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the fault of the sword’s creator?”
    “N—” Caramon began, but his twin ignored him.
    “Long ago, during the Age of Dreams, when magic-users were respected and magic flourished upon Krynn, the five Towers of High Sorcery stood as beacons of light in the dark sea of ignorance that was this world. Here, great magics were worked, benefiting all. There were plans for greater still. Who knows but that now we might have been riding on the winds, soaring the skies like dragons. Maybe even leaving this wretched world and inhabiting other worlds, far away … far away.…”
    His voice grew soft and quiet. Caramon and Crysania held very still, spellbound by his tone, caught up in the vision of his magic.
    He sighed. “But that was not to be. In their desire to hasten their great works, the wizards decided they needed to communicate directly with each other, from one Tower to another, without the need for cumbersome teleportation spells. And so, the Portals were constructed.”
    “They succeeded?” Crysania’s eyes shone with wonder.
    “They succeeded!” Raistlin snorted. “Beyond their wildest dreams”—his voice dropped—“their worst nightmares. For the Portals could not only provide movement in one step between any of the far-flung Towers and fortresses of magic—but also into the realms of the gods, as an inept wizard of my own order discovered to his misfortune.”
    Raistlin shivered, suddenly, and drew his black robes more tightly around him, huddling close to the fire.
    “Tempted by the Queen of Darkness, as only she can tempt mortal man when she chooses”—Raistlin’s face grew pale—“he used the Portal to enter her realm and gain the prize she offered him nightly, in his dreams,” Raistlin laughed, bitter, mocking laughter. “Fool! What happened to him, no one knows. But he never returned through the Portal. The Queen, however, did. And with her, came legions of dragons—”
    “The first Dragon Wars!” Crysania gasped.
    “Yes, brought upon us by one of my own kind with no discipline, no self-control. One who allowed himself to be seduced—” Breaking off, Raistlin stared broodingly into the fire.
    “But, I never heard that!” Caramon protested. “According to the legends, the dragons came together—”
    “Your history is limited to bedtime tales, my brother!” Raistlin said impatiently. “And just proves how little you know of dragons. They are independent creatures, proud, self-centered, and completely incapable of coming together to cook dinner, much less coordinate any sort of war effort. No, the Queen entered the world completely that time, not just the shadow she was during our war with her. She waged war upon the world, and it was only through Huma’s great sacrifice that she was driven back.”
    Raistlin paused, hands to his lips, musing. “Some say that Huma did
not
use the Dragonlance to physically destroy her, as the legend goes. But, rather, the lance had some magical property allowing him to drive her back into the Portal and seal it shut. The fact that he
did
drive her back proves that—in this world—she is vulnerable.” Raistlin stared fixedly into the flames. “Had there been someone—someone of
true
power at the Portal when she entered, someone capable of destroying her utterly instead of simply driving her back—then history might well have been rewritten.”
    No one spoke. Crysania stared into the flames, seeing, perhaps, the same glorious vision as the archmage. Caramon stared at his twin’s face.
    Raistlin’s gaze suddenly left the flames, flashing into focus with a clear, cold intensity. “When I am stronger, tomorrow, I will ascend to the laboratory alone”—his stern glance sweptover both Caramon and Crysania—“and begin my preparations. You, lady, had best start communing with your god.”
    Crysania swallowed nervously. Shivering, she drew her chair nearer the fire. But suddenly Caramon was on his feet, standing before her. Reaching down, his