Dragonlance 04 - Time of the Twins Read Free Page B

he destroy me?" he repeated. "Lightning bolts? Flood and fire? Perhaps another fiery mountain?"

    He took another step toward her. Crysania moved coolly away from him, only to back into her chair. Gripping the hard wooden back firmly, she walked around it, then turned to face him.

    "It is your own doom you mock," she replied quietly.

    Raistlin's lip twisted further still, but he continued talking, as if he had not heard her words. "Elistan?" Raistlin's voice sank to a hissing whisper. "He will send Elistan to destroy me?" The mage shrugged. "But no, surely not. By all reports, the great and holy cleric of Paladine is tired, feeble, dying . . ."

    "No!" Crysania cried, then bit her lip, angry that this man had goaded her into showing her feelings. She paused, drawing a deep breath. "Paladine's ways are not to be questioned or mocked," she said with icelike calm, but she could not help her voice from softening almost imperceptibly."And Elistan's health is no concern of yours."

    "Perhaps I take a greater interest in his health than you realize," Raistlin replied with what was, to Crysania, a sneering smile.

    Crysania felt blood pound in her temples. Even as he had spoken, the mage moved around the chair, coming nearer the young woman. He was so close to her now that Crysania could feel a strange, unnatural heat radiate from his body through his black robes. She could smell a faintly cloying but pleasant scent about him. A spiciness—His spell components, she realized suddenly. The thought sickened and disgusted her. Holding the medallion of Paladine in her hand, feeling its smoothly chiseled edges bite into her flesh, she moved away from him again.

    "Paladine came to me in a dream—” she said haughtily.

    Raistlin laughed.

    Few there were who had ever heard the mage laugh, and those who had heard it remembered it always, resounding through their darkest dreams. It was thin, high-pitched, and sharp as a blade. It denied all goodness, mocked everything right and true, and it pierced Crysania's soul.

    "Very well," Crysania said, staring at him with a disdain that hardened her bright, gray eyes to steel blue, "I have done my best to divert you from this course. I have given you fair warning. Your destruction is now in the hands of the gods."

    Suddenly, perhaps realizing the fearlessness with which she confronted him, Raistlin’s laughter ceased.Regarding her intently, his golden eyes narrowed. Then he smiled, a secret inner smile of such strange joy that Astinus, watching the exchange between the two, rose to his feet. The historian's body blocked the light of the fire. His shadow fell across them both. Raistlin started, almost in alarm.Half-turning, he regarded Astinus with a burning, menacing stare.

    "Beware, old friend," the mage warned, "or would you meddle with history?"

    "I do not meddle," Astinus replied, "as you well know. I am an observer, a recorder. In all things, I am neutral. I know your schemes, your plans as I know the schemes and plans of all who draw breath this day. Therefore, hear me, Raistlin Majere, and heed this warning. This one is beloved of the gods—as her name implies."

    "Beloved of the gods? So are we all, are we not, Revered Daughter?" Raistlin asked, turning to face Crysania once more. His voice was soft as the velvet of his robes. "Is that not written in the Disks of Mishakall Is that not what the godly Elistan teaches?"

    "Yes," Crysania said slowly, regarding him with suspicion, expecting more mockery. But his metallic face was serious, he had the appearance, suddenly, of a scholar—intelligent, wise. "So it is written." She smiled coldly. "I am pleased to find you have read the sacred Disks, though you obviously have not learned from them. Do you not recall what is said in the—”

    She was interrupted by Astinus, snorting.

    "I have been kept from my studies long enough." The historian crossed the marble floor to the door of the antechamber. "Ring for Bertrem when you are ready