'You shouldn't, of course,' said the voice.
'Then why are helping us? What is your reason? Is this a trap?'
'It could be. What choice do you have?'
'None,' said Nikol, her voice suddenly gentle. 'Yet I believe you. I trust you.'
'And why should you do that, Lady?' The voice was bitter, mocking.
'Because of what you said about twins. One weak, the other strong…'
The stranger was silent a long moment. Michael might have thought the man had left them, but for the rasping breathing of sickness-racked lungs.
'My reason for helping you is one you would not understand. Let us say simply that Akar has been promised that which is rightfully mine. I intend to see he does not acquire it. Will you come or not? You must hurry! The Night of Doom approaches. You have very little time.'
'I will go,' said Nikol. 'I will follow where you lead, though it cost me my life!'
'And you, Brother?' said the wizard softly. 'Will you walk with me? The woman has pledged her life. For you, as you surmise, the cost will be greater. Will you pledge your soul?'
'No, Michael, don't!' Nikol said, interrupting the cleric's answer. 'Go back. This is not your battle. It is mine. I would not have you sacrifice yourself for us.'
'What's the matter, my lady?' snapped Michael, suddenly, irrationally angry. 'Don't you think I love Nicholas as well as you? Or perhaps you think I don't have a right to love him or anyone else in your family? Well, my lady, I do love! And I choose to go with you.'
He heard her sharp intake of breath, the jingle of armor, her body stiffening.
'The decision is yours, of course, Brother,' she said in a low voice. She reached out to hold the mage's arm.
The wizard made a raspy sound that might have been a laugh. 'Truly, you ARE blind!'
Michael reached out, and his hand closed over the wizard's arm — as thin, frail, and fragile as the bones of a bird. Fever burned in the skin; the sensation of touching the mage was an unpleasant one.
'What is your name, sir?' Michael asked coldly.
The wizard did not immediately answer. Michael was startled to feel the arm he held flinch, as if the question was a painful one.
'I am… Raistlin.'
The name meant nothing to Michael. He assumed, from the wizard's hesitation, that he'd given them a false one.
The mage led them forward into a darkness that grew impossibly darker, as he had warned. They walked as fast as they dared, not entirely trusting him, yet holding tightly to his guiding arm, listening to the rustle of his robes, the soft tapping sound of his staff.
In their nostrils was the smell of roses and of death.
Part VII
No harm befell them. They began to trust Raistlin and, as their trust increased, they started to move with incredible speed. Michael's feet barely skimmed the ground. A chill wind blasted in his face, stung his blind eyes. Branches scratched his cheek, tore his hair. Thorns and brambles caught at his robes. He pictured vividly what it would be like to smash headlong, at this speed, into tree or rock, or hurtle into some boulder-strewn chasm. He grasped harder the mage's frail-boned body.
Michael had no idea how long they traveled through the darkness. It might have been the span of a heartbeat, or it might have been eons. He wondered how much longer he could keep going, for though it didn't seem that he exerted himself, his body was growing more and more fatigued. He was forced to lean heavily on the mage's shoulder, wondered that such a frail body could support his own. His limbs were stones; he could barely move them. His feet stumbled. He tripped, lost his grip on Raistlin, and fell.
Sobbing for breath, Michael started to try to regain his footing. He lifted his head and stared.
Before him stood a building, a structure of beauty and simplicity and elegance. Columns of black, white, and red marble supported a domed roof whose shining exterior was a mirror for the night sky. Reflected in it, the constellations wheeled about its center. The two dragons, Paladine and the Queen of Darkness, each kept careful watch upon the other; in the middle, Gilean, the book of life, turned; around them wheeled the rest of the gods — good, neutral, evil.
A bridge of shining starlight burst, gleaming, from beneath the dome. The bridge spanned up and over the temple, extended to the night sky. An open door appeared in the starlit blackness. Beyond it, strange suns burned fiery red and yellow against deep blackness. Strange planets circled around them.
The beauty of the vision made Michael weep, and only when he felt the tears cold on his cheek did it occur to him that he could see again, that his sight was restored.
When he realized he could see, he noticed a dark shape mar the radiance of the temple.
A mage in black robes, tall and powerfully built, was untying the hands and feet of another man, lying in a horsedrawn cart. They stood in deep shadow. The black-robed mage could barely be seen, a shape of darkness against night, but the light of the temple fell on the face of the man in the cart. The young face was pale, drawn with pain and suffering. Sweat glistened on the pallid skin.
Michael could see Raistlin now as well, and the healer was considerably astonished to note how young the wizard appeared. Young and weak and ill. The thin face was blanched; feverish spots burned in the cheeks. His breathing was shallow and raspy. He leaned on a wooden staff, the top of which was adorned by a dragon's claw clutching a faceted crystal. Soft, pale light shone from the crystal, glittered in the mage's cold brown eyes.
Odd, thought Michael. I could have sworn they were the shape of hourglasses.
'Nicholas!' cried Nikol.
She would have run to him, but Raistlin grasped her tightly by the wrist and held her fast.
Nikol had been her brother's partner and equal in all his sports and training. She was as tall as Raistlin and was far stronger physically. Michael expected her to break the wizard's weak hold easily, and the cleric steeled himself to try to stop her impetuous rush to what undoubtedly would be her death.
Already, the other wizard, the one called Akar, had paused in his work and was peering about in alarm.
'What was that? Who is there?' he called in a deep, harsh bellow.
The thin, frail hand of Raistlin remained closed over the woman's wrist. Nikol gasped in pain. She seemed to shrink in his grasp.
'Make no sound!' he breathed. 'If he knows we are here, all is lost!'
Raistlin dragged the young woman back into the shadows of the blackened, burned trees. Michael accompanied them reluctantly, unable to wrench his rapt gaze from the radiant splendor of the shining temple and the wonderful bridge that soon would take him away from pain and suffering, despair and fear.
'You're hurting me,' Nikol whispered, trying ineffectually to pull away. 'Let me go!'
'You would be hurt far worse than this if I did,' said Raistlin grimly. 'Akar is powerful and will not hesitate to destroy you if you interfere in his plans.'
Nikol cast a stricken glance at her brother. Akar, apparently deciding he'd been hearing things, had returned to his work. He took rough hold of the young man, pulled him from the cart, and dumped the knight on the ground. Nicholas cried out in agony.
'Soon your torment will be ended, Sir Knight,' said Akar, rubbing his hands on his robes to cleanse them of blood.
Akar removed an object from his belt, held it up to the light. Steel glinted, bright and sharp. He inspected the dagger and thrust it back into his belt with a grunt of satisfaction. He bent down, started to lift the knight by the ankles, intending to once again haul him over the ground.
Nicholas struck out; his feet knocked the wizard backward. Caught off guard, astonished that his feeble victim should have fight left in him, Akar stumbled, off balance. He tripped on the hem of his robe and fell heavily.
Nicholas began, pitifully, to try to crawl away, to lose himself in the hideous darkness from which he had come.
