The Magic Of Krynn (32 page)

FOR ME, THE GATES WILL OPEN. . . .

Palin whispered the words to himself as he climbed the dark and winding stairs. Night had
stolen in upon Palanthas, sealing the city in darkness, deepening the perpetual darkness
that hung about the Tower of High Sorcery. Solinari, the silver moon beloved of Pala-dine,
shone in the sky, but its white rays did not touch the Tower. Tjiose inside gazed upon
another moon, a dark moon, a moon only their eyes could see.

The stone stairs were pitch-black. Though Cara-mon carried a torch, its feeble, wavering
flame was overwhelmed by the darkness. Groping his way up the stairs, Palin stumbled more
than once. Each time, his heart pulsed painfully, and he pressed himself close against the
chill wall, closing his eyes. The core of the Tower was a hollow shaft. The stairs
ascended it in a dizzying spiral, protruding from the wall like the bones of some dead
animal.

“You are safe, young one,” Dalamar said, his hand on Palin's arm. “This was designed to
discourage unwelcome intruders. The magic protects us. Don't look down. It will be easier.”

“Why did we have to walk?” Palin asked, stopping to catching his breath. Young as he was,
the steep climb had

taken its toll. His legs ached, his lungs burned. He could only imagine what his father
must be feeling. Even the dark elf appeared to be at a loss for breath, though Dalamar's
face was cold and impassive as ever. “Couldn't we have used magic?”

“I will not waste my energies,” Dalamar replied. “Not on this night of all nights.”

Seeing the slanted eyes observing him coolly, Palin said nothing, but began climbing
again, keeping his eyes staring straight ahead and upward.

“There is our destination.” Dalamar pointed. Looking up the stairs, Palin saw a small
doorway.

FOR ME, THE GATES WILL OPEN. . . .

Raistlin's words. Palin's fear began to subside, ex- citement surged through him. His
steps quickened. Behind him, he heard Dalamar's light tread and his father's heavier one.
He could also hear Caramon's labored breathing, and felt a twinge of remorse.

“Do you want to rest, father?” he asked, stopping.

“No,” Caramon grunted. “Let's get this foolishness over with. Then we can go home.”

His voice was gruff, but Palin heard a strange note in it, a note he had never heard
before. Turning slowly around to face the door, Palin knew it for what it was-fear. His
father was afraid. Palin knew then a secret feeling of joy- one his uncle must have known.
His father. Hero of the Lance, the strongest man he knew, who could-even now- wrestle the
brawny Tanin to the ground and disarm the skilled swordsman, Sturm. His father was
frightened, frightened of the magic.

He is afraid, Palin realized, and I am not! Closing his eyes, Palin leaned back against
the chill wall of the Tower and, for the first time in his life, gave himself up to the
magic. He felt it bum in his blood, caress his skin. The words it whispered were of
welcome, of invitation. His body trembled with the ecstasy of the magic and, opening his
eyes, Palin saw his exultation reflected in the dark elf's glittering gaze.

“Now you taste the power!” Dalamar whispered. “Go forward, Palin, go forward.”

Smiling to himself, cocooned in the warmth of his euphoria, Palin climbed the stairs
rapidly, all fear forgotten. For him, the door would open. He had no doubts. Why or by
whose hand, he

did not speculate. It did not matter. Finally, he would be inside the ancient laboratory
where some of the greatest magic upon Krynn had been performed. He would see the
spellbooks of the legendary Fistandantilus, the spellbooks of his uncle. He would see the
great and terrible Portal that led from this world into the Abyss. And he would see the
famed Staff of Magius. . . .

Palin had long dreamed of his uncle's staff. Of all Raistlin's arcane treasures-this
intrigued Palin most. Perhaps because he had seen it portrayed so often in paintings or
because it always figured prominently in legend and song. Palin even owned one such
painting of Raistlin in his black robes, the Staff of Magius in his hand, battling the
Queen of Darkness. If my uncle had lived to teach me, and I had been worthy of him,
perhaps he might have given me the staff, Palin thought wistfully every time he looked at
the painting of the wooden staff with its golden dragon claw clutching a shining, faceted,
crystal ball.

Now I will get to see it, perhaps even hold it! Palin shivered in delicious anticipation
at the thought. And what else will we find in the laboratory? he wondered. What will we
see when we look into the Portal?

“All will be as my father said,” Palin whispered, feeling a momentary pang. “Raistlin is
at rest. It must be! Father would be hurt, so terribly hurt otherwise. . . .”

If Palin's heart was whispering other words, the young man ignored them. His uncle was
dead. His father had said so. Nothing else was possible, nothing else was to be wished
for. . . .

“Stop!” hissed Dalamar, his hand closing about Palin's arm.

Starting, Palin halted. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he had scarcely noticed where
he was. Now he saw that they had come to a large landing, located directly below the
laboratory door. Looking up the short flight of stairs that led to it, Palin drew in his
breath with a gasp. Two cold, white eyes stared at them out of the darkness-eyes without a
body, unless the darkness itself was their flesh and blood and bone. Falling back a step,
Palin stumbled into Dalamar.

“Steady, young one,” the dark elf commanded, supporting Palin. “It is the Guardian.”

Behind them, the torchlight wavered. “I remember them,” Caramon said hoarsely. “They can
kill you with a touch!”

“Living beings,” came the spectre's hollow voice, “I smell your warm blood, I hear your
hearts beating. Come forward. You awaken my hunger!”

Shoving Palin to one side, Dalamar stepped in front of him.

The white eyes glistened for an instant, then lowered in homage. "Master of the Tower. I
did not sense your presence. It has

been long since you have visited this place.“ ”Your vigil remains undisturbed?“ Dalamar
asked. ”None have

tried to enter?“ ”Do you see their bones upon the floors? Surely you would, if

any dared disobey your command.“ ”Excellent,“ Dalamar said. ”Now, I give you a new command.

Give me the key to the lock. Then stand aside, and let us pass." The white eyes flared
open, a pale, eager light shining from

them. “That cannot be. Master of the Tower.” “Why not?” Dalamar asked coolly. His hands
folded in the

sleeves of his black robes, he glanced at Caramon as he spoke. "Your command. Master, was
to Take this key and keep it for all

eternity. Give it to no one,' you said, 'not even myself. And from this moment on, your
place is to guard this door. No one is to enter. Let death be swift for those who try.'
Thus were your words to me, Master, and-as you see-I obey them."

Dalamar nodded his hooded head. “Do you?” he murmured, taking a step forward. Palin caught
his breath, seeing the white eyes glow even more brightly. “What will you do if I come up
there?”

“Your magic is powerful. Master,” said the spectre, the disembodied eyes drifting nearer
Dalamar, “but it can have no effect on me. There was only one who had THAT power-”

“Yes,” said Dalamar irritably, hesitating, his foot upon the first stair.

“Do not come closer. Master,” the eyes warned, though Palin could see them shining with a
lust that brought sudden visions of cold lips touching his cringing flesh, drinking away
his life. Shuddering, he sagged back against the wall. The warm feeling was gone, replaced
by the chill of this horrible creature, the chill of death and disappointment. He felt
nothing inside now, just empty and cold. Perhaps I will give it up, it isn't worth it.
Palin's head drooped. Then his father's hand was on his shoulder, his father's voice
echoing his thoughts.

“Come, Palin,” Caramon said wearily. 'This has all been for nothing. Let's go home-"

“Wait!” The gaze of the disembodied eyes shifted from the dark elf to the two figures that
huddled behind him. “Who are these? One I recognize-”

“Yes,” said Caramon, his voice low, "you've seen me before-

“ ”His brother,“ murmured the spectre. ”But who is this? The

young one. Him I do NOT know. . . .“ ”C'mon, Palin," Caramon said gruffly, casting a
fearful glance at

the eyes. “We've got a long journey-” Caramon's arm encircled Palin's shoulders. The young
man felt

his father's gentle urging and tried to turn away. But his gaze was fixed on the spectre,
who was staring at him strangely.

“Wait!” the spectre commanded again, its hollow voice ringing through the darkness. Even
the whispers fell silent at its command. “Palin?” it murmured softly, speaking
questioningly, it seemed, to itself ... or to someone else. . . .

A decision was reached, apparently, because the voice became firm. “Palin. Come forward.”

“No!” Caramon grasped his son.

“Let him go!” Dalamar ordered, glancing around with a furious look. “I told you this might
happen! It is our chance!” He gazed coldly at Caramon. “Or are you afraid of what you
might find?”

“I am not!” Caramon returned in a choked voice. “Raistlin is dead! I have seen him at
peace! I don't trust you mages! You're not going to take my son from me!”

Palin could feel his father's body trembling near his, he could see the anguish in his
father's eyes. Compassion and pity stirred within the young man. There was a brief longing
to stay safe within his father's strong, sheltering arms. But these feelings were burned
away by a hot anger that surged up from somewhere inside of him, an anger kindled by the
magic.

“Did you give Tanin a sword, then bid him break it?” Palin demanded, breaking free of his
father's grip. “Did you give Sturm a shield and tell him to hide behind it? Oh, I know!”
Palin snapped, seeing Caramon, his face flushed, about to speak. “THAT is different. THAT
is something you understand. You've never un- derstood me, have you. Father? How many
years was it before I persuaded you to let me go to school, to study with the Master who
had taught my uncle? When you finally relented, I was the oldest beginning student there!
For years, I w.as behind the others, working to catch up. And all the time, I could sense
you and mother watching me anxiously. I could hear you talking at night, saying that maybe
I'd outgrown this 'fancy.' Fancy!” Palin's voice grew agonized. “Can't you see? The magic
is my LIFE! My LOVE!”

“No, Palin, don't say that!” Caramon cried, his voice breaking.

“Why not? Because I sound like my uncle? You never understood him, either! You aren't
intending to let me take the Test, are you. Father?” ' Caramon stood without moving,
refusing to answer, staring grimly into the darkness.

“No,” said Palin softly. “You aren't. You're going to do everything in your power to stop
me. Maybe even this!” The young man turned to look at Dalamar suspiciously. “Maybe this is
some foul stew you and your friends here have cooked up to feed to me so that I'll quit!
It gives you all the perfect excuse! Well, it won't work.” Palin's cold gaze went from
Dalamar to his father. “I hope you choke on it!”

Stepping past the dark elf, Palin put his foot on the first step, his eyes on the spectre
above him.

“Come, Palin”-a pallid hand appeared from nowhere, beckoning-“come closer.”

“NO!” Caramon screamed in rage, jumping forward. “I will do this, Father!” Palin took
another step. Caramon reached out his hand to grasp his son. There came a

spoken word of magic, and the big man was frozen to the stone floor. “You must not
interfere,” Dalamar said sternly.

Glancing back, Palin saw his father-tears streaming down his face-still struggling in
impotent fury to break free of the spell that bound him. For a moment, Palin's heart
misgave him. His father loved him. . . . No. Palm's lips tightened in resolution. All the
more reason for letting me go. I will prove to him I am as strong as Tanin and Sturm. I
will show him I am not a child, needing his protection.

Palin saw Dalamar start to ascend the stairs behind him. But then the dark elf himself
came to a halt as two more pairs of disembodied eyes suddenly materialized out of the
darkness.

“What is this?” Dalamar demanded furiously. “Do you dare stop me-the Master of the Tower?”

“There is only one true Master of the Tower,” the Guardian said softly. “He who came to us
long ago. For him, the gates opened.”

As the Guardian spoke, it held out its hand to Palin. A silver key lay within its skeletal
palm.

“Palin!” Dalamar shouted, fear and anger tightening his voice. “Don't enter alone! You
know nothing of the Art! You have not taken the Test! You cannot fight him! You could
destroy us all!”

“Palin!” Caramon begged in agony. “Palin, come home! Can't you understand? I love you so
much, my son! I can't lose you- not like I lost him. . . .”

The voices dinned in his ears, but Palin didn't hear them. He heard another voice, a soft,
shattered voice whispering in his heart. “Come to me, Palin! I need you! I need your help
. . .”

A thrill tingled in his blood. Reaching out, Palin took the key from the spectre and, his
hand shaking with fear and excitement, finally managed to insert the silver key into the
ornate silver door lock.

There was a sharp click. Placing the tips of his five fingers on the oaken panel, Palin
gave a gentle push.

For him, the door opened.

Palm entered the dark laboratory, slowly, exultantly, his body shaking in excitement. He
glanced back to see if Dalamar was behind him (to gloat a little, if the truth must be
told) when the door slammed shut. There was a click, a snap. Sudden fear assailed Palin,
trapped alone in the darkness. Frantically, he groped for the silver door handle, his
fingers trying desperately to fit the key in the lock-a key that vanished in his hand.

“Palin!” On the other side of the door, he heard his father's frantic shout, but it
sounded muffled and far away. There was a scuffling sound outside the door, muttered words
of chanting and then a thud, as though something heavy had struck it.

The thick oaken door shivered, light flared from beneath it.

“Dalamar's cast a spell,” Palin said to himself, backing up. The thud was probably his
father's broad shoulder. Nothing happened. From somewhere behind him, Palin noticed a
faint light beginning to glow in the laboratory. His fear diminished. Shrugging, the young
man turned away. Nothing they did could open that door. He knew that, somehow, and he
smiled. For the first time in his life he was doing something on his own, without father
or brothers or Master around to “help.” The thought was exhilarating. Sighing with
pleasure, Palin relaxed and looked around, a tingle of joy surging through his body.

He had heard this chamber described to him only twice-once by Caramon and once by Tanis
HalfElven. Caramon never spoke about what had happened that day in this laboratory, the
day his twin had died. It had been only after much pleading on Palin's part that his
father had told him the story at all-and then only in brief, halting words. Caramon's best
friend, Tanis, had been more elaborate, though there were parts of the bittersweet tale of
ambition, love, and self-sacrifice about which Tanis could not

even talk. Their descriptions had been accurate, however. The laboratory looked just as
Palin had pictured it in his dreams.

Walking slowly inside, examining every detail, Palin held his breath in reverent awe.

Nothing and no one had disturbed the great chamber in twenty-five years. As Dalamar had
said, no living being had dared enter it. The gray dust lay thick on the floor, no
skittering mice feet disturbed its drifted surface, as smooth and trackless as newfallen
snow. The dust sifted from the window ledges where no spider spun its web, no bat flapped
its leathery wings in anger at being awakened.

The size of the chamber was difficult to determine. At first, Palin had thought it small,
logic telling him it couldn't be very large, located as it was at the top of the Tower.
But the longer he stayed, the larger the chamber seemed to grow.

“Or is it me that grows smaller?” Palin whispered. “I am not even a mage. I don't belong
here,” said his mind. But his heart answered, “You never really belonged anywhere else. .
. .”

The air was heavy with the odors of mildew and dust. There lingered still a faint spicy
smell, familiar to the young man. Palin saw the light glint off rows of jars filled with
dried leaves, rose petals, and other herbs and spices lining one wall. Spell components.
There was another smell, too; this one not so pleasant-the smell of decay, of death. The
skeletons of strange and unfamiliar creatures lay curled at the bottoms of several large
jars on the huge, stone table. Remembering rumors of his uncle's experiments in creating
life, Palin looked hurriedly away.

He examined the stone table, with its runes and polished surface. Had it really been
dragged from the bottom of the sea as legend told? Palin wondered, running his fingers
lovingly over the smooth top, leaving behind a spidery trail in the dust. His hand touched
the high stool next to the table. The young man could picture his uncle sitting here,
working, reading. . . .

Palin's gaze went to the rows of spellbooks lining shelf after shelf along one entire wall
of the chamber. His heart beat faster as he approached them, recognizing them from his
father's description. The ones with the nightblue bindings and silver runes were the books
of the great archmage, Fistandantilus. A whispering chill flowed from them. Palin shivered
and stopped, afraid to go nearer, though his hands twitched to touch them.

He dared not, however. Only mages of the highest ranking could even open the books, much
less read the spells recorded therein. If he tried it, the binding would burn his skin,
just as the

words would burn his mind-eventually driving him mad. Sighing with bitter regret, Palin
turned his gaze to another row of other spellbooks, these black with silver runes-his
uncle's.

He was wondering if he should try to read, what would happen if he did, and was just
starting to examine them closer when he noticed, for the first time, the source of the
light illuminating the laboratory.

“His staff!” he whispered.

It stood in a corner, leaning up against a wall. The Staff of Magius. Its magical crystal
burned with a cold, pale light, like the light from Solinari, Palin thought. Tears of
longing filled his eyes and ran, unheeded, down his cheeks. Blinking them back so that he
could see, he drew nearer the staff, hardly daring to breathe, fearful the light might go
out in an instant.

Given to Raistlin when he successfully completed his Test by the wizard, Par-Salian, the
staff possessed untold magical power. It could cast light at a word of command, Palin
recalled. According to legend, however, no hand but his uncle's could touch the staff or
the light would extinguish.

“But my father held it,” Palin said softly. “He used it-with my dying uncles help-to close
the Portal and prevent the Dark Queen from entering the world. Then the light went out and
nothing anyone said could make it glow again.”

But it was glowing now. . . .

His throat aching, his heart beating so it made him short of breath, Palin reached out a
trembling hand toward the staff. If the light failed, he would be left alone, trapped, in
the smothering darkness.

His fingertips brushed the wood. The light gleamed brightly. Palin's cold fingers closed
around the staff, grasping it firmly.

The crystal burned brighter still, shedding its pure radiance over him, his white robes
glowed molten silver. Lifting the staff from its corner, Palin looked at it in rapture and
saw, as he moved it, that its beam grew concentrated, sending a shaft of light into a
distant corner of the laboratory-a corner that had previously stood in deepest darkness.

Walking nearer, the young man saw the light illuminate a heavy curtain of purple velvet
hanging from the ceiling. The tears froze on Palin's face, a chill shook his body. He had
no need to pull the golden, silken cord that hung beside the velvet, no need to draw aside
those curtains to know what lay behind.

The Portal.

Created long ago by wizards greedy for knowledge, the Portals had led them to their own
doom-into the realms of the gods. Knowing what terrible consequences this could have for
the unwary, the wise among all three Orders of wizards came together and closed them as
best they could, decreeing that only a powerful archmage of the Black Robes and a holy
cleric of Paladine acting together could cause the Portal to open. They believed, in their
wisdom, that this unlikely combination could never come about. But they had not counted
upon love.

So Raistlin was able to persuade Crysania, the Revered Daughter of Paladine, to act with
him to open the Portal. So he had entered and challenged the Queen of Darkness, thinking
to rule in her stead. The consequences of such ambition in a human would have been
disastrous-the destruction of the world. Knowing this, his twin brother, Caramon, had
risked all to enter the Abyss and stop Raistlin. He had done so, but only with his twin's
assistance. Realizing his tragic mistake, Raistlin had sacrificed himself for the
world-according to legend. He closed the Portal preventing the Queen from entering, but at
a dreadful cost. He himself was trapped upon the Other Side of this dread doorway.

Palin came nearer and nearer the curtain, drawn to it against his will. Or was he? Was it
fear making his steps falter and his body shake-or excitement?

And then he heard that whispering voice again, “Palin . . . help . . .”

It came from beyond the curtain!

Palin closed his eyes, leaning weakly upon the staff. No! It couldn't be! His father had
been so certain. . . .

Through his closed eyelids, the young man saw another light begin to glow, coming from in
front of him. Fearfully, he opened his eyes and saw the light radiating from around and
above and beneath the curtain. A multicolored light, it welled out in a fearsome rainbow.

“Palin . . . help me . . .”

Palin's hand closed over the golden drawstring of its own volition. He had no conscious
thought of moving his fingers, yet found himself holding onto the cord. Hesitating, he
looked at the staff in his hand, then glanced back behind him at the door leading into the
laboratory. The thudding had stopped, no lights flashed. Perhaps Dalamar and his father
had given up. Or perhaps the Guardians had attacked them. . . .

Palin shivered. He should go back. Abandon this. It was too dangerous. He wasn't a even a
mage! But as the thought crossed

his mind, the light from the crystal atop the staff dimmed-or so it seemed to him.

No, he thought resolutely. I must go on. I must know the truth!

Gripping the drawstring with a palm wet with sweat, he pulled it hard, watching, holding
his breath as the curtain slowly lifted, rising upward in shimmering folds.

The light grew more and more brilliant as the curtain lifted, dazzling him. Raising his
hand to shade his eyes, Palin stared in awe at the magnificent, fearful sight. The Portal
was a black void surrounded by the five metallic dragon's heads. Carved by magic into the
likeness of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, their mouths gaped open in a silent scream of
triumph, each head glowing green, blue, red, white, or black.

The light blinded Palin. He blinked painfully and rubbed his burning eyes. The dragon's
heads only shone more brilliantly, and now he could hear them each began to chant.

The first. From DARKNESS TO DARKNESS, MY VOICE ECHOES IN THE EMPTINESS.

The second. FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT, MY VOICE CRIES WITH LIFE.

The third. FROM DARKNESS TO DARKNESS, I SHOUT. BENEATH MY FEET, ALL IS MADE FIRM.

The fourth. TIME THAT FLOWS, HOLD IN YOUR COURSE.

And finally, the last head. BECAUSE BY FATE EVEN THE GODS ARE CAST DOWN, WEEP YE ALL WITH
ME.

A magical spell, Palin realized. His vision blurred and tears streamed down his cheeks as
he attempted to see through the dazzling light into the Portal. The multicolored lights
began to whirl madly in his vision, spinning around the outside of the great, gaping,
twisting void.

Growing dizzy, Palin clutched the staff and kept his gaze on the void within the Portal.
The darkness itself moved! It began to swirl, circling around an eye of deeper darkness
within its center, like a maelstrom without substance or form. Round . . . and round . . .
and round . . . Sucking the air from the laboratory up in its mouth, sucking up the dust,
and the light of the staff. . . .

“No!” Palin cried, realizing in horror that it was sucking him in as well! Struggling, he
fought against it, but the force was irresistible. Helpless as a babe trying to stop his
own birth, Palin was drawn inside the dazzling light, the writhing darkness. The dragon's
heads shrieked a paean to their Dark

Queen. Their weight crushed Palin's body, then their talons pulled him apart, limb by
limb. Fire burst upon him, burning his flesh from his bones. Waters swirled over him, he
was drowning. He screamed without sound, though he could hear his voice. He was dying and
he was thankful he was dying for the pain would end.

His heart burst.