There are dangers, however, that the spellcaster needs to be fully aware of before proceeding. If the spellcaster dies while back in time, this will affect nothing in the future, for it will be as if the spellcaster died this day in the present. His or her death will affect neither the past nor the present nor the future, except as it would have normally affected those. Therefore, we do not waste power on any type of protection spell.
The spellcaster will not be able to change or affect what has occurred previously in any way. That is an obvious precaution. Thus this spell is really useful only for study. That was the purpose for which it was designed. (Another note, this time in a handwriting much older than Par-Salian's adds on the margin—"It is not possible to prevent the Cataclysm. So we have learned to our great sorrow and at a great cost. May his soul rest with Paladine.")
"So that's what happened to him," Justarius said with a low whistle of surprise. "That was a well-kept secret."
"They were fools to even try it," Par-Salian said, "but they were desperate."
"As are we," Ladonna added bitterly. "Well, is there more?"
"Yes, the next page," Par-Salian replied.
If the spellcaster is not going himself but is sending back another (please note racial precaution on previous page), he or she should equip the one traveling with a device that can be activated at will and so return the traveler to his own time. Descriptions of such devices and their making will be found following
"And so forth," Par-Salian said. The rainbow light disappeared, swallowed in the mage’s hand as Par-Salian wrapped his fingers around it. "The rest is devoted to the technical details of making such a device. I have an ancient one. I will give it to Caramon."
His emphasis on the man’s name was unconscious, but everyone in the room noticed it. Ladonna smiled wryly, her hands softly caressing her black robes. Justarius shook his head. Par-Salian himself, realizing the implications, sank down in his chair, his face lined with sorrow.
"So Caramon will use it alone," Justarius said. "I understand why we send Crysania, Par-Salian. She must go back, never to return. But Caramon?"
"Caramon is my redemption,” Par-Salian said without looking up. The old mage stared at his hands that lay, trembling, on the open spellbook. "He is going on a journey to save a soul, as I told him. But it will not be his brother's." Par-Salian looked up, his eyes filled with pain. His gaze went first to Justarius, then to Ladonna. Both met that gaze with complete understanding.
"The truth could destroy him," Justarius said.
"There is very little left to destroy, if you ask me," Ladonna remarked coldly. She rose to her feet. Justarius rose with her, staggering a little until he obtained his balance on his crippled leg. "As long as you get rid of the woman, I care little what you do about the man, Par-Salian. If you believe it will wash the blood from your robes, then help him, by all means." She smiled grimly. "In a way, I find this quite funny. Maybe—as we get older—we aren't so different after all, are we, my dear?"
"The differences are there, Ladonna," Par-Salian said, smiling wearily. "It is the crisp, clear outlines that begin to fade and blur in our sight. Does this mean the Black Robes will go along with my decision?"
"It seems we have no choice," Ladonna said without emotion. "If you fail—”
"Enjoy my downfall," Par-Salian said wryly.
"I will," the woman answered softly, "the more so as it will probably be the last thing I enjoy in this life. Farewell, ParSalian."
"Farewell, Ladonna," he said.
"A wise woman," Justarius remarked as the door shut behind her.
"A rival worthy of you, my friend." Par-Salian returned to his seat behind the desk. "I will enjoy watching you two do battle for my position."
"I sincerely hope you have the opportunity to do so," Justarius said, his hand on the door. "When will you cast the spell?"
"Early morning," Par-Salian said, speaking heavily. "It takes days of preparation. I have already spent long hours working on it."
"What about assistance?"
"No one, not even an apprentice. I will be exhausted at the end. See to the disbanding of the Conclave, will you, my friend?"
"Certainly. And the kender and the gully dwarf?"
"Return the gully dwarf to her home with whatever small treasures you think she would like. As for the kender"—ParSalian smiled—"you may send him wherever he would like to go—barring the moons, of course. As for treasure, I'm certain he will have acquired a sufficient amount before he leaves. Do a surreptitious check on his pouches, but, if it's nothing important, let him keep what he finds."
Justarius nodded. "And Dalamar?"
Par-Salian's face grew grim. "The dark elf has undoubtedly left already. He would not want to keep his Shalafi waiting." Par-Salian's fingers drummed on the desk, his brow furrowed in frustration. "It is a strange charm Raistlin possesses! You never met him, did you? No. I felt it myself and I cannot understand . . ."
"Perhaps I can," Justarius said. "We've all been laughed at one time in our lives. We've all been jealous of a sibling. We have felt pain and suffered, just as he has suffered. And we've all longed—just once—for the power to crush our enemies! We pity him. We hate him. We fear him—all because there is a little of him in each of us, though we admit it to ourselves only in the darkest part of the night."
"If we admit it to ourselves at all. That wretched cleric! Why did she have to get involved!" Par-Salian clasped his head in his shaking hands.
"Farewell, my friend," Justarius said gently. "I will wait for you outside the laboratory should you need help when it is all over."
"Thank you," Par-Salian whispered without raising his head.
Justarius limped from the study. Shutting the door too hastily, he caught the hem of his red robe and was forced to open it again to free himself. Before he closed the door again, he heard the sound of weeping.
And, as everyone knows, there is nothing more dangerous on Krynn than a bored kender.
Tas and Bupu and Caramon had finished their meal—a very dull one. Caramon, lost in his thoughts, never said a word but sat wrapped in bleak silence while absent-mindedly devouring nearly everything in sight. Bupu did not even sit. Grabbing a bowl, she scooped out the contents with her hands, shoveling it into her mouth with a rapidity learned long ago at gully dwarf dining tables. Putting that one down, she started on another and polished off a dish of gravy, the butter, the sugar and cream, and finally half a dish of milk potatoes before Tas realized what she was doing. He just barely saved a salt cellar.
"Well," said Tas brightly. Pushing back his empty plate, he tried to ignore the sight of Bupu grabbing it and licking it clean. "I'm feeling much better. How about you, Caramon? Let's go explore!"
"Explore!" Caramon gave him such a horrified look that Tas was momentarily taken aback. "Are you mad? I wouldn’t set foot outside that door for all the wealth in Krynn!"
"Really?" Tas asked eagerly. "Why not? Oh, tell me, Caramon! What's out there?"
"I don't know." The big man shuddered. "But it's bound to be awful."
"I didn't see any guards—”
"No, and there's a damn good reason for that," Caramon snarled. "Guards aren't needed around here. I can see that look in your eye, Tasslehoff, and you just forget about it right now! Even if you could get out"—Caramon gave the door to the room a haunted look—"which I doubt, you'd probably walk into the arms of a lich or worse!"
Tas's eyes opened wide. He managed, however, to squelch an exclamation of delight. Looking down at his shoes, he mut tered, "Yeah, I guess you're right, Caramon.I'd forgotten where we were."
"I guess you did," Caramon said severely. Rubbing his aching shoulders, the big man groaned. "I'm dead tired. I've got to get some sleep. You and what's-er-name there turn in, too. All right?"
"Sure, Caramon," Tasslehoff said.
Bupu, belching contently, had already wrapped herself up in a rug before the fire, using the remainder of the bowl of milk potatoes for a pillow.
Caramon eyed the kender suspiciously. Tas assumed the most innocent look a kender could possibly assume, the result of which was that Caramon shook his finger at him sternly.
"Promise me you won't leave this room, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. Promise just like you'd promise . . . say, Tanis, if he were here."
"I promise," Tas said solemnly, "just like I'd promise Tanis—if he were here."
"Good." Caramon sighed and collapsed onto a bed that creaked in protest, the mattress sagging clear to the floor beneath the big man's weight. "I guess someone'll wake us up when they decide what they're going to do."
"Will you really go back in time, Caramon?" Tas asked wistfully, sitting down on his own bed and pretending to unlace his boots.
"Yeah, sure. 'S no big thing," Caramon murmured sleepily. "Now get some sleep and . . . thanks, Tas. You've been . . . you've been . . . a big help . . .. "His words trailed off into a snore.
Tas held perfectly still, waiting until Caramon's breathing became even and regular. That didn't take long because the big man was emotionally and physically exhausted. Looking at Caramon's pale, careworn, and tear-streaked face, the kender felt a moment's twinge of conscience. But kender are accustomed to dealing with twinges of conscience—just as humans are accustomed to dealing with mosquito bites.
"He'll never know I've been gone," Tas said to himself as he sneaked across the floor past Caramon's bed. "And I really didn't promise him I wouldn't go anywhere. I promised Tanis. And Tanis isn't here, so the promise doesn't count. Besides, I'm certain he would have wanted to explore, if he hadn't been so tired."
By the time Tas crept past Bupu's grubby little body, he had firmly convinced himself that Caramon had ordered him to look around before going to bed. He tried the door handle with misgivings, remembering Caramon’s warning. But it opened easily. We are guests then, not prisoners. Unless there was a lich standing guard outside. Tas poked his head around the doorframe. He looked up the hall, then down the hall. Nothing. Not a lich in sight. Sighing a bit in disappointment, Tas slipped out the door, then shut it softly behind him.
The hallway ran to his left and to his right, vanishing around shadowy corners at either end. It was barren, cold, and empty. Other doors branched off from the hallway, all of them dark, all of them closed. There were no decorations of any kind, no tapestries hung on the walls, no carpets covered the stone floor. There weren't even any lights, no torches, no candles. Apparently the mages were supposed to provide their own if they did any wandering about after dark.
A window at one end did allow the light of Solinari, the silver moon, to filter through its glass panes, but that was all. The rest of the hallway was completely dark. Too late Tas thought of sneaking back into the room for a candle. No. If Caramon woke up, he might not remember he had told the kender to go exploring.
"I'll just pop into one of these other rooms and borrow a candle," Tas said to himself. "Besides, that's a good way to meet people."
Gliding down the hall quieter than the moonbeams that danced on the floor, Tas reached the next door. "I won't knock, in case they're asleep," he reasoned and carefully turned the doorknob. "Ah, locked!" he said, feeling immensely cheered. This would give him something to do for a.few minutes at least. Pulling out his lockpicking tools, he held them up to the moonlight to select the proper size wire for this particular lock.
"I hope it's not magically locked," he muttered, the sudden thought making him grow cold. Magicians did that sometimes, he knew—a habit kender consider highly unethical. But maybe in the Tower of High Sorcery, surrounded by mages, they wouldn't figure it would be worthwhile. "I mean, anyone could just come along and blow the door down," Tas reasoned.
Sure enough, the lock opened easily. His heart beating with excitement, Tas shoved the door open quietly and peered inside. The room was lit only by the faint glow of a dying fire. He listened. He couldn't hear anyone in it, no sounds of snoring or breathing, so he walked in, padding softly. His sharp eyes found the bed. It was empty. No one home.
"Then they won't mind if I borrow their candle," the kender said to himself happily. Finding a candlestick, he lit the wick with a glowing coal. Then he gave himself up to the delights of examining the occupant's belongings, noticing as he did so that whoever resided in this room was not a very tidy person.
About two hours and many rooms later, Tas was wearily returning to his own room, his pouches bulging with the most fascinating items—all of which he was fully determined to return to their owners in the morning. He had picked most of them up off the tops of tables where they had obviously been carelessly tossed. He found more than a few on the floor (he was certain the owners had lost them) and had even rescued several from the pockets of robes that were probably destined to be laundered, in which case these items would certainly have been misplaced.
Looking down the hall, he received a severe shock, however, when he saw light streaming out from under their door!
"Caramon!" He gulped, but at that moment a hundred possible excuses for being out of the room entered his brain. Or perhaps Caramon might not even have missed him yet. Maybe he was into the dwarf spirits. Considering this possibility, Tas tiptoed up to the closed door of their room and pressed his ear against it, listening.
He heard voices. One he recognized immediately—Bupu's. The other . . . he frowned. It seemed familiar . . . where had he heard it?
"Yes, I am going to send you back to the Highpulp, if that is where you want to go? But first you must tell where the Highpulp is."
The voice sound faintly exasperated. Apparently, this had been going on for some time. Tas put his eye to the keyhole. He could see Bupu, her hair clotted with milk potatoes, glaring suspiciously at a red-robed figure. Now Tas remembered where he'd heard the voice—that was the man at the Conclave, who kept questioning Par-Salian!
"Highbulp!" Bupu repeated indignantly. "Not Highpulp! And Highbulp is home. You send me home."
"Yes, of course. Now where is home?"
"Where Highbulp is."
"And where is the Highpul-bulp?" the red-robed mage asked in hopeless tones.
"Home," Bupu stated succinctly. "I tell you that before. You got ears under that hood? Maybe you deaf." The gully dwarf disappeared from Tas's sight for a moment, diving into her bag. When she reappeared, she held another dead lizard, a leather thong wrapped around its tail. "Me cure. You stick tail in ear and—”
"Thank you," said the mage hastily, "but my hearing is quite perfect, I assure you. Uh, what do you call your home? What is the name?"
"The Pitt. Two Ts. Some fancy name, huh?" Bupu said proudly. "That Highbulp's idea. Him ate book once. Learned lots. All right here." She patted her stomach.
Tas clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. The red-robed mage was experiencing similiar problems as well. Tas saw the man's shoulders shake beneath his red robes, and it took him a while to respond. When he did, his voice had a faint quiver.
"What . . . what do humans call the name of your—the— uh—Pitt?"
Tas saw Bupu scowl. "Dumb name. Sound like someone spit up. Skroth."
"Skroth," the red-robed mage repeated, mystified. "Skroth," he muttered. Then he snapped his fingers. "I remember. The kender said it in the Conclave. Xak Tsaroth?"
"Me say that once already. You sure you not want lizard cure for ears? You put tail—”
Heaving a sigh of relief, the red-robed mage held his hand out over Bupu's head. Sprinkling what looked like dust down over her (Bupu sneezed violently), Tas heard the mage chant strange words.
"Me go home now?" Bupu asked hopefully.
The mage did not answer, he kept chanting.
"Him not nice," she muttered to herself, sneezing again as the dust slowly coated her hair and body. "None of them nice. Not like my pretty man." She wiped her nose, snuffling. "Him not laugh . . . him call me 'little one.' "
The dust on the gully dwarf began to glow a faint yellow. Tas gasped softly. The glow grew brighter and brighter, changing color, turning yellow-green, then green, then green-blue, then blue and suddenly—
"Bupu!" Tas whispered.
The gully dwarf was gone!
"And I'm next!" Tas realized in horror. Sure enough, the redrobed mage was limping across the room to the bed where the thoughtful kender had made up a dummy of himself so that Caramon wouldn't be worried in case he woke up.
"Tasslehoff Burrfoot," the red-robed mage called softly. He had passed beyond Tas's sight. The kender stood frozen, waiting for the mage to discover he was missing. Not that he was afraid of getting caught. He was used to getting caught and was fairly certain he could talk his way out of it. But he was afraid of being sent home! They didn't really expect Caramon to go anywhere without him, did they?
"Caramon needs me!" Tas whispered to himself in agony. "They don't know what bad shape he's in. Why, what would happen if he didn't have me along to drag him out of bars?"
"Tasslehoff," the red-robed mage's voice repeated. He must be nearing the bed.
Hurriedly, Tas's hand dove into his pouch. Pulling out a fistful of junk, he hoped against hope he'd found something useful. Opening his small hand, he held it up to the candlelight. He had come up with a ring, a grape, and a lump of moustache wax. The wax and the grape were obviously out. He tossed them to the floor.
"Caramon!" Tas heard the red-robed mage say sternly. He could hear Caramon grunt and groan and pictured the mage shaking him. "Caramon, wake up. Where's the kender?"
Trying to ignore what was happening in the room, Tas concentrated on examining the ring. It was probably magical. He'd picked it up in the third room to the left. Or was it the fourth? And magical rings usually worked just by being worn. Tas was an expert on the subject. He'd accidentally put on a magical ring once that had teleported him right into the heart of an evil wizard's palace. There was every possibility this might do the same. He had no idea what it did.
Maybe there was some sort of clue on the ring?
Tas turned it over, nearly dropping it in his haste. Thank the gods Caramon was so hard to wake up!
It was a plain ring, carved out of ivory, with two small pink stones. There were some runes traced on the inside. Tas recalled his magical Glasses of Seeing with a pang, but they were lost in Neraka, unless some draconian was wearing them.
"Wha . . . wha . . ." Caramon was babbling. "Kender? I told him . . . don't go out there . . . liches . . .."
"Damn!" The red-robed mage was heading for the door.
Please, Fizban! the kender whispered, if you remember me at all, which I don't suppose you do, although you might—I was the one who kept finding your hat. Please, Fizban! Don't let them send Caramon off without me. Make this a Ring of Invisibility. Or at least a Ring of Something that will keep them from catching me!
Closing his eyes tightly so he wouldn't see anything Horrible he might accidentally conjure up, Tas thrust the ring over his thumb. (At the last moment he opened his eyes, so that he wouldn't miss seeing anything Horrible he might conjure up.)