely, "if I offended you. I must confess that I spoke those cruel words on purpose, hoping to make you angry enough to tell your story. For, only then, could we be certain of the truth." Par-Salian laid his hand on Bupu's head, his face was drawn and tired, but he appeared exultant. "Maybe we did not fail, maybe he did learn some compassion,” he murmured. Gently he stroked the gully dwarf's rough hair. "No, Raistlin would never laugh at you, little one. He knew, he remembered. There were too many who had laughed at him."
Tas couldn't see through his tears, and he heard Caramon weeping quietly beside him. The kender blew his nose on his handkerchief, then went up to retrieve Bupu, who was blubbering into the hem of Par-Salian's white robe.
"So this is the reason Lady Crysania made this journey?" Par-Salian asked Tas as the kender came near. The mage glanced at the still, white, cold form lying beneath the linen, her eyes staring sightlessly into the shadowy darkness. "She believes that she can rekindle the spark of goodness that we tried to light and failed?"
"Yes," Tas answered, suddenly uncomfortable beneath the gaze of the mage's penetrating blue eyes.
"And why does she want to attempt this?" Par-Salian persisted.
Tas dragged Bupu to her feet and handed her his handkerchief, trying to ignore the fact that she stared at it in wonder, obviously having no idea what she was supposed to do with it. She blew her nose on the hem of her dress.
"Uh, well, Tika said—” Tas stopped, flushing.
"What did Tika say?" Par-Salian asked softly.
"Tika said"—Tas swallowed—"Tika said she was doing it . . . because she l-loved him—Raistlin."
Par-Salian nodded. His gaze went to Caramon. "What about you, twin?" he asked suddenly. Caramon's head lifted, he stared at Par-Salian with haunted eyes.
"Do you love him still? You have said you would go back to destroy Fistandantilus. The danger you face will be great. Do you love your brother enough to undertake this perilous journey? To risk your life for him, as this lady has done? Remember, before you answer, you do not go back on a quest to save the world. You go back on a quest to save a soul, nothing more. Nothing less."
Caramon's lips moved, but no sound came from them. His face was lighted by joy, however, a happiness that sprang from deep within him. He could only nod his head.
Par-Salian turned to face the assembled Conclave.
"I have made my decision," he began.
One of the Black Robes rose and cast her hood back. Tas saw that it was the woman who had brought him here. Anger burned in her eyes. She made a swift, slashing motion with her hand.
"We challenge this decision, Par-Salian," she said in a low voice. "And you know that means you cannot cast the spell."
"The Master of the Tower may cast the spell alone, Ladonna," Par-Salian replied grimly. "That power is given to all the Masters. Thus did Raistlin discover the secret when he became Master of the Tower in Palanthas. I do not need the help of either Red or Black."
There was a murmur from the Red Robes, as well; many looking at the Black Robes and nodding in agreement with them. Ladonna smiled.
"Indeed, Great One," she said, "I know this. You do not need us for the casting of the spell, but you need us nonetheless. You need our cooperation, Par-Salian, our silent cooperation—else the shadows of our magic will rise and blot out the light of the silver moon. And you will fail."
Par-Salian's face grew cold and gray. "What of the life of this woman?" he demanded, gesturing at Crysania.
"What is the life of a cleric of Paladine to us?" Ladonna sneered. "Our concerns are far greater and not to be discussed among outsiders.Send these away”—she motioned at Caramon—"and we will meet privately."
"I believe that is wise, Par-Salian," said the red-robed mage mildly. "Our guests are tired and hungry, and they would find our family disagreements most boring."
"Very well," Par-Salian said abruptly. But Tas could see the white-robed mage's anger as he turned to face them. "You will be summoned."
"Wait!" Caramon shouted, "I demand to be present! I—”
The big man stopped, nearly strangling himself. The Hall was gone, the mages were gone, the stone chairs were gone. Caramon was yelling at a hat stand.
Dizzily, Tas looked around. He and Caramon and Bupu were in a cozy room that might have come straight from the Inn of the Last Home. A fire burned in the grate, comfortable beds stood at one end. A table laden with food was near the fire, the smells of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat made his mouth water. Tas sighed in delight.
"I think this is the most wonderful place in the whole world," he said.
He sat at his desk, his eyes staring into the flames. He started slightly at a soft knock upon his door, then, sighing, he called softly, "Enter."
A young, white-robed mage opened the door, bowing to the black-robed mage who walked past him—as was proper to one of her standing. She accepted the homage without comment. Casting her hood aside, she swept past him into Par-Salian's chamber and stopped, just inside the doorway. The whiterobed mage gently shut the door behind her, leaving the two heads of their Orders alone together.
Ladonna cast a quick, penetrating glance about the room. Much of it was lost in shadow, the fire casting the only light. Even the drapes had been closed, blotting out the moons' eerie glow. Raising her hand, Ladonna murmured a few, soft words. Several items in the room began to gleam with a weird, reddish light indicating that they had magical properties—a staff leaning up against the wall, a crystal prism on Par-Salian's desk, a branched candelabra, a gigantic hourglass, and several rings on the old man's fingers among others. These did not seem to alarm Ladonna, she simply looked at each and nodded. Then, satisfied, she sat down in a chair near the desk. Par-Salian watched her with a slight smile on his lined face.
"There are no Creatures from Beyond lurking in the corners, Ladonna, I assure you," the old mage said dryly. "Had I wanted to banish you from this plane, I could have done so long ago, my dear."
"When we were young?" Ladonna cast aside her hood. Irongray hair, woven into an intricate braid coiled about her head, framed a face whose beauty seemed enhanced by the lines of age that appeared to have been drawn by a masterful artist, so well did they highlight her intelligence and dark wisdom. "That would have been a contest indeed, Great One."
"Drop the title, Ladonna," Par-Salian said. "We have known each other too long for that."
"Known each other long and well, Par-Salian," Ladonna said with a smile. "Quite well," she murmured softly, her eyes going to the fire.
"Would you go back to our youth, Ladonna'?" Par-Salian asked.
She did not answer for a moment, then she looked up at him and shrugged. "To trade power and wisdom and skill for what? Hot blood? Not likely, my dear. What about you?"
"I would have answered the same twenty years ago," ParSalian said, rubbing his temples. "But now . . . I wonder."
"I did not come to relive old times, no matter how pleasant," Ladonna said, clearing her throat, her voice suddenly stern and cold. "I have come to oppose this madness." She leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing. "You are not serious, I hope, ParSalian? Even you cannot be soft-hearted or soft-headed enough to send that stupid human back in time to try and stop Fistandantilus? Think of the danger! He could change history! We could all cease to exist!"
"Bah! Ladonna, you think!" Par-Salian snapped. "Time is a great flowing river, vaster and wider than any river we know. Throw a pebble into the rushing water—does the water suddenly stop? Does it begin to flow backward? Does it turn in its course and flow another direction? Of course not! The pebble creates a few ripples on the surface, perhaps, but then it sinks. The river flows onward, as it has ever done."
"What are you saying?" Ladonna asked, regarding ParSalian warily.
"That Caramon and Crysania are pebbles, my dear. They will no more affect the flow of time than two rocks thrown into the Thon-Tsalarian would affect its course. They are pebbles—” he repeated.
"We underestimate Raistlin, Dalamar says,” Ladonna interrupted. "He must be fairly certain of his success, or he would not take this risk. He is no fool, Par-Salian."
"He is certain of acquiring the magic. In that we cannot stop him. But that magic will be meaningless to him without the cleric. He needs Crysania." The white-robed mage sighed. "And that is why we must send her back in time."
"I fail to see—”
"She must die, Ladonna!" Par-Salian snarled. "Must I conjure a vision for you? She must be sent back to a time when all clerics passed from this land. Raistlin said that we would have to send her back. We would have no choice. As he himself said—this is the one way we can thwart his plans! It is his greatest hope—and his greatest fear. He needs to take her with him to the Gate, but he needs her to come willingly! Thus he plans to shake her faith, disillusion her enough so that she will work with him." Par-Salian waved his hand irritably. "We are wasting time. He leaves in the morning. We must act at once."
"Then keep her here!" Ladonna said scornfully. "That seems simple enough."
Par-Salian shook his head. "He would simply return for her. And—by then he will have the magic. He will have the power to do what he chooses."
"Kill her."
"That has been tried and failed. Besides, could even you, with your arts, kill her while she is under Paladine's protection?"
"Perhaps the god will prevent her going, then?"
"No. The augury I cast was neutral. Paladine has left the matter in our hands. Crysania is nothing but a vegetable here, nor will ever be anything more, since none alive today have the power to restore her. Perhaps Paladine intends her to die in a place and time where her death will have meaning so that she may fulfill her life's cycle."
"So you will send her to her death,” Ladonna murmured, looking at Par-Salian in amazement. "Your white robes will be stained red with blood, my old friend."
Par-Salian slammed his hands upon the table, his face contorted in agony. "I don't enjoy this, damn it! But what can I do? Can't you see the position I'm in? Who sits now as the Head of the Black Robes?"
"I do," Ladonna replied.
"Who sits as the Head if he returns victorious?"
Ladonna frowned and did not answer.
"Precisely. My days are numbered, Ladonna. I know that. Oh"—he gestured—"my powers are still great. Perhaps they have never been greater. But every morning when I awake, I feel the fear. Will today be the day it fails? Every time I have trouble recalling a spell, I shiver. Someday, I know, I will not be able to remember the correct words." He closed his eyes. "I am tired, Ladonna, very tired. I want to do nothing more than stay in this room, near this warm fire, and record in these books the knowledge I have acquired through the years. Yet I dare not step down now, for I know who would take my place."
The old mage sighed. "I will choose my successor, Ladonna," he said softly. "I will not have my position wrested from my hands. My stake in this is greater than any of yours."
"Perhaps not," Ladonna said, staring at the flames. "If he returns victorious, there will no longer be a Conclave. We shall all be his servants." Her hand clenched. "I still oppose this, ParSalian! The danger is too great! Let her remain here, let Raistlin learn what he can from Fistandantilus. We can deal with him when he returns! He is powerful, of course, but it will take him years to master the arts that Fistandantilus knew when he died! We can use that time to arm ourselves against him! We can—”
There was rustling in the shadows of the room. Ladonna started and turned, her hand darting immediately to a hidden pocket in her robe.
"Hold, Ladonna," said a mild voice. "You need not waste your energies on a shield spell. I am no Creature from Beyond, as Par-Salian has already stated." The figure stepped into the light of the fire, its red robes gleaming softly.
Ladonna settled back with a sigh, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes that would have made an apprentice start back in alarm. "No, Justarius," she said coolly, "you are no Creature from Beyond. So you managed to hide yourself from me? How clever you have become, Red Robe." Twisting around in her chair, she regarded Par-Salian with scorn. "You are getting old, my friend, if you required help to deal with me!"
"Oh, I'm sure Par-Salian is just as surprised to see me here as you are, Ladonna," Justarius stated. Wrapping his red robes around him, he walked slowly forward to sit down in another chair before Par-Salian's desk. He limped as he walked, his left foot dragging the ground. Raistlin was not the only mage ever injured in the Test.
Justarius smiled. "Though the Great One has become quite adept at hiding his feelings," he added.
"I was aware of you," Par-Salian said softly. "You know me better than that, my friend."
Justarius shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I was interested in hearing what you had to say to Ladonna—”
"I would have said the same to you."
"Probably less, for I would not have argued as she has. I agree with you, I have from the beginning. But that is because we know the truth, you and I."
"What truth?" Ladonna repeated. Her gaze went from Justarius to Par-Salian, her eyes dilating with anger.
"You will have to show her," Justarius said, still in the same mild voice. "She will not be convinced otherwise. Prove to her how great the danger is."
"You will show me nothing!" Ladonna said, her voice shaking. "I would believe nothing you two devised—”
"Then let her do it herself," Justarius suggested, shrugging.
Par-Salian frowned, then—scowling—he shoved the crystal prism upon the desk toward her. He pointed. "The staff in the corner belonged to Fistandantilus—the greatest, most powerful wizard who has ever lived. Cast a Spell of Seeing, Ladonna. Look at the staff."
Ladonna touched the prism hesitantly, her glance moving suspiciously once more from Par-Salian to Justarius, then back.
"Go ahead!" Par-Salian snapped. "I have not tampered with it." His gray eyebrows came together. "You know I cannot lie to you, Ladonna."
"Though you may lie to others," Justarius said softly.
Par-Salian cast the red-robed mage an angry look but did not reply.
Ladonna picked up the crystal with sudden resolution. Holding it in her hand, she raised it to her eyes, chanting words that sounded harsh and sharp. A rainbow of light beamed from the prism to the plain wooden staff that leaned up against the wall in a dark corner of the study. The rainbow expanded as it welled out from the crystal to encompass the entire staff. Then it wavered and coalesced, forming into the shimmering image of the owner of the staff.
Ladonna stared at the image for long moments, then slowly lowered the prism from her eye. The moment she withdrew her concentration from it, the image vanished, the rainbow light winked out. Her face was pale.
"Well, Ladonna," Par-Salian asked quietly, after a moment. "Do we go ahead?"
"Let me see the Time Travel spell," she said, her voice taut.
Par-Salian made an impatient gesture. "You know that is not possible, Ladonna! Only the Masters of the Tower may know this spell—”
"I am within my rights to see the description, at least," Ladonna returned coldly. "Hide the components and the words from my sight, if you will. But I demand to see the expected results." Her expression hardened. "Forgive me if I do not trust you, old friend, as I might once have done. But your robes seem to be turning as gray as your hair."
Justarius smiled, as if this amused him.
Par-Salian sat for a moment, irresolute.
"Tomorrow morning, friend," Justarius murmured.
Angrily, Par-Salian rose to his feet. Reaching beneath his robes, he drew forth a silver key that he wore around his neck on a silver chain—the key that only the Master of a Tower of High Sorcery may use. Once there were five, now only two remained. As Par-Salian took the key from around his neck and inserted it into an ornately carved wooden chest standing near his desk, all three mages present were wondering silently if Raistlin was—even now—doing the same thing with the key he possessed, perhaps even drawing out the same spellbook, bound in silver. Perhaps even turning slowly and reverently through the same pages, casting his gaze upon the spells known only to the Masters of the Towers.
Par-Salian opened the book, first muttering the prescribed words that only the Masters know. If he had not, the book would have vanished from beneath his hand. Arriving at the correct page, he lifted the prism from where Ladonna had set it, then held it above the page, repeating the same harsh, sharp words Ladonna had used.
The rainbow light streamed down from the prism, brightening the page. At a command from Par-Salian, the light from the prism beamed out to strike a bare wall opposite them.
"Look," Par-Salian said, his anger still apparent in his voice. "There, upon the wall. Read the description of the spell."
Ladonna and Justarius turned to face the wall where they could read the words as the prism presented them. Neither Ladonna nor Justarius could read the components needed or the words required.Those appeared as gibberish, either through Par-Salian's art or the condititions imposed by the spell itself. But the description of the spell was clear.
The ability to travel back in time is available to elves, humans, and ogres, since these were the races created by the gods at the beginning of time and so travel within its flow. The spell may not be used by dwarves, gnomes, or kender, since the creation of these races was an accident, unforeseen by the gods. (Refer to the Gray Stone of Gargath, see Appendix G.) The introduction of any of these races into a previous time span could have serious repercussions on the present, although what these might be is unknown. (A note in Par-Salian's wavering handwriting had the word, 'draconain' inked in among the forbidden races.)