He had heard this chamber described to him only twice—once by Caramon and once by Tanis Half-Elven. 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 not even Tanis could 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. Gray dust lay thick on the floor—no skittering mice feet had disturbed its drifted surface—as smooth and trackless as new fallen 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 floor or the huge, stone table. Remembering rumors of his uncle’s experiments in creating life, Palin gave them a glance and 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.
He 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, wondering 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 against a walclass="underline" 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, hardly daring to breathe, fearful that the light might go out in an instant, he drew nearer the staff.
Given to Raistlin by the wizard Par-Salian when the young mage had successfully completed his test, 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 uncle’s 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 dry and aching, his heart beating so that 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, and 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 on love.
So Raistlin was able to persuade Crysania, the Revered Daughter of Paladine, to act with him to open the portal. 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, and he leaned 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 dreadful rainbow.
Palin ... help me...
Palin’s hand closed of its own volition over the golden drawstring. He had no conscious thought of moving his fingers, yet found himself holding on to 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, and no lights flashed. Perhaps Dalamar and his father had given up. Or perhaps the Guardians had attacked them....