Sword – but all were blackened as if the armor burned in a fire.
“Knight of the Black Rose,” continued Raistlin, “who died in
flames in the Cataclysm before the curse of the elfmaid you
wronged dragged you back to bitter life.”
“Such is my tale,” the death knight said without moving.
“And you are Raistlin, master of past and present, the one fore-
told.”
The two stood, staring at each other, both forgetting Kitiara,
who – feeling the silent, deadly contest being waged between
the two – forgot her own anger, holding her breath to witness
the outcome.
“Your magic is strong,” Raistlin commented. A soft wind
stirred the branches of the oak trees, caressed the black folds of
the mage’s robes.
“Yes,” said Lord Soth quietly. “I can kill with a single word. I
can hurl a ball of fire into the midst of my enemies. I rule a
squadron of skeletal warriors, who can destroy by touch alone.
I can raise a wall of ice to protect those I serve. The invisible is
discernible to my eyes. Ordinary magic spells crumble in my
presence.”
Raistlin nodded, the folds of his hood moving gently.
Lord Soth stared at the mage without speaking. Walking
close to Raistlin, he stopped only inches from the mage’s frail
body. Kitiara’s breath came fast.
Then, with a courtly gesture, the cursed Knight of Solamnia
placed his hand over that portion of his anatomy that had once
contained his heart.
“But I bow in the presence of a master,” Lord Soth said.
Kitiara chewed her lip, checking an exclamation.
Raistlin glanced over at her quickly, amusement flashing in
his golden, hourglass eyes.
“Disappointed, my dear sister?”
But Kitiara was well accustomed to the shifting winds of
fate. She had scouted out the enemy, discovered what she
needed to know. Now she could proceed with the battle. “Of
course not, little brother,” she answered with the crooked smile
that so many had found so charming. “After all, it was you I
came to see. It’s been too long since we visited. You look well.”
“Oh, I am, dear sister,” Raistlin said. Coming forward, he put
his thin hand upon her arm. She started at his touch, his flesh
felt hot, as though he burned with fever. But – seeing his eyes
intent upon her, noting every reaction – she did not flinch. He
smiled.
“It has been so long since we saw each other last. What, two
years? Two years ago this spring, in fact,” he continued, con-
versationally, holding Kitiara’s arm within his hand. His voice
was filled with mockery. “It was in the Temple of the Queen of
Darkness at Neraka, that fateful night when my queen met her
downfall and was banished from the world -”
“Thanks to your treachery,” Kitiara snapped, trying, unsuc-
cessfully, to break free of his grip. Raistlin kept his hand upon
Kitiara’s arm. Though taller and stronger than the frail mage,
and seemingly capable of breaking him in two with her bare
hands, Kitiara – nevertheless – found herself longing to pull
away from that burning touch, yet not daring to move.
Raistlin laughed and, drawing her with him, led her to the
outer gates of the Tower of High Sorcery.
“Shall we talk of treachery, dear sister? Didn’t you rejoice
when I used my magic to destroy Lord Ariakas’s shield of pro-
tection, allowing Tanis Half-Elven the chance to plunge his
sword into the body of your lord and master? Did not I – by
that action – make you the most powerful Dragon Highlord in
Krynn?”
“A lot of good it has done me!” Kitiara returned bitterly.
“Kept almost a prisoner in Sanction by the foul Knights of
Solamnia, who rule the lands all about! Guarded day and night
by golden dragons, my every move watched. My armies scat-
tered, roaming the land….”
“Yet you came here,” Raistlin said simply. “Did the gold
dragons stop you? Did the Knights know of your leaving?”
Kitiara stopped on the path leading to the tower, staring at
her brother in amazement. “Your doing?”
“Of course!” Raistlin shrugged. “But, we will talk of these
matters later, dear sister,” he said as they walked. “You are cold