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strong hands gripped her arms, forcing her to look up into his eyes.
    “This is madness, lady,” he said, his voice soft and compassionate. “Let me take you from this dark place! You’re frightened—you have reason to be afraid! Maybe not everything Par-Salian said about Raistlin was true. Maybe everything I thought about him wasn’t true, either. Perhaps I’ve misjudged him. But I see this clearly, lady. You’re frightened and I don’t blame you! Let Raistlin do this thing alone! Let
him
challenge the gods—if that’s what he wants! But you don’t have to go with him! Come home! Let me take you back to our time, away from here.”
    Raistlin did not speak, but his thoughts echoed in Crysania’s mind as clearly as if he had.
You heard the Kingpriest! You said yourself that you know his mistake! Paladine favors you. Even in this dark place, he grants your prayers. You are his chosen! You will succeed where the Kingpriest failed! Come with me, Crysania. This is our destiny!
    “I am frightened,” Crysania said, gently disengaging Caramon’s hands from her arms. “And I am truly touched by your concern. But this fear of mine is a weakness in me that I must combat. With Paladine’s help, I will overcome it—before I enter the Portal with your brother.”
    “So be it,” Caramon said heavily, turning away.
    Raistlin smiled, a dark, secret smile that was not reflected in either his eyes or his voice.
    “And now, Caramon,” he said caustically, “if you are quite through meddling in matters you are completely incapable of comprehending, you had best prepare for your journey. It is midmorning, now. The markets—such as they are in these bleak times—are just opening.” Reaching into a pocket in his black robes, Raistlin withdrew several coins and tossed them at his brother. “That should be sufficient for our needs.”
    Caramon caught the coins without thinking. Then he hesitated, staring at his brother with the same look Crysania had seen him wear in the Temple at Istar, and she remembered thinking,
what terrible hate … what terrible love!
    Finally, Caramon lowered his gaze, stuffing the money into his belt.
    “Come here to me, Caramon,” Raistlin said softly.
    “Why?” he muttered, suddenly suspicious.
    “Well, there is the matter of that iron collar around your neck. Would you walk the streets with the mark of slavery still? And then there is the charm.” Raistlin spoke with infinite patience. Seeing Caramon hesitate still, he added, “I would not advise you leave this room without it. Still, that is your decision—”
    Glancing over at the pallid faces, who were still watching intently from the shadows, Caramon came to stand before his brother, his arms crossed before his chest. “Now what?” he growled.
    “Kneel down before me.”
    Caramon’s eyes flashed with anger. A bitter oath burned on his lips, but, his eyes going furtively to Crysania, he choked back and swallowed his words.
    Raistlin’s pale face appeared saddened. He sighed. “I am exhausted, Caramon. I do not have the strength to rise. Please—”
    His jaw clenched, Caramon slowly lowered himself, bending knee to floor so that he was level with his frail, black-robed twin.
    Raistlin spoke a soft word. The iron collar split apart and fell from Caramon’s neck, landing with a clatter on the floor.
    “Come nearer,” Raistlin said.
    Swallowing, rubbing his neck, Caramon did as he was told. though he stared at his brother bitterly. “I’m doing this for Crysania,” he said, his voice taut. “If it were just you and me, I’d let you rot in this foul place!”
    Reaching out his hands, Raistlin placed them on either side of his twin’s head with a gesture that was tender, almost caressing. “Would you, my brother?” the mage asked so softlyit was no more than a breath. “Would you leave me? Back there, in Istar—would you truly have killed me?”
    Caramon only stared at him, unable to answer. Then, Raistlin bent forward