Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Legends 03 - Test Of The Twins.pdf

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Test Of The Twins
Dragonlance
Legends 3
TEST of the TWINS
MARGARET WEIS AND TRACY
HICKMAN
"Shush!" Caramon hissed and went on reading from Astinus's Chronicles. "'The bronze dragon he
rode, having no magical protection, died at Soth's command, forcing Tanis Half-Elven to fight the
death knight on foot. Lord Soth dismounted to meet his opponent according to the Laws of Combat
as set forth by the Knights of Solamnia, these laws binding the death knight still, even though he
had long since passed beyond their jurisdiction, Tanis Half-Elven fought bravely but was no match
for Lord Soth. He fell, mortally wounded, the death knight's sword in his chest-"'
"No!" Tas gasped. "No! We can't let Tanis die!" Reaching up, he tugged on Caramon's arm. "Let's
go! There's still time! We can find him and warn him-"
"I can't, Tas," Caramon said quietly. "I've got to go to the Tower. I can sense Raistlin's presence
drawing closer to me. I don't have time, Tas."
"You can't mean that! We cant just let Tanis die!" Tas whispered, staring at Caramon, wide-eyed.
"No, Tas, we can't," said Caramon, regarding the kender gravely. "You're going to save him."
Book 1
The Hammer of the Gods
Like sharp steel, the clarion call of a trumpet split the autumn air as the armies of the dwarves of
Thorbardin rode down into the Plains of Dergoth to meet their foe-their kinsmen. Centuries of
hatred and misunderstanding between the hill dwarves and their mountain cousins poured red upon
the plains that day. Victory became meaningless-an objective no one sought. To avenge wrongs
committed long ago by grandfathers long since dead was the aim of both sides. To kill and kill and
kill again-this was the Dwarfgate War.
True to his word, the dwarven hero, Kharas, fought for his King Beneath the Mountain. Clean-
shaven, his beard sacrificed to shame that he must fight those he called kin, Kharas was at the
vanguard of the army, weeping even as he killed. But as he fought, he suddenly came to see that the
word victory had become twisted to mean annihilation. He saw the standards of both armies fall,
lying trampled and forgotten upon the bloody plain as the madness of revenge engulfed both armies
in a fearsome red wave. And when he saw that no matter who won there would be no victor,
Kharas threw down his Hammer-the Hammer forged with the help of Reorx, god of the dwarves-
and left the field.
Many were the voices that shrieked "coward." If Kharas heard, he paid them no heed. He knew his
worth in his own heart, he knew it better than any. Wiping the bitter tears from his eyes, washing
the blood of his kinsmen from his hands, Kharas searched among the dead until he found the bodies
of King Duncan's two beloved sons. Throwing the hacked and mutilated corpses of the young
dwarves over the back of a horse, Kharas left the Plains of Dergoth, returning to Thorbardin with
his burden.
Kharas rode far, but not far enough to escape the sound of hoarse voices crying for revenge, the
clash of steel, the screams of the dying. He did not look back. He had the feeling he would hear
those voices to the end of his days.
The dwarven hero was just riding into the first foothills of the Kharolis Mountains when he heard
an eerie rumbling sound begin. Kharas's horse shied nervously. The dwarf checked it and stopped
to soothe the animal. As he did so, he looked around uneasily. What was it? It was no sound of war,
no sound of nature.
Kharas turned. The sound came from behind him, from the lands he had just left, lands where his
kinsmen were still slaughtering each other in the name of justice. The sound increased in
magnitude, becoming a low, dull, booming sound that grew louder and louder. Kharas almost
imagined he could see the sound, coming closer and closer. The dwarven hero shuddered and
lowered his head as the dreadful roar came nearer, thundering across the Plains.
It is Reorx, he thought in grief and horror. It is the voice of the angry god. We are doomed.
The sound hit Kharas, along with a shock wave-a blast of heat and scorching, foul-smelling wind
that nearly blew him from the saddle. Clouds of sand and dust and ash enveloped him, turning day
into a horrible, perverted night. Trees around him bent and twisted, his horses screamed in terror
and nearly bolted. For a moment, it was all Kharas could do to retain control of the panic-stricken
animals.
Blinded by the stinging dust cloud, choking and coughing, Kharas covered his mouth and tried-as
best he could in the strange darkness-to cover the eyes of the horses as well. How long he stood in
that cloud of sand and ash and hot wind, he could not remember. But, as suddenly as it came, it
passed.
The sand and dust settled. The trees straightened. The horses grew calm. The cloud drifted past on
the gentler winds of autumn, leaving behind a silence more dreadful than the thunderous noise.
Filled with dreadful foreboding, Kharas urged his tired horses on as fast as he could and rode up
into the hills, seeking desperately for some vantage site. Finally, he found it an out-cropping of
rock. Tying the pack animals with their sorrowful burden to a tree, Kharas rode his horse out onto
the rock and looked out over the Plains of Dergoth. Stopping, he stared down below him in awe.
Nothing living stirred. In fact, there was nothing there at all; nothing except blackened, blasted sand
and rock.
Both armies were completely wiped out. So devastating was the explosion that not even corpses
remained upon the ash-covered Plain. Even the very face of the land itself had changed. Kharas's
horrified gaze went to where the magical fortress of Zhaman had once stood, its tall, graceful spires
ruling the Plains. It, too, had been destroyed-but not totally. The fortress had collapsed in upon
itself and now-most horribly-its ruins resembled a human skull sitting, grinning, upon the barren
Plain of Death.
"Reorx, Father, Forger, forgive us," murmured Kharas, tears blurring his vision. Then, his head
bowed in grief, the dwarven hero left the site, returning to Thorbardin.
The dwarves would believe-for so Kharas himself would report-that the destruction of both armies
on the Plains of Dergoth was brought about by Reorx. That the god had, in his anger, hurled his
hammer down upon the land, smiting his children.
But the Chronicles of Astinus truly record what happened upon the Plains of Dergoth that day:
Now at the height of his magical powers, the archmage, Raistlin, known also as Fistandantilus, and
the White-robed cleric of Paladine, Crysania, sought entry into the Portal that leads to the Abyss,
there to challenge and fight the Queen of Darkness.
Dark crimes of his own this archmage had committed to reach this point-the pinnacle of his
ambition. The Black Robes he wore were stained with blood; some of it his own. Yet this man
knew the human heart. He knew how to wrench it and twist it and make those who should have
reviled him and spurned him come to admire him instead. Such a one was Lady Crysania, of the
House of Tarinius. A Revered Daughter of the church, she possessed one fatal flaw in the white
marble of her soul. And that flaw Raistlin found and widened so that the crack would spread
throughout her being and eventually reach her heart....
Crysania followed him to the dread Portal. Here she called upon her god and Paladine answered,
for, truly, she was his chosen. Raistlin called upon his magic and he was successful, for no wizard
had yet lived as powerful as this young man.
The Portal opened.
Raistlin started to enter, but a magical, time-traveling device being operated by the mage's twin
brother, Caramon, and the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, interfered with the archmage's powerful
spell. The field of magic was disrupted ...
... with disastrous and unforeseen consequences.
Chapter
"Oops," said Tasslehoff Burrfoot.
Caramon fixed the kender with a stern eye.
"It's not my fault! Really, Caramon!" Tas protested.
But, even as he spoke, the kender's gaze went to their surroundings, then he glanced up at Caramon,
then back to their surroundings again. Tas's lower lip began to tremble and he reached for his
handkerchief, just in case he felt a snuffle coming. But his handkerchief wasn't there, his pouches
weren't there. Tas sighed. In the excitement of the moment, he'd forgotten-they'd all been left
behind in the dungeons of Thorbardin.
And it had been a truly exciting moment. One minute he and Caramon had been standing in the
magical fortress of Zhaman, activating the magical time-traveling device; the next minute Raistlin
had begun working his magic and, before Tas knew it, there had been a terrible commotion stones
singing and rocks cracking and a horrible feeling of being pulled in six different directions at once
and then-
WHOOSH-here they were.
Wherever here was. And, wherever it was, it certainly didn't seem to be where it was supposed to
be.
He and Caramon were on a mountain trail, near a large boulder, standing ankle-deep in slick ash-
gray mud that completely covered the face of the land below them for as far as Tas could see. Here
and there, jagged ends of broken rock jutted from the soft flesh of the ash covering. There were no
signs of life. Nothing could be alive in that desolation. No trees remained standing; only fire-
blackened stumps poked through the thick mud. As far as the eye could see, clear to the horizon, in
every direction, there was nothing but complete and total devastation.
The sky itself offered no relief. Above them, it was gray and empty. To the west, however, it was a
strange violet color, boiling with weird, luminous clouds laced with lightning of brilliant blue.
Other than the distant rumble of thunder, there was no sound ... no movement ... nothing.
Caramon drew a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his face. The heat was intense and,
already, even though they had been standing in this place only a few minutes, his sweaty skin was
coated with a fine film of gray ash.
"Where are we?" he asked in even, measured tones. "I-I'm sure I haven't any idea, Caramon," Tas
said. Then, after a pause, "Have you?"
"I did everything the way you told me to," Caramon replied, his voice ominously calm. "You said
Gnimsh said that all we had to do was think of where we wanted to go and there we'd be. I know I
was thinking of Solace-"
"I was too!" Tas cried. Then, seeing Caramon glare at him, the kender faltered. "At least I was
thinking of it most of the time...."
"Most of the time?" Caramon asked in a dreadfully calm voice.
"Well"-Tas gulped-"I-I did th-think once, just for an instant, mind you, about how-er-how much
fun and interesting and, well, unique, it would be to-uh-visit a-uuh ... um......
"Um what?" Caramon demanded. "A... mmmmmm."
"A what?"
"Mmmmm," Tas mumbled. Caramon sucked in his breath. "A moon!" Tas said quickly.
"Moon!" repeated Caramon incredulously. "Which moon?" he asked after a moment, glancing
around. "Oh"-Tas shrugged-"any of the three. I suppose one's as good as another. Quite similar, I
should imagine. Except, of course, that Solinari would have all glittering silver rocks and Lunitari
all bright red rocks, and I guess the other one would be all black, though I can't say for sure, never
having seen-"
Caramon growled at this point, and Tas decided it might be best to hold his tongue. He did, too, for
about three minutes during which time Caramon continued to look around at their surroundings
with a solemn face. But it would have taken more holding than the kender had inside him (or a
sharp knife) to keep his tongue from talking longer than that.
"Caramon," he blurted out, "do-do you think we actually did it? Went to a-uh-moon, that is? I
mean, this certainly doesn't look like anyplace I've ever been before. Not that these rocks are silver
or red or even black. They're more of a rock color, but-"
"I wouldn't doubt it," Caramon said gloomily. "After all, you did take us to a seaport city that was
sitting squarely in the middle of a desert-"
"That wasn't my fault either!" Tas said indignantly. "Why even Tanis said-"
"Still"-Caramon's face creased in puzzlement "this place certainly looks strange, but it seems
familiar somehow."
"You're right," said Tas after a moment, staring around again at the bleak, ash-choked landscape.
"It does remind me of somewhere, now that you mention it. Only"-the kender shivered-"I don't
recall ever having been anyplace quite this awful ... except the Abyss," he added, but he said it
under his breath.
The boiling clouds surged nearer and nearer as the two spoke, casting a further pall over the barren
land. A hot wind sprang up, and a fine rain began to fall, mingling with the ash drifting through the
air. Tas was just about to comment on the slimy quality of the rain when suddenly, without
warning, the world blew up.
At least that was Tas's first impression. Brilliant, blinding light, a sizzling sound, a crack, a boom
that shook the ground, and Tasslehoff found himself sitting in the gray mud, staring stupidly at a
gigantic hole that had been blasted in the rock not a hundred feet away from him.
"Name of the gods!" Caramon gasped. Reaching down, he dragged Tas to his feet. "Are you all
right?"
"I-I think so," said Tas, somewhat shaken. As he watched, lightning streaked again from the cloud
to ground, sending rock and ash hurtling through the air. "My! That certainly was an interesting
experience. Though nothing I'd care to repeat right away," he added hastily, fearful that the sky,
which was growing darker and darker by the minute, might decide to treat him to that interesting
experience all over again.
"Wherever we are, we better get off this high ground," Caramon muttered. "At least there's a trail. It
must lead somewhere."
Glancing down the mud-choked trail into the equally mud-choked valley below, Tas had the
fleeting thought that Somewhere was likely to be every bit as gray and yucky as Here, but, after a
glimpse of Caramon's grim face, the kender quickly decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
As they slogged down the trail through the thick mud, the hot wind blew harder, driving specks of
blackened wood and cinders and ash into their flesh. Lightning danced among the trees, making
them burst into balls of bright green or blue flame. The ground shook with the concussive roar of
the thunder. And still, the storm clouds massed on the horizon. Caramon hurried their pace.
As they labored down the hillside they entered what must once have been, Tas imagined, a
beautiful valley. At one time, he guessed, the trees here must have been ablaze with autumn
oranges and golds, or misty green in the spring. Here and there, he saw spirals of smoke curling up,
only to be whipped away immediately by the storm wind. Undoubtedly from more lightning strikes,
he thought. But, in an odd sort of way, that reminded him of something, too. Like Caramon, he was
becoming increasingly convinced that he knew this place.
Wading through the mud, trying to ignore what the icky stuff was doing to his green shoes and
bright blue leggings, Tas decided to try an old kender trick To Use When Lost. Closing his eyes
and blotting everything from his mind, he ordered his brain to provide him with a picture of the
landscape before him. The rather interesting kender logic behind this being that since it was likely
that some kender in Tasslehoff's family had undoubtedly been to this place before, the memory was
somehow passed on to his or her descendants. While this was never scientifically verified (the
gnomes are working on it, having referred it to committee), it certainly is true that-to this day-no
kender has ever been reported lost on Krynn.
At any rate, Tas, standing shin-deep in mud, closed his eyes and tried to conjure up a picture of his
surroundings. One came to him, so vivid in its clarity that he was rather startled-certainly his
ancestors' mental maps had never been so perfect. There were trees-giant trees-there were
mountains on the horizon, there was a lake....
Opening his eyes, Tas gasped. There was a lake! He hadn't noticed it before, probably because it
was the same gray, sludge color as the ash-covered ground. Was there water there, still? Or was it
filled with mud?
I wonder, Tas mused, if Uncle Trapspringer ever visited a moon. If so, that would account for the
fact that I recognize this place. But surely he would have told someone.... Perhaps he would have if
the goblins hadn't eaten him before he had the chance. Speaking of food, that reminds me ...
"Caramon," Tas shouted over the rising wind and the boom of the thunder. "Did you bring along
any water? I didn't. Nor any food, either. I didn't suppose we'd need any, what with going back
home and all. But-"
Tas suddenly saw something that drove thoughts of food and water and Uncle Trapspringer from
his mind.
"Oh, Caramon!" Tas clutched at the big warrior, pointing. "Look, do you suppose that's the sun?"
"What else would it be?" Caramon snapped gruffly, his gaze on a watery, greenish-yellow disk that
had appeared through a rift in the storm clouds. "And, no, I didn't bring any water. So just keep
quiet about it, huh?"
"Well, you needn't be ru-" Tas began. Then he saw Caramon s face and quickly hushed.
They had come to a halt, slipping in the mud, halfway down the trail. The hot wind blew about
them, sending Tas's topknot streaming out from his head like a banner and whipping Caramon's
cloak out. The big warrior was staring at the lake-the same lake Tas had noticed. Caramon's face
was pale, his eyes troubled. After a moment, he began walking again, trudging grimly down the
trail. With a sigh, Tas squished along after him. He had reached a decision.
"Caramon," he said, "let's get out of here. Let's leave this place. Even if it is a moon like Uncle
Trapspringer must have visited before the goblins ate him, it isn't much fun. The moon, I mean, not
being eaten by goblins which I suppose wouldn't be much fun either, come to think of it. To tell
you the truth, this moon's just about as boring as the Abyss and it certainly smells as bad. Besides,

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