The Reign Of Istar (39 page)

But as he looked at the brother, the cleric saw the peace and serenity on the pallid
features, the knowledge of a battle well fought, a victory won. The goddess had not
forsaken Michael. The Dark Queen had been defeated in her ceaseless efforts to reenter the
world.

Michael, Nikol, Nicholas - three silken threads, stitched together for a time. Raistlin,
Akar - two more threads, crossing theirs from opposite directions. None of them could see
beyond their own insignificant knots and tangles. But in the eyes of the gods, the
individual threads formed - not a tangled skein - but a beautiful tapestry. If the gods
chose to rend that fabric, it would no longer be as beautiful. But it might, when it was
mended, be far stronger.

Gently, Michael removed her brother's lifeless hand from Nikol's grasp, laid the still
hand across the still breast. A soft blue radiance surrounded them. Nicholas opened his
eyes. He rose. He was once more clad in knightly armor, the symbol of the crown glittering
on his breastplate. All marks of his suffering and pain were gone.

Nikol reached out to him, joy lighting her face. But Nicholas backed a step away from her.

“Nicholas?” Nikol faltered. “Why won't you come with me?”

“Let him go, my lady,” Michael told her. “Paladine waits for him.”

Nicholas smiled at her reassuringly, then he turned away and began walking toward the
stairs, toward the Lost Citadel.

“Nicholas!” Nikol cried in anguish. “Where are you going?”

The knight did not reply, but kept walking. Nikol ran after him. “Let me come with you!”
The knight paused on the steps of the ruined temple looked back at his sister sadly, pleadingly, as if begging her to understand.

The blue light grew stronger. The radiant figure of the goddess materialized, standing
beside the knight.

“For now, you two must part. But take with you the knowledge that someday you once more
will be together.” Mishakal's gaze went to Michael. The goddess held out her hand to him.
“You may come, Brother, if you choose.”

The holy light that surrounded them shone from the medallion around Michael's neck. He
clasped his hand around it thankfully. He recalled with aching heart the beauty and the
wonders of the worlds beyond. The light of his medallion strengthened, shone on Nikol's
face. He saw her standing alone in the darkness, bereft and forlorn, not understanding.
There would be many, many more like her in the dread days to come.

“I will stay,” said Michael.

Mishakal nodded wordlessly. The bridge flashed back into being, the door to the stars
opened. The knight set foot upon the shining span, turned for one last look at his sister,
one reassuring smile. Then he was gone. The bridge vanished. The blue light faded.

Next to Michael, the mage began to cough. “Finally!” Raistlin muttered. He wrapped his
black robes closely about his thin body and clasped the magical staff. He spoke a word of magic. The crystal's light flared,
nearly blinding Michael. The cleric held his hand before his eyes to block out the painful glare.

“Wait!” he called. “You claim to know the future! What will happen to us! Tell us what you
see!”

The mage's image was starting to fade. For a moment it wavered, and, as it did so, it
altered, startlingly. The black robes changed to red, the hair whitened, the skin
glistened gold, the eyes had pupils the shape of hourglasses.

“What do I see?” Raistlin repeated softly. “In a world of the faithless, you are the only
one who is faithful. And, because of that, you will be reviled, ridiculed, persecuted.”
The golden eyes shifted to Nikol. “But I see one who loves you, who will risk all to
defend you.” “You see this happening to us?” Nikol faltered. Raistlin's mouth twisted in a
bitter smile. “To myself.” He was gone. Nikol and Michael stood in the chill dawn of a
gray morning. They stood alone, together.