Part 35 (1/2)
”Stop talking in riddles!” Michael said, fear making him angry, frustrated. ”You know who you are, why you came. And we served your needs, whatever they were, since you were too weak at the end to stop Akar yourself. I think you owe us an explanation!”
”I owe you nothing!” Raistlin snapped, a flush of color mounting in the pale cheeks. ”It was I who served your needs, far more than you served mine. I could have dealt with Akar on my own. You were a convenience, that is all.”
The mage lifted his right arm. The black sleeve fell away from the thin wrist. A flash of metal gleamed cold in the sunlight. A dagger, held on by a cunning leather thong, slid into Raistlin's hand when the mage flicked his wrist. The movement was so fast that Michael could scarcely follow it.
”If she had tried to murder you,” the mage said, turningthe dagger, making it flash in the light, ”she would not have succeeded.”
”You could have slain Akar.”
”Bah! What good would that have done? He was never anything more than a tool for the Dark Queen. He was not needed, only the blood of the good and virtuous, spilled in anger.”
”You would have killed Nikol!” Michael stated in disbelief.
”Before she killed you.”
”But, then, the curse would have been fulfilled anyway. Her blood would have fallen on the bridge.”
”Ah,” said Raistlin, with a cunning smile, ”but it would no longer have been the blood of a good and virtuous person. It would have been the blood of a murderer.”
Michael stared at him, shocked. The calculating coldness of the mage appalled him.
”Go away,” he said thickly.
”I intend to. I am needed in Istar,” said Raistlin, briskly. ”Events will move fast there in these last thirteen days before the Cataclysm, and my presence is essential.”
”The Cataclysm? What is that?”
”In thirteen days' time, the G.o.ds in their wrath at the folly of men will hurl a fiery mountain down upon Ansalon. The land will be sundered, seas will rise, and mountains topple. Countless numbers will die. Countless more, who will live in the dark and terrible days to follow, will come to wish they had died.”
Michael didn't want to believe, but there was no doubting the calm voice or the strange eyes, which seemed to have witnessed these terrifying events, though they had not yet come to pa.s.s. He recalled the words of Mishakal.
HE WILL GATHER THEIR SOULS TO HIM, REMOVE.
THEM FROM A WORLD THAT SOON WILL ERUPT IN.
FIRE.
Michael looked back down at the two motionless figures, who seemed to personify the wizard's prediction: one who was dead, one who could not bear the pain of living.
”Is there no hope?” Michael asked.
”You are the only one who can answer that, my friend,” the mage responded dryly.
At first it seemed to Michael that there was no hope.
Despair would cover the world in a black tide that must drown all in its poisonous waters.
But as he looked at the brother, the cleric saw the peace and serenity on the pallid features, the knowledge of a battle well fought, a victory won. The G.o.ddess had not forsaken Michael. The Dark Queen had been defeated in her ceaseless efforts to reenter the world.
Michael, Nikol, Nicholas - three silken threads, st.i.tched together for a time. Raistlin, Akar - two more threads, crossing theirs from opposite directions. None of them could see beyond their own insignificant knots and tangles.
But in the eyes of the G.o.ds, the individual threads formed - not a tangled skein - but a beautiful tapestry. If the G.o.ds chose to rend that fabric, it would no longer be as beautiful.