Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins
Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins
DRAGONLANCE LEGENDS
Volume 1
Margaret Weis was born and grew up in Independence,
Missouri. Her first book, a biography of Frank and Jesse
James, was inspired by her childhood fascination with their
graves at a local cemetery. She graduated in creative writing
from the University of Missouri and worked for a publisher
for fourteen years, during which time she advanced to
the position of editor. She then accepted a job as fiction
editor with TSR, Inc., where she now works. Besides the
Dragonlance Chronicles, the Dragonlance Legends and the
Dragonlance Tales, she has published a great many books
for younger readers and is working on her own science
fantasy trilogy as well as a fantasy trilogy, with Tracy
Hickman, entitled The Necroclast. She lives in Wisconsin
with her two children and three cats.
Tracy Hickman was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, in 1955.
He served as a missionary in Indonesia for nearly two years
before returning home to marry his childhood sweetheart.
He now combines being an author with being a games
designer with TSR, Inc., and is the creator of the complete
Dragonlance(TM) package, including games, books and minia-
tures. The Dragonlance Chronicles were his first novels. He
lives in Wisconsin with his wife and their two children.
LEGENDS
Volume 1
TIME OF THE TWINS
Poetry by Michael Williams
Illustrations by Valerie Valusek
Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
To Samuel G. and Alta Hickman
My grandpa who tossed me into bed in his own special way
and my grandma nanny who is always so very wise. Thank
you all for the bedtime stories, life, love, and history. You
will live forever – Tracy Raye Hickman
This book about the physical and spiritual bonds binding
brothers together could be dedicated to only one
person – my sister. To Terry Lynn Weis Wilhelm, with love
– Margaret Weis
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We wish to gratefully acknowledge the work of the follow-
ing:
Michael Williams – for splendid poetry and warm friendship.
Steve Sullivan – for his wonderful maps. (Now you know
where you are, Steve!)
Patrick Price – for his helpful advice and thoughtful criticism.
Jean Black – our editor, who had faith in us from the begin-
ning.
Valerie Valusek – for her exquisite pen and ink drawings.
Ruth Hoyer – for cover and interior design.
Roger Moore – for DRAGON(R) articles and the story of Tas-
slehoff and the woolly mammoth.
The DRAGONLANCE(TM) team: Harold Johnson, Laura Hick-
man, Douglas Niles, Jeff Grubb, Michael Dobson, Michael
Breault, Bruce Heard.
The 1987 DRAGONLANCE CALENDAR artists: Clyde
Caldwell, Larry Elmore, Keith Parkinson, and Jeff Easley.
* BOOK 1 *
The Meeting
A lone figure trod softly
toward the distant light. Walking unheard, his footfalls were
sucked into the vast darkness all around him. Bertrem indulged
in a rare flight of fancy as he glanced at the seemingly endless
rows of books and scrolls that were part of the Chronicles of
Astinus and detailed the history of this world, the history of
Krynn.
“It’s like being sucked into time,” he thought, sighing as he
glanced at the still, silent rows. He wished, briefly, that he were
being sucked away somewhere, so that he did not have to face
the difficult task ahead of him.
“All the knowledge of the world is in these books,” he said to
himself wistfully. “And I’ve never found one thing to help make
the intrusion upon their author any easier.”
Bertrem came to a halt outside the door to summon his cour-
age. His flowing Aesthetic’s robes settled themselves about
him, falling into correct and orderly folds. His stomach, how-
ever, refused to follow the robes’ example and lurched about
wildly. Bertrem ran his hand across his scalp, a nervous gesture
left over from a younger age, before his chosen profession had
cost him his hair.
What was bothering him? he wondered bleakly – other than
going in to see the Master, of course, something he had not
done since… since… He shuddered. Yes, since the young
mage had nearly died upon their doorstep during the last war.
War… change, that was what it was. Like his robes, the