“Then keep her here!” Ladonna said scornfully. “That seems simple enough.”
Par-Salian shook his head. “He would simply return for her. And—by then he will have the magic. He will have the power to do what he chooses.”
“Kill her.”
“That has been tried and failed. Besides, could even you, with your arts, kill her while she is under Paladine’s protection!”
“Perhaps the god will prevent her going, then?”
“No. The augury I cast was neutral. Paladine has left the matter in our hands. Crysania is nothing but a vegetable here, nor will ever be anything more, since none alive today have the power to restore her. Perhaps Paladine intends her to die in a place and time where her death will have meaning so that she may fulfill her life’s cycle.”
“So you will send her to her death,” Ladonna murmured, looking at Par-Salian in amazement. “Your white robes will be stained red with blood, my old friend.”
Par-Salian slammed his hands upon the table, his face contorted in agony. “I don’t enjoy this, damn it! But what can I do? Can’t you see the position I’m in? Who sits now as the Head of the Black Robes?”
“I do,” Ladonna replied.
“Who sits as the Head if he returns victorious?”
Ladonna frowned and did not answer.
“Precisely. My days are numbered, Ladonna. I know that. Oh”—he gestured—“my powers are still great. Perhaps they have never been greater. But every morning when I awake, I feel the fear. Will today be the day it fails? Every time I have trouble recalling a spell, I shiver. Someday, I know, I will not be able to remember the correct words.” He closed his eyes. “I am tired, Ladonna, very tired. I want to do nothing more than stay in this room, near this warm fire, and record in these books the knowledge I have acquired through the years. Yet I dare not step down now, for I know who would take my place.”
The old mage sighed. “I will choose my successor, Ladonna,” he said softly. “I will not have my position wrested from my hands. My stake in this is greater than any of yours.”
“Perhaps not,” Ladonna said, staring at the flames. “If he returns victorious, there will no longer be a Conclave. We shall all be his servants.” Her hand clenched. “I still oppose this, Par-Salian! The danger is too great! Let her remain here, let Raistlin learn what he can from Fistandantilus. We can deal with him when he returns! He is powerful, of course, but it will take him years to master the arts that Fistandantilus knew when he died! We can use that time to arm ourselves against him! We can—”
There was rustling in the shadows of the room. Ladonna started and turned, her hand darting immediately to a hidden pocket in her robe.
“Hold, Ladonna,” said a mild voice. “You need not waste your energies on a shield spell. I am no Creature from Beyond, as Par-Salian has already stated.” The figure stepped into the light of the fire, its red robes gleaming softly.
Ladonna settled back with a sigh, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes that would have made an apprentice start back in alarm. “No, Justarius,” she said coolly, “you are no Creature from Beyond. So you managed to hide yourself from me? How clever you have become, Red Robe.” Twisting around in her chair, she regarded Par-Salian with scorn. “You are getting old, my friend, if you required help to deal with me!”
“Oh, I’m sure Par-Salian is just as surprised to see me here as you are, Ladonna,” Justarius stated. Wrapping his red robes around him, he walked slowly forward to sit down in another chair before Par-Salian’s desk. He limped as he walked, his left foot dragging the ground. Raistlin was not the only mage ever injured in the Test.
Justarius smiled. “Though the Great One has become quite adept at hiding his feelings,” he added.
“I was aware of you,” Par-Salian said softly. “You know me better than that, my friend.”
Justarius shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I was interested in hearing what you had to say to Ladonna—”
“I would have said the same to you.”
“Probably less, for I would not have argued as she has. I agree with you, I have from the beginning. But that is because we know the truth, you and I.”
“What truth?” Ladonna repeated. Her gaze went from Justarius to Par-Salian, her eyes dilating with anger.
“You will have to show her,” Justarius said, still in the same mild voice. “She will not be convinced otherwise. Prove to her how great the danger is.”
“You will show me nothing!” Ladonna said, her voice shaking. “I would believe nothing you two devised—”
“Then let her do it herself,” Justarius suggested, shrugging.
Par-Salian frowned, then—scowling—he shoved the crystal prism upon the desk toward her. He pointed. “The staff in the corner belonged to Fistandantilus—the greatest, most powerful wizard who has ever lived. Cast a Spell of Seeing, Ladonna. Look at the staff.”
Ladonna touched the prism hesitantly, her glance moving suspiciously once more from Par-Salian to Justarius, then back.
“Go ahead!” Par-Salian snapped. “I have not tampered with it.” His gray eyebrows came together. “You know I cannot lie to you, Ladonna.”
“Though you may lie to others,” Justarius said softly.
Par-Salian cast the red-robed mage an angry look but did not reply.
Ladonna picked up the crystal with sudden resolution. Holding it in her hand, she raised it to her eyes, chanting words that sounded harsh and sharp. A rainbow of light beamed from the prism to the plain wooden staff that leaned up against the wall in a dark corner of the study. The rainbow expanded as it welled out from the crystal to encompass the entire staff. Then it wavered and coalesced, forming into the shimmering image of the owner of the staff.
Ladonna stared at the image for long moments, then slowly lowered the prism from her eye. The moment she withdrew her concentration from it, the image vanished, the rainbow light winked out. Her face was pale.
“Well, Ladonna,” Par-Salian asked quietly, after a moment. “Do we go ahead?”
“Let me see the Time Travel spell,” she said, her voice taut.
Par-Salian made an impatient gesture. “You know that is not possible, Ladonna! Only the Masters of the Tower may know this spell—”
“I am within my rights to see the description, at least,” Ladonna returned coldly. “Hide the components and the words from my sight, if you will. But I demand to see the expected results.” Her expression hardened. “Forgive me if I do not trust you, old friend, as I might once have done. But your robes seem to be turning as gray as your hair.”
Justarius smiled, as if this amused him.
Par-Salian sat for a moment, irresolute.
“Tomorrow morning, friend,” Justarius murmured.
Angrily, Par-Salian rose to his feet. Reaching beneath his robes, he drew forth a silver key that he wore around his neck on a silver chain—the key that only the Master of a Tower of High Sorcery may use. Once there were five, now only two remained. As Par-Salian took the key from around his neck and inserted it into an ornately carved wooden chest standing near his desk, all three mages present were wondering silently if Raistlin was—even now—doing the same thing with the key he possessed, perhaps even drawing out the same spellbook, bound in silver. Perhaps even turning slowly and reverently through the same pages, casting his gaze upon the spells known only to the Masters of the Towers.
Par-Salian opened the book, first muttering the prescribed words that only the Masters know. If he had not, the book would have vanished from beneath his hand. Arriving at the correct page, he lifted the prism from where Ladonna had set it, then held it above the page, repeating the same harsh, sharp words Ladonna had used.