she cried, her terror-stricken gaze seeking Soth.
“I cannot,” the death knight answered grimly. “My magic will
not work here. The strength of your own will is all that can
save you now, Kitiara. Remember the jewel….”
For a moment, Kitiara lay quite still, shivering at the chilling
touch. And then anger coursed through her body. How dare he
do this to me! she thought, seeing, once more, mocking golden
eyes enjoying her torture. Her anger thawed the chill of fear
and burned away the panic. She was calm now. She knew what
she must do. Slowly, she pushed herself up out of the dirt.
Then, coldly and deliberately, she held the jewel down next to
the skeletal hand and, shuddering, touched the jewel to the pal-
lid flesh.
A muffled curse rumbled from the depths of the ground. The
hand quivered, then released its grip, sliding back into the rot-
ting leaves beside the trail.
Swiftly, Kitiara touched the jewel to the other hand that
grasped her. It, too, vanished. The Dragon Highlord scrambled
to her feet and stared around. Then she held the jewel aloft.
“See this, you accursed creatures of living death?” she
screamed shrilly. “You will not stop me! I will pass! Do you hear
me? I will pass!”
There was no answer. The branches creaked no longer, the
leaves hung limply. After standing a moment longer in silence,
the jewel in her hand, Kitiara started walking down the trail
once more, cursing Raistlin beneath her breath. She was aware
of Lord Soth near her.
“Not much farther,” he said. “Once again, Kitiara, you have
earned my admiration.”
Kitiara did not answer. Her anger was gone, leaving a hollow
place in the pit of her stomach that was rapidly filling up again
with fear. She did not trust herself to speak. But she kept walk-
ing, her eyes now focused grimly on the path ahead of her. All
around her now, she could see the fingers digging through the
soil, seeking the living flesh they both craved and hated. Pale,
hollow visages glared at her from the trees, black and shapeless
things flitted about her, filling the cold, clammy air with a foul
scent of death and decay.
But, though the gloved hand that held the jewel shook, it
never wavered. The fleshless fingers did not stop her. The faces
with their gaping mouths howled in vain for her warm blood.
Slowly, the oak trees continued to part before Kitiara, the
branches bending back out of the way.
There, standing at the trail’s end, was Raistlin.
‘ “I should kill you, you damned bastard!” Kitiara said
through numb lips, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“I am overjoyed to see you, too, my sister,” Raistlin replied in
his soft voice.
It was the first time brother and sister had met in over two
years. Now that she was out from among the darkness of the
trees, Kitiara could see her brother, standing in Solinari’s pale
light. He was dressed in robes of the finest black velvet. Hang-
ing from his slightly stooped, thin shoulders, they fell in soft
folds around his slender body. Silver runes were stitched about
the hood that covered his head, leaving all but his golden eyes
in shadow. The largest rune was in the center – an hourglass.
Other silver runes sparkled in the moons’ light upon the cuffs of
his wide, full sleeves. He leaned upon the Staff of Magius, its
crystal, which flamed into light only upon Raistlin’s
command – dark and cold, clutched in a golden dragon’s claw.
“I should kill you!” Kitiara repeated, and, before she was
quite aware of what she did, she cast a glance at the death
knight, who seemed to form out of the darkness of the grove. It
was a glance, not of command, but of invitation – an unspoken
challenge.
Raistlin smiled, the rare smile that few ever saw. It was,
however, lost in the shadows of his hood.
“Lord Soth,” he said, turning to greet the death knight.
Kitiara bit her lip as Raistlin’s hourglass eyes studied the
undead knight’s armor. Here were still the graven symbols of a
Knight of Solamnia – the Rose and the Kingfisher and the