The kender’s voice died as Caramon turned slowly to face
him, a strange look on his face.
“I’m not Caramon,” he said softly. “I’m his twin, Raistlin.
Caramon’s dead. I killed him.” Glancing down at the sword in
his hand, the big warrior dropped it as if it stung him. “What
am I doing with cold steel in my hands?” he asked harshly. “I
can’t cast spells with a sword and shield!”
Tasslehoff choked, casting an alarmed glance at the dracon-
ians. He could see them exchanging shrewd looks. They began
to move forward slowly, though they all kept their gazes fixed
upon the big warrior, probably suspecting a trap of some sort.
“You’re not Raistlin! You’re Caramon!” Tas cried in despera-
tion, but it was no use. The man’s brain was still pickled in
dwarf spirits. His mind completely unhinged, Caramon closed
his eyes, lifted his hands, and began to chant.
“Antsnests silverash bookarah,” he murmured, weaving
back and forth.
The grinning face of a draconian loomed up before Tas.
There was a flash of steel, and the kender’s head seemed to
explode in pain….
Tas was on the ground. Warm liquid was running down his
face, blinding him in one eye, trickling into his mouth. He
tasted blood. He was tired… very tired….
But the pain was awful. It wouldn’t let him sleep. He was
afraid to move his head, afraid if he did it might separate into
two pieces. And so he lay perfectly still, watching the world
from one eye.
He heard the gully dwarf screaming on and on, like a tor-
tured animal, and then the screams suddenly ended. He heard a
deep cry of pain, a smothered groan, and a large body crashed
to the ground beside him. It was Caramon, blood flowing from
his mouth, his eyes wide open and staring.
Tas couldn’t feel sad. He couldn’t feel anything except the ter-
rible pain in his head. A huge draconian stood over him, sword
in hand. He knew that the creature was going to finish him off.
Tas didn’t care. End the pain, he pleaded. End it quickly.
Then there was a flurry of white robes and a clear voice call-
ing upon Paladine. The draconian disappeared abruptly with
the sound of clawed feet scrambling through the brush. The
white robes knelt beside him, Tas felt the touch of a gentle hand
upon his head, and heard the name of Paladine again. The pain
vanished. Looking up, he saw the cleric’s hand touch Caramon,
saw the big man’s eyelids flutter and close in peaceful sleep.
It’s all right! Tas thought in elation. They’ve gone! We’re
going to be all right. Then he felt the hand tremble. Regaining
some of his senses as the cleric’s healing powers flooded
through his body, the kender raised his head, peering ahead
with his good eye.
Something was coming. Something had called off the dra-
conians. Something was walking into the light of the fire.
Tas tried to cry out a warning, but his throat closed. His
mind tumbled over and over. For a moment, too frightened and
dizzy to think clearly, he thought someone had mixed up
adventures on him.
He saw Lady Crysania rise to her feet, her white robes
sweeping the dirt near his head. Slowly, she began backing
away from the thing that stalked her. Tas heard her call to Pala-
dine, but the words fell from lips stiff with terror.
Tas himself wanted desperately to close his eyes. Fear and
curiosity warred in his small body. Curiosity won out. Peering
out of his one good eye, Tas watched the horrible figure draw
nearer and nearer to the cleric. The figure was dressed in the
armor of a Solamnic Knight, but that armor was burned and
blackened. As it drew near Crysania, the figure stretched forth
an arm that did not end in a hand. It spoke words that did not
come from a mouth. Its eyes flared orange, its transparent legs
strode right through the smoldering ashes of the fire. The chill
of the regions where it was forced to eternally dwell flowed
from its body, freezing the very marrow in Tas’s bones.
Fearfully, Tas raised his head. He saw Lady Crysania backing