The Reign Of Istar (36 page)

Twins?“ The voice was altered, low and dark, darker than the woods. Twins,” it repeated.

“Yes,” said Nikol, hesitant, uncertain at the sudden change she sensed in the speaker. Did
it bode good? Or ill? “We are twins. And if you know anything of twins, you know that we
are close, closer than most siblings.”

“I know ... something of twins,” said the voice.

The words were spoken so softly that the two might not have heard them, but both were
straining every sense to make up for the loss of their eyesight.

“Then you know that I will not abandon him,” said Nikol. “I will go after him, to save him
if I can, die with him if I cannot.”

“You cannot save him,” said the voice, after a moments pause. “Your brother has been
captured by a powerful wizard of the Black Robes, a man named Akar. He needed a virtuous
person. Is your brother, by chance, a knight as well?”

“My brother is a knight,” answered Nikol. “I am not. I am a woman, as you well know, for I
can feel your eyes on me, though I cannot see them.”

“One twin born to a body fragile and frail, one twin strong and powerful. Did you never
resent him?”

“Of course not!” Nikol answered too fast, too angrily. “I love him! What are you talking
about?”

“Nothing important” The voice seemed to start to sigh, but the sigh was broken by a cough
that seemed likely to rend the man apart.

Involuntarily, forgetting that he was powerless, Michael reached with a hand toward the
stranger. He heard a hissing laugh.

“There is nothing you could do for me, healer! Even if you retained the favor of your
goddess. It is the wrath of heaven that batters this poor body of mine, the anger of the
gods that will soon cleanse this world in fire!”

The voice changed, abruptly, becoming cool and business-minded. “Do you speak truly, Lady?
Will you follow your brother, though the way be dark and terrifying, the end hopeless?”

“I will.”

“How can we go anywhere?” Michael demanded. “We cannot see the way.”

“I can,” said the voice, “and I will be your eyes.”

Michael heard a rustle of cloth, as of long robes brushing across the ground. He heard odd
sounds, objects hanging from a belt, perhaps, clicking and rubbing together. He heard a
soft thud that accompanied whispering footfalls - a staff, helping the speaker walk.
Michael sniffed, his nose wrinkled. He smelled the sweetness of rose petals, and a more
horrible sweetness - that of decay. He sensed an arm moving toward them.

“Wait a moment,” Michael said, halting Nikol, who had sheathed her sword and was reaching
out to the stranger. “If you can see in the light of Nuitari, then you, too, must be a
mage of evil, a wizard of the Black Robes. Why should we trust you?”

“You shouldn't, of course,” said the voice.

“Then why are helping us? What is your reason? Is this a trap?”

“It could be. What choice do you have?”

“None,” said Nikol, her voice suddenly gentle. “Yet I believe you. I trust you.”

“And why should you do that, Lady?” The voice was bitter, mocking.

“Because of what you said about twins. One weak, the other strong ...”

The stranger was silent a long moment. Michael might have thought the man had left them,
but for the rasping breathing of sickness-racked lungs.

“My reason for helping you is one you would not understand. Let us say simply that Akar
has been promised that which is rightfully mine. I intend to see he does not acquire it.
Will you come or not? You must hurry! The Night of Doom approaches. You have very little
time.”

“I will go,” said Nikol. “I will follow where you lead, though it cost me my life!”

“And you, Brother?” said the wizard softly. “Will you walk with me? The woman has pledged
her life. For you, as you surmise, the cost will be greater. Will you pledge your soul?”

“No, Michael, don't!” Nikol said, interrupting the cleric's answer. “Go back. This is not
your battle. It is mine. I would not have you sacrifice yourself for us.”

“What's the matter, my lady?” snapped Michael, suddenly, irrationally angry. “Don't you
think I love Nicholas as well as you? Or perhaps you think I don't have a right to love
him or anyone else in your family? Well, my lady, I do love! And I choose to go with you.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, the jingle of armor, her body stiffening.

“The decision is yours, of course, Brother,” she said in a low voice. She reached out to
hold the mage's arm.

The wizard made a raspy sound that might have been a laugh. “Truly, you ARE blind!”

Michael reached out, and his hand closed over the wizard's arm - as thin, frail, and
fragile as the bones of a bird. Fever burned in the skin; the sensation of touching the
mage was an unpleasant one.

“What is your name, sir?” Michael asked coldly.

The wizard did not immediately answer. Michael was startled to feel the arm he held
flinch, as if the question was a painful one.

“I am ... Raistlin.”

The name meant nothing to Michael. He assumed, from the wizard's hesitation, that he'd
given them a false one.

The mage led them forward into a darkness that grew impossibly darker, as he had warned.
They walked as fast as they dared, not entirely trusting him, yet holding tightly to his
guiding arm, listening to the rustle of his robes, the soft tapping sound of his staff. In their nostrils was the smell of roses and of death.

Part VII No harm befell them. They began to trust Raistlin and, as their trust increased, they
started to move with incredible speed. Michael's feet barely skimmed the ground. A chill
wind blasted in his face, stung his blind eyes. Branches scratched his cheek, tore his
hair. Thorns and brambles caught at his robes. He pictured vividly what it would be like
to smash headlong, at this speed, into tree or rock, or hurtle into some boulder-strewn
chasm. He grasped harder the mage's frail-boned body.

Michael had no idea how long they traveled through the darkness. It might have been the
span of a heartbeat, or it might have been eons. He wondered how much longer he could keep
going, for though it didn't seem that he exerted himself, his body was growing more and
more fatigued. He was forced to lean heavily on the mage's shoulder, wondered that such a
frail body could support his own. His limbs were stones; he could barely move them. His
feet stumbled. He tripped, lost his grip on Raistlin, and fell.

Sobbing for breath, Michael started to try to regain his footing. He lifted his head and
stared.

Before him stood a building, a structure of beauty and simplicity and elegance. Columns of
black, white, and red marble supported a domed roof whose shining exterior was a mirror
for the night sky. Reflected in it, the constellations wheeled about its center. The two
dragons, Paladine and the Queen of Darkness, each kept careful watch upon the other; in
the middle, Gilean, the book of life, turned; around them wheeled the rest of the gods -
good, neutral, evil.

A bridge of shining starlight burst, gleaming, from beneath the dome. The bridge spanned
up and over the temple, extended to the night sky. An open door appeared in the starlit
blackness. Beyond it, strange suns burned fiery red and yellow against deep blackness.
Strange planets circled around them.

The beauty of the vision made Michael weep, and only when he felt the tears cold on his
cheek did it occur to him that he could see again, that his sight was restored.

When he realized he could see, he noticed a dark shape mar the radiance of the temple.

A mage in black robes, tall and powerfully built, was untying the hands and feet of
another man, lying in a horse- drawn cart. They stood in deep shadow. The black-robed mage
could barely be seen, a shape of darkness against night, but the light of the temple fell
on the face of the man in the cart. The young face was pale, drawn with pain and
suffering. Sweat glistened on the pallid skin.

Michael could see Raistlin now as well, and the healer was considerably astonished to note
how young the wizard appeared. Young and weak and ill. The thin face was blanched;
feverish spots burned in the cheeks. His breathing was shallow and raspy. He leaned on a
wooden staff, the top of which was adorned by a dragon's claw clutching a faceted crystal.
Soft, pale light shone from the crystal, glittered in the mage's cold brown eyes.

Odd, thought Michael. I could have sworn they were the shape of hourglasses.

“Nicholas!” cried Nikol.

She would have run to him, but Raistlin grasped her tightly by the wrist and held her fast.

Nikol had been her brother's partner and equal in all his sports and training. She was as
tall as Raistlin and was far stronger physically. Michael expected her to break the
wizard's weak hold easily, and the cleric steeled himself to try to stop her impetuous
rush to what undoubtedly would be her death.

Already, the other wizard, the one called Akar, had paused in his work and was peering
about in alarm.

“What was that? Who is there?” he called in a deep, harsh bellow.

The thin, frail hand of Raistlin remained closed over the woman's wrist. Nikol gasped in
pain. She seemed to shrink in his grasp.

“Make no sound!” he breathed. “If he knows we are here, all is lost!”

Raistlin dragged the young woman back into the shadows of the blackened, burned trees.
Michael accompanied them reluctantly, unable to wrench his rapt gaze from the radiant
splendor of the shining temple and the wonderful bridge that soon would take him away from
pain and suffering, despair and fear.

“You're hurting me,” Nikol whispered, trying ineffectually to pull away. “Let me go!”

“You would be hurt far worse than this if I did,” said Raistlin grimly. “Akar is powerful
and will not hesitate to destroy you if you interfere in his plans.”

Nikol cast a stricken glance at her brother. Akar, apparently deciding he'd been hearing
things, had returned to his work. He took rough hold of the young man, pulled him from the
cart, and dumped the knight on the ground. Nicholas cried out in agony.

“Soon your torment will be ended, Sir Knight,” said Akar, rubbing his hands on his robes
to cleanse them of blood.

Akar removed an object from his belt, held it up to the light. Steel glinted, bright and
sharp. He inspected the dagger and thrust it back into his belt with a grunt of
satisfaction. He bent down, started to lift the knight by the ankles, intending to once
again haul him over the ground.

Nicholas struck out; his feet knocked the wizard backward. Caught off guard, astonished
that his feeble victim should have fight left in him, Akar stumbled, off balance. He
tripped on the hem of his robe and fell heavily.

Nicholas began, pitifully, to try to crawl away, to lose himself in the hideous darkness
from which he had come.

“I'm going to him. You can't stop me.” Nikol, her right hand still held fast in Raistlin's
grasp, reached for her sword with the left.

Sparks jumped from the hilt. She snatched her hand back, wringing it in pain. Again she
tried; again the sparks. She glared at the mage.

“You foul wizards are in league! I should have known! I never should have trusted - ”

“Silence!” ordered Raistlin.

His gaze was intent on Akar. His entire being seemed concentrated on his counterpart. He
had even ceased, for the moment, to cough. A faint tinge of color burned in the thin
cheeks. He didn't seem to notice the woman struggling in his grasp, though his hold on her
never loosened.

Nikol twisted around to face Michael.

“Why are you standing there? Go to Nicholas! Save him! This wicked man has no hold on you!
He cannot fight us both!”

Michael started forward, reluctant to turn away from the shining bridge, yet his heart ached for the gallant young knight and for the sister
who suffered with him. The voice of Raistlin stopped him, held the cleric as completely as
the mage's hand held Nikol.

“Far more is at stake here than the life of one brave knight. The fate of the world hangs
in the balance on Gilean's scales.” Raistlin glanced at Michael. “What do you see, healer?”

“I see ... a sight more beautiful than anything I've ever seen in my life. A temple stands
before me, its columns of black and white and red marble. Its dome is the heavens, its
roof the constellations. A bridge of starlight extends from this world to worlds beyond.
People walk across that bridge - men, women, human, elven. They look back at this world
with regret, their faces sad. But Paladine is with them, and he reassures them, and they
turn to the door with hope.”

“What have you done?” Nikol demanded of Raistlin. “You've bewitched him!”

Michael himself took a step forward, as if he would follow. An outraged cry jolted him
back to this world. Akar had regained his feet. He glared at the knight in anger.

“Truly, as I said, a tough breed. Come, Sir Knight, I am losing patience. Time grows too
short for more games.”

Akar kicked Nicholas in the face. The knight fell back without a sound and lay still and
unmoving. Akar grasped Nicholas, this time by the shoulders, and began hauling the limp
body across the ground.

“He's taking him to the temple! What does he plan to do?” Michael asked Raistlin, who
watched all with an expression grim and stem.

“He plans to murder him!” Nikol cried, trying again to free herself.

“My lady, please - ” Michael began gently.

“Leave me be!” Nikol's eyes flared. “You're ensorcelled. The wizard's cast some sort of
spell on you! Bridge of starlight! Radiant temple! It's a broken ruins, probably an altar
of evil, consecrated to the Dark Queen!”

Michael stared at her. “Can't you see? ...”

“No, she cannot,” said Raistlin. “She sees a ruined citadel, nothing more. You alone,
cleric, see the truth. You alone can stop Her Dark Majesty in her efforts to return to
this world.”

Michael didn't believe the wizard. How could Nikol not see what was so obvious and beautiful to him? And yet Nikol was staring at him
angrily, fearfully, as if he were indeed a person acting under a spell.