rang out eerily. Par-Salian frowned, Caramon turned to glare
at him. The mages’ hooded heads shifted slightly, as if they
were glancing at each other, their robes rustled softly. Tas
gulped and fell silent.
“Raistlin,” the name hissed softly from Par-Salian’s lips. He
stared at Caramon intently. “What does a cleric of good have to
do with your brother? Why did she undertake this perilous
journey for his sake?”
Caramon shook his head, unwilling or unable to talk.
“You know of his evil?” Par-Salian pursued sternly.
Caramon stubbornly refused to answer, his gaze was fixed
on the stone floor.
“I know -” Tas began, but Par-Salian made a slight move-
ment with his hand and the kender hushed.
“You know that now we believe he intends to conquer the
world?” Par-Salian continued, his relentless words hitting Car-
amon like darts. Tas could see the big man flinch. “Along with
your half-sister, Kitiara – or the Dark Lady, as she is known
among her troops – Raistlin has begun to amass armies. He has
dragons, flying citadels. And in addition we know -”
A sneering voice rang through the hall. “You know nothing,
Great One. You are a fool!”
The words fell like drops of water into a still pond, causing
ripples of movement to spread among the mages. Startled, Tas
turned, searching for the source of the strange voice, and saw,
behind him, a figure emerging from the shadows. Its black
robes rustled as it walked past them to face Par-Salian. At that
moment, the figure removed its hood.
Tas felt Caramon stiffen. “What is it?” the kender whispered,
unable to see.
“A dark elf!” Caramon muttered.
“Really?” Tas said, his eyes brightening. “You know, in all the
years I’ve lived on Krynn, I’ve never seen a dark elf.” The ken-
der started forward only to be caught by the collar of his tunic.
Tas squawked in irritation, as Caramon dragged him back, but
neither Par-Salian nor the black-robed figure appeared to
notice the interruption.
“I think you should explain yourself, Dalamar,” Par-Salian
said quietly. “Why am I a fool?”
“Conquer the world!” Dalamar sneered. “He does not plan to
conquer the world! The world means nothing to him. He could
have the world tomorrow, tonight, if he wanted it!”
“Then what does he want?” This question came from a red-
robed mage seated near Par-Salian.
Tas, peering out around Caramon’s arm, saw the delicate,
cruel features of the dark elf relax in a smile – a smile that made
the kender shiver.
“He wants to become a god,” Dalamar answered softly. “He
will challenge the Queen of Darkness herself. That is his plan.”
The mages said nothing, they did not move, but their silence
seemed to stir among them like shifting currents of air as they
stared at Dalamar with glittering, unblinking eyes.
Then Par-Salian sighed. “I think you overestimate him.”
There was a ripping, rending sound, the sound of cloth being
torn apart. Tas saw the dark elf’s arms jerk, tearing open the
fabric of his robes.
“Is this overestimating him?” Dalamar cried.
The mages leaned forward, a gasp whispered through the
vast hall like a chill wind. Tas struggled to see, but Caramon’s
hand held him fast. Irritably, Tas glanced up at Caramon’s face.
Wasn’t he curious? But Caramon appeared totally unmoved.
“You see the mark of his hand upon me,” Dalamar hissed.
“Even now, the pain is almost more than I can bear.” The young
elf paused, then added through clenched teeth. “He said to give
you his regards, Par-Salian!”
The great mage’s head bent. The hand rising to support it
shook as with a palsy. He seemed old, feeble, weary. For a
moment, the mage sat with his eyes covered, then he raised his
head and looked intently at Dalamar.
“So – our worst fears are realized.” Par-Salian’s eyes nar-
rowed questioningly. “He knows, then, that we sent you -”
“To spy on him?” Dalamar laughed, bitterly. “Yes, he
knows!” The dark elf spit the words. “He’s known all along.
He’s been using me – using all of us – to further his own ends.”
“I find this all very difficult to believe,” stated the red-robed