“What did Tika say?” Par-Salian asked softly.
“Tika said” – Tas swallowed – “Tika said she was doing it…
because she I-loved him – Raistlin.”
Par-Salian nodded. His gaze went to Caramon. “What about
you, twin?” he asked suddenly. Caramon’s head lifted, he
stared at Par-Salian with haunted eyes.
“Do you love him still? You have said you would go back to
destroy Fistandantilus. The danger you face will be great. Do
you love your brother enough to undertake this perilous jour-
ney? To risk your life for him, as this lady has done? Remem-
ber, before you answer, you do not go back on a quest to save
the world. You go back on a quest to save a soul, nothing more.
Nothing less.”
Caramon’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. His
face was lighted by joy, however, a happiness that sprang from
deep within him. He could only nod his head.
Par-Salian turned to face the assembled Conclave.
“I have made my decision,” he began.
One of the Black Robes rose and cast her hood back. Tas saw
that it was the woman who had brought him here. Anger burned
in her eyes. She made a swift, slashing motion with her hand.
“We challenge this decision, Par-Salian,” she said in a low
voice. “And you know that means you cannot cast the spell.”
“The Master of the Tower may cast the spell alone, Ladonna,”
Par-Salian replied grimly. “That power is given to all the Mas-
ters. Thus did Raistlin discover the secret when he became
Master of the Tower in Palanthas. I do not need the help of
either Red or Black.”
There was a murmur from the Red Robes, as well; many
looking at the Black Robes and nodding in agreement with
them. Ladonna smiled.
“Indeed, Great One,” she said, “I know this. You do not need
us for the casting of the spell, but you need us nonetheless. You
need our cooperation, Par-Salian, our silent cooperation – else
the shadows of our magic will rise and blot out the light of the
silver moon. And you will fail.”
Par-Salian’s face grew cold and gray. “What of the life of this
woman?” he demanded, gesturing at Crysania.
“What is the life of a cleric of Paladine to us?” Ladonna
sneered. “Our concerns are far greater and not to be discussed
among outsiders. Send these away” – she motioned at
Caramon – “and we will meet privately.”
“I believe that is wise, Par-Salian,” said the red-robed mage
mildly. “Our guests are tired and hungry, and they would find
our family disagreements most boring.”
“Very well,” Par-Salian said abruptly. But Tas could see the
white-robed mage’s anger as he turned to face them. “You will
be summoned.”
“Wait!” Caramon shouted, “I demand to be present! I -”
The big man stopped, nearly strangling himself. The Hall
was gone, the mages were gone, the stone chairs were gone.
Caramon was yelling at a hat stand.
Dizzily, Tas looked around. He and Caramon and Bupu were
in a cozy room that might have come straight from the Inn of
the Last Home. A fire burned in the grate, comfortable beds
stood at one end. A table laden with food was near the fire, the
smells of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat made his mouth
water. Tas sighed in delight.
“I think this is the most wonderful place in the whole world,”
he said.
CHAPTER 14
The old, white-
robed mage sat in a study that was much like Raistlin’s in the
Tower of Palanthas, except that the books which lined Par-
Salian’s shelves were bound in white leather. The silver runes
traced upon their spines and covers glinted in the light of a
crackling fire. To anyone entering, the room seemed hot and
stuffy. But Par-Salian was feeling the chill of age enter his
bones. To him, the room was quite comfortable.
He sat at his desk, his eyes staring into the flames. He started
slightly at a soft knock upon his door, then, sighing, he called
softly, “Enter.”
A young, white-robed mage opened the door, bowing to the
black-robed mage who walked past him – as was proper to one