“I sit with my hand on the Sphere of Time, the sphere you made for me, old friend, and I travel the length and breadth of this world chronicling its history. I have committed the blackest deeds! I have made the noblest sacrifices. I am human, elf, and ogre. I am male and female. I have borne children. I have murdered children. I saw you as you were. I see you as you are. If I seem cold and unfeeling, it is because that is how I survive without losing my sanity! My passion goes into my words.
Those who read my books know what it is to have lived in any time, in any body that ever walked this world!”
Raistlin’s hand loosed its grip on the historian’s robes and he fell weakly to the floor. His strength was fading fast. But the mage clung to Astinus’s words, even as he felt the coldness of death clutch his heart. I must live, just a moment longer. Lunitari, give me just a moment more, he prayed, calling upon the spirit of the moon from which Red-Robed mages draw their magic. Some word was coming, he knew. Some word that would save him. If only he could hold on!
Astinus’s eyes flared as he gazed upon the dying man. The words he hurled at him had been pent up inside the chronicler for countless centuries.
“On the last, perfect day,” Astinus said, his voice shaking, “the three gods will come together: Paladine in his Radiance, Queen Takhisis in her Darkness, and lastly Gilean, Lord of Neutrality. In their hands, each bears the Key of Knowledge. They will place these Keys upon the great Altar, and upon the Altar will also be placed my books-the story of every being who has lived upon Krynn throughout time! And then, at last, the world will be complete-”
Astinus stopped, appalled, realizing what he had said, what he had done.
But Raistlin’s eyes no longer saw him. The hourglass pupils were dilated, the golden color surrounding them gleamed like flame.
“The Key . . .” Raistlin whispered in exultation. “The Key! I know. … I know…”
So weak he could scarcely move, Raistlin reached into the small, nondescript pouch that hung from his belt and brought forth the marble-sized dragon orb. Holding it in his trembling hand, the mage stared into it with eyes that were fast growing dim.
“I know who you are,” Raistlin murmured with his dying breath. “I know you now and I beseech you-come to my aid as you came to my aid in the Tower and in Silvanesti! Our bargain is struck! Save me, and you save yourself!”
The mage collapsed. His head with its sparse white wispy hair lolled back onto the floor, his eyes with their cursed vision closed. The hand that held the orb went limp, but its fingers did not relax. It held the orb fast in a grip stronger than death.
Little more than a heap of bones garbed in blood-red robes, Raistlin lay unmoving amid the papers that littered the spell-blasted library.
Astinus stared at the body for long moments, bathed in the garish purplish light of the two moons. Then, his head bowed, the historian left the silent library, closing and locking the door behind him with hands that shook.
Returning to his study, the historian sat for hours, gazing unseeing into the darkness.
“I tell you, it was Raistlin!”
“And I tell you, one more of your furry-elephant, teleporting-ring, plants-living-off-air stories and I’ll twist that hoopak around your neck!” Flint snapped angrily.
“It was too Raistlin,” Tasslehoff retorted, but he said it under his breath as the two walked along the wide, gleaming streets of the beautiful city of Palanthas. The kender knew by long association just how far he could push the dwarf and Flint’s threshold for irritation was very low these days. “And don’t go bothering Laurana with your wild tales, either,” Flint ordered, correctly guessing Tas’s intentions. “She has enough problems.”
“But-”
The dwarf stopped and gazed grimly at the kender from beneath bushy white eyebrows.
“Promise?”
Tas sighed. “Oh, all right.”
It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t feel quite certain he had seen Raistlin! He and Flint were walking past the steps of the great library of Palanthas when the kender’s sharp eyes caught sight of a group of monks clustered around something lying on the steps. When Flint stopped for a moment to admire some particularly fine piece of dwarven-crafted stonework in a building opposite, Tas took advantage of the opportunity to creep silently up the stairs to see what was going on.
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