“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 specter. “But who is this? The young one? Him I do not know....”
“C’mon, Palin,” Caramon ordered 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 specter, which was staring at him strangely.
“Wait!” the specter 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, pulling 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 understood 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 was 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 upon the first step, his eyes on the specter, which floated 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 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. Palin’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 make him proud of me as he is proud of them. 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 and ranked themselves around him.
“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 pallid hand. 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 specter and, his hand shaking with fear and excitement, finally managed to insert the silver key into the ornate silver 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.
Chapter Seven
Palin 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 dark ness. 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 smote it.
The thick oaken door shivered, and 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.