Free War of the Twins by Margaret Weis Page A

fall, he pulled the velvet curtain up around her shoulders and across her slumbering form. Crysania smiled from some sweet dream, perhaps, and nestled more snugly into the chair, resting her cheek upon her hand as she laid her head on the armrest.
    Raistlin’s hand brushed against the smooth skin of her face, recalling vivid memories. He began to tremble. He had but to reverse the sleep spell, take her in his arms, hold her as he held her when he cast the magic spell that brought them to this place. They would have an hour alone together before Caramon returned.…
    “I am
not
as other men!” Raistlin snarled.
    Abruptly walking away, his dour gaze encountered the staring, watchful eyes of the guardians.
    “Watch over her while I am gone,” he said to several half-seen, hovering spectres lurking in the dark shadows in the corner of the study. “You two,” he ordered the two who been with him when he awakened, “accompany me.”
    “Yes, Master,” the two murmured. As the staff’s light fell upon them, the faint outlines of black robes could be seen.
    Stepping out into the corridor, Raistlin carefully closed the door to the study behind him. He gripped the staff, spoke a soft word of command, and was instantly taken to the laboratory at the top of the Tower of High Sorcery.
    He had not even drawn a breath when, materializing out of the darkness, he was attacked.
    Shrieks and howls of outrage screamed around him. Dark shapes darted out of the air, daring the light of the staff as bone-white fingers clutched for his throat and grasped his robes, rending the cloth. So swift and sudden was the attack and so awful the sense of hatred that Raistlin very nearly lost control.
    But he was in command of himself quickly. Swinging the staff in a wide arc, shouting hoarse words of magic, he drove back the spectres.
    “Talk to them!” he commanded the two guardians with him. “Tell them who I am!”
    “Fistandantilus,” he heard them say through a roaring in his ears, “… though his time has not yet come as was foretold … some magical experiment.…”
    Weakened and dizzy, Raistlin staggered to a chair and slumped down into it. Bitterly cursing himself for not being prepared for such an onslaught and cursing the frail body that was, once again, failing him, he wiped blood from a jagged cut upon his face and fought to remain conscious.
    This is
your
doing, my Queen. His thoughts came grimly through a haze of pain. You dare not fight me openly. I am too strong for you on this—my plane—of existence! You have your foothold in this world. Even now, the Temple has appeared in its perverted form in Neraka. You have wakened the evil dragons. They are stealing the eggs of the good dragons. But the door remains closed, the Foundation Stone has been blocked by self-sacrificing love. And that was your mistake. For now, by your entry into
our
plane, you have made it possible for us to enter
yours!
I cannot reach you yet … you cannot reach me.… But the time will come … the time will come.…
    “Are you unwell, Master?” came a frightened voice near him. “I am sorry we could not prevent them from harming you, but you moved too swiftly! Please, forgive us. Let us help—”
    “There is nothing you can do!” Raistlin snarled, coughing. He felt the pain in his chest ease. “Leave me a moment.… Let me rest. Drive these others out of here.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    Closing his eyes, waiting for the horrible dizziness and pain to pass, Raistlin sat for an hour in the darkness, going over his plans in his mind. He needed two weeks of unbroken rest and study to prepare himself. That time he would find here easily enough. Crysania was his—she would follow himwillingly, eagerly in fact, calling down the power of Paladine to assist him in opening the Portal and fighting the dread Guardians beyond.
    He had the knowledge of Fistandantilus, knowledge accumulated by the mage over the ages. He had his own knowledge, too, plus