Tanis the shadow years

36

"I throught I knew you." Branbella breatheb in Tanis's ear. "You do," he replied cryptically. The woman, her lips set in a thin line, gave him a suspicious glance as she wiped rain from her face. What did he mean by that7 she wondered. They trudged into the wizard's cabin, soaked to the bone; the never-ending wind and rain had slashed mercilessly at them. Fistandantilus, Brandella thought, was lucky to lack a body that could ache with cold and hunger. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she might be hallucinating all of this. After all, she was weak from lack of food and sleep, and the unrelenting weather had taken its toll.

"It's just a nightmare. I'll wake up soon," she whispered to herself.

Tanis watched Brandella worriedly. She seemed pale and ill. They had been busy for several hours doing the wizard's bidding. While storm clouds roiled overheard, they had fixed the roof of the cabin, covering it with tree branches. Next, they swept the mud and water out of the cabin, making it as dry as possible. Of course, it was still thoroughly damp, the air nearly unbreathable in its closeness despite the open door. But Fistandantilus seemed pleased.

The spell, said the mage, had to be performed in a lighted, dry place so that he was fully separated from his endlessly bleak, rain-drenched world. Clearly, thought Tanis, the wizard is afraid that the pull of Death will be too strong to escape. Tanis hoped that was so… just in case.

"Don't light the candle until I begin the spell," Fistandantilus ordered. His sibilant whisper seemed to have grown stronger. Tanis felt a ripple of fear shiver up his neck. Brandella looked increasingly strained, purple smudges darkening the nearly translucent skin beneath her eyes.

A single candle stood in its holder on a bare wooden table. The wax looked ancient yet unused, the wick charred from untold attempts to set it ablaze, standing up in seeming defiance of any flame. Next to the candle, two small black stones lay on a small pile of torn parchment.

"Look behind you on the wall," said the mage.

The dim light reflected off a small mirror in a gold frame.

"Half-elf," Fistandantilus ordered, "take the mirror and hold it in your hands-carefully." The storm increased its tempo outside. Yet despite the sound of the wind, Tanis could hear the sighing voice of the mage as though it buzzed inside his head.

Tanis went to the mirror. It was hanging at eye-level. He reached up to take it off the wall-and froze. Then he waved his hand before the shimmering piece of glass; his face was not reflected. Even when he held it at the correct angle to catch the gray light from the doorway, the mirror showed nothing. Tanis looked back at the weaver. She was shivering, holding herself erect by sheer stubbornness.

"Stop that," the mage ordered Tanis. "I told you to hold it carefully."

"Why is this mirror so important?" Tanis asked as he came to the table that held the candle.

The chill in the room deepened. "When I use the spell to send you back to Life, you will take the mirror with you," the voice explained. "It holds, by a spell, my image, the way I looked when I was alive. When it is brought back to your plane, the image will be freed and I will walk once more on Krynn."

Tanis regarded the thick, strange glass. Despite himself, he couldn't help staring into it, trying to see the face of the mage who was hidden somewhere inside.

Fistandantilus laughed without humor. "That isn't the only spell that is going to Krynn with you from this place beyond the grave. I have put a spell upon you both." Tanis noticed that Brandella was wringing her hands again; her eyes were glassy, her face blank. The mage's next words only increased the tension. "Remember: If you betray me, death will come from those who love you most. You have been warned."

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and the room turned dark. Tanis jumped, but Brandella seemed oblivious to anything but her fear.

"It is time," said Fistandantilus, excitement turning his voice painfully dissonant. "Get ready to light the candle, human."

Tanis held the mirror in one hand and groped for Brandella's hand with the other. When he found it, she pulled away. Her hand was cold as death.

The chant began so low it was almost inaudible. Slowly, the sound grew louder, the words unknown and unknowable.

Brandella fumbled next to the candle until her fingers settled on the two stones. She struck them together several times until a spark struck the torn parchment below, setting it aflame. She picked up one end of a paper fragment and, hands shaking, used it to light the candle.

The chanting grew still louder. The cabin began to quiver as if the wind outside were trying to pick the little shack off the ground and hurl it off the foothills, down to the valley below. Water and mud dripped between growing cracks in the ceiling. The dead branches crisscrossed over one section of the roof began to break apart and tumble into the room. A moan escaped the terrified weaver, but Tanis dared not comfort her.

Fistandantilus continued his chant, his own voice howling even louder than the wind.

Tanis didn't know what was breaking the cabin apart-the spell or Death trying to hold on to its victim. The forces of magic and nature were clearly at war.

No matter that the roof was collapsing, that the wind whipped through the splintering walls; the candle remained lit, the point of fire standing straight and unmov- ing, without so much as a flicker.

The magic was strong. Tanis felt a change coming. There was little time left, yet every move he made from this point on was critical. By the light of the candle, Tanis reached out and snatched Brandella by the arm. Again, she tried to pull away. But this time the half-elf would not allow it. In his heart, he knew that she might very well sacrifice herself to keep Fistandantilus from returning to Life. He did not want her to do anything that might interfere with his plans.

He was right. She fought for her freedom, kicking at him, while trying to get at the candle to snuff it out.

'Traitor!" she screamed, her face a distorted mask of hatred.

If something didn't happen soon, they might be injured by the debris falling all around them. So far, the main beams of the cabin were holding, but the land itself seemed to be shaking. From somewhere on high, a roar grew louder with every instant. Through the broken rooftop, Tanis saw, with a terrible certainty, what had caused the shattering sound. The entire top of Fistandan- tilus's dark mountain, the pinnacle that loomed high above them, had broken off and an avalanche of sulphurous blackness was crashing down right toward the cabin.

Timing was all. Tanis knew that if he made his move too soon, Fistandantilus would stop Kishpa's spell and allow them to be crushed by the avalanche. But if Tanis waited too long, if he didn't act in the instant before the spell took effect, he risked the worst of all, bringing the infamous wizard back into Life.

Tanis had to wager that Fistandantilus was fully occupied. The half-elf let himself recall what the old dragon, Softfire, had said: The wizards in Death had little use of their magic. Tanis gambled that the wizard had been bluffing, that he had no power over Brandella's sister or Tanis's mother, that his power in Death extended mainly to pyrotechnics designed to impress visitors. After all, the mage was doomed to stay in the shadows of his horrid mountain; the half-elf hoped Fistandantilus's power was far more limited than the mage had let on.

Soon Tanis would no longer have to pretend to go along with the wizard. As far as the half-elf was concerned, Fistandantilus's threat was empty and the half-elf did not fear him; he just wanted the mage to cast Kishpa's spell.

But when was the right time to act?

"Kyvorek blastene tyvvelekk winderfall!" the voice of Fistandantilus thundered. "Tylvvanus! Tylvvanus!" The voice was greater than the din of the fast-approaching avalanche, greater even than the crumbling foothills above the cabin that gave way with huge mudslides, threatening to bury them before the avalanche sealed their doom. Brandella and Tanis saw it all through the porous roof and the splintering walls. The weaver screamed and tried, again unsuccessfully, to pull away from the half-elf.

They had seconds to live. Yet Tanis waited. He sensed that Kishpa's spell was not complete. There had to be a sign, a moment-something-that would tell him that they were about to be transported back to the world of the living. But there was nothing. And Death was nearly upon them.

Brandella screamed again. The mudslide loomed like a tidal wave, poised on its crest and about to break over them. At the same moment, the avalanche smashed through the mud. There was no time left. Tanis raised his hand-the hand that held the mirror-over his head. -

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something-the candle flickered for the very first time. It must be the sign! He threw the mirror with all of his might against the candle. The light was snuffed, and the mirror fell to the rock floor, shattering it into a thousand slivers of useless glass.

"No!" screamed the mage.