Laurana had been a little in awe of him, a little afraid of him. She had trusted him, however. He had not known why, except that she had seemed to see something in him others could not, something even he could not see. He had appreciated her trust, been touched by it. He had loved her ... no, not loved her, cherished her, as a man parched with thirst and lost in the desert cherishes a sip of cool water.

"She is everything you are, my sister, and all that you are not," Raistlin said softly.

His sister laughed, pleased. She took it as a compliment.

"Kitiara, I need to speak to you," Iolanthe said, exasperated. "In private."

"Perhaps I could finish writing that letter for you," Raistlin suggested.

Kitiara waved him toward the desk and walked over to the window, where she and Iolanthe put their heads together to talk in hushed tones.

Raistlin sat down. He placed the Staff of Magius at his side, keeping it near his hand. His thoughts busy, he began mechanically to copy the words of the blotted and misspelled original onto a new sheet of paper. He wrote smoothly, swiftly, and far more legibly than Kit.

As Raistlin worked, he gently pushed his cowl behind his ear to try to hear what the two were discussing. He caught only a few words, enough to give him a general impression of what they were discussing.

"... Ariakas suspects you ... That's why he sent your brother ... We have to think of something to tell him ..."

Raistlin continued the letter. Absorbed in listening, he had been paying little attention to the words he was writing until a name seemed to catch fire, blaze a hole in the page.

Laurana. The orders were about her.

Raistlin paid no more heed to Kit and Iolanthe. He gave all his attention to the letter, reading over what he had written. Kit was sending the missive to a subordinate, telling him that his orders had changed. He was no longer to bring the "captive" to Dargaard Keep. He was to take her directly to Neraka. The subordinate was to make certain Laurana was alive and unharmed-at least until the exchange for the Everman was complete. After that, when Kitiara had the crown, Laurana would be given in sacrifice to the Dark Queen.

Raistlin pondered. Kitiara was right. Tanis was certain to come to Neraka to try to save Laurana. Was there some way Raistlin could help? Kitiara wanted him here for some reason; he could not figure out why. She did not need him to capture Berem. That plot was well advanced, and there was nothing for him to do. Ariakas had sent him to betray Kit. Hidden Light had sent him to betray Kit and Ariakas. Iolanthe had some scheming plot of her own. Everyone had a knife drawn, ready to plunge it into someone else's back. He wondered if they would all end up stabbing each other.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls ringing hollowly on the stone floor. Iolanthe went deathly pale.

"I must take my leave," she said hurriedly and flung her cloak around herself. "Raistlin, come see me when you return to Neraka. We have much to discuss."

Before he could say a word, Iolanthe threw her magical clay against the wall, squeezed inside the portal before it was halfway open, and shut it swiftly behind her.

The footfalls drew closer, moving slowly, resolutely, purposefully. A chill like death flowed into the room.

"You are about to meet the master of Dargaard Keep, Baby brother," said Kitiara, and she tried to smile the crooked smile, but Raistlin saw it slip.

2.

Knight of the Black Rose.The Hourglass of Stars.23rd Day, Month of Mishamont, Year 352 AC *eath's chill flowed beneath the door, seeped through the cracks in the stone walls, sighed through the broken window panes. Raistlin shivered from the dreadful cold, and he laid down the quill pen and thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robes to try to warm them. He rose to his feet to be ready.

"Soth is very terrible," said Kitiara, her gaze fixed on the door. "But he will not harm you, so long as you are under my protection."

"I do not need your protection, my sister," said Raistlin, angered at her patronizing tone.

"Just be careful, will you, Raistlin?" said Kitiara sharply. He was startled. She rarely, if ever, called him by name. Kitiara added softly, "Soth could kill us both with a single word."

The door opened, and terror entered.

The death knight stood in the doorway, an imposing figure clad in the armor of a Solamnic Knight from the time of the rise of Istar. Beautifully crafted armor that had once shone silvery bright, but was now blackened and stained with blood that only the waters of redemption could remove, and Soth was far from seeking forgiveness. A black cape, bloody and tattered, hung from his shoulders.

His eyes shone red in the eye slits of his helm; red with the passion that had been his doom and that he could not control. He raged at his fate; raged at the gods; raged, sometimes, at himself. Only at night, when the banshees sang to him the mournful song of his own downfall, was the blazing fire reduced to smoldering embers of remorse and bitter regret. When the song ceased with the coming of day, Soth's rage blazed anew.

Raistlin had walked many dark places in his life, perhaps none darker than his own soul. He had taken the dread Test in the Tower. He had journeyed through Darken Wood. He had been trapped in the nightmare that was Silvanesti. He had been a prisoner in Takhisis's dungeons. In all those places, he had known fear. But when he looked into the hellish fire that blazed in the eyes of the death knight, Raistlin knew fear so awful, so debilitating that he thought he would die of it.

He could clasp the dragon orb and speak the magic and be gone as swiftly as Iolanthe. He was fumbling for the orb with his shaking hands when he saw Kitiara watching him.

Her lips curled. She was testing him, taunting him as she had when he was a child, and she was trying to force him to take a dare.

Anger acted on Raistlin like a potion, restoring his courage and his ability to think. He recognized then what he should have seen earlier but for his terror: the fear was magical, a spell Soth had cast on him.

Tit for tat, two could play at that game.

"Delu solisar!" Raistlin said swiftly. He let go of the orb and raised his hand to trace a rune in the air. Raistlin said swiftly. He let go of the orb and raised his hand to trace a rune in the air.

The rune caught fire and blazed brightly. The dueling magicks hung, quivering, in the air. Kitiara watched, one hand on her hip, the other clasping the hilt of her sword. She was enjoying their contest.

Soth's magic snapped. Raistlin ended his spell. The fiery rune vanished, leaving behind an afterimage of blue and wavering smoke.

Kitiara nodded in approval. "Lord Soth, Knight of the Rose, I have the honor to present Raistlin Majere." Kitiara added, half teasing and half proud, "My baby brother."

Raistlin bowed in acknowledgment of the introduction; then, raising his head and standing tall, he forced himself to look directly into the eye slits of the death knight's helm, to stare into the fires of a tortured soul's torment, though the sight made Raistlin's own soul shrivel in horror.

"You are powerful in magic for one so young," said Lord Soth. His voice was hollow and deep, burning with his constant rage, undying regret.

Raistlin bowed again. He did not yet trust himself to speak.

"You cast two shadows, Raistlin Majere," said the death knight suddenly. "Why is that?"

Raistlin had no idea what he was talking about. "I do not cast one one shadow in this terrible place, my lord, let alone two." shadow in this terrible place, my lord, let alone two."

The death knight's red eyes flickered.

"I do not speak of shadows cast by the sun," Lord Soth said. "I dwell on two planes, forced to dwell on the plane of the living and cursed to dwell in the plane of the dead who cannot die. And in both I see your shadow, darker than darkness."

Raistlin understood.

Kitiara had no idea what Soth meant. "Raistlin has a twin brother-" she began.

"No longer," Raistlin said, casting her an irate glance. She could be as stupid as Caramon sometimes.

Between the spellcasting, the terror, and the intrigue, Raistlin was suddenly worn out. "You brought me here because you required my help, my sister. I have pledged you and Takhisis my allegiance. If you wish me to serve you in some way, tell me how. If not, allow me to go home."

Kitiara glanced at Lord Soth. "What do you think?" "He is dangerous," said Soth.

"Who? Raistlin?" Kitiara scoffed, startled and amused.

"He will be your doom." The death knight stared at Raistlin, his flame eyes flickering.

Kitiara hesitated, watching Raistlin, frowning, and fingering the hilt of her sword. "Are you saying I should kill him?"

"I am saying you could try," Raistlin said, his gaze going from one to the other. His fingers closed over a bit of amber.

Kitiara stared at him, and suddenly she began to laugh. "Come with me," she said, grabbing a blazing torch from the wall. "I have something to show you."

"What about him?" Raistlin asked, not moving from where he stood.

The death knight had walked over to the window and gazed down at the desolation.

"Evening is coming," said Kitiara. "Soth has somewhere else to go. Make haste," she added, shivering. "You don't want to be anywhere close."

The wail was distant, yet the eerie and awful sound pierced Raistlin, smote his heart. He slowed his pace and looked over his shoulder, stared back down the corridor. The song was ghastly, yet he seemed compelled to listen to it.

Kitiara caught hold of his wrist. "Stop up your ears!" she said warningly.

"What is it?" he asked. He could feel the hair prickling on his neck, rising on his arms.

"Banshees. The elf women who share his curse. They are compelled to sing to him every night, recite the story of his crimes. He sits in the chamber where his wife and child perished and stares at the bloodstain on the floor and listens."

They both hastened down the corridor, increasing their pace. Still the evil song pursued them. The wailing seemed to beat on Raistlin with black wings and tear at him with sharp claws. He tried to muffle his ears with his hands, but the song throbbed in his blood. He saw that Kitiara was very pale, and she was sweating.

"Every night it is the same. I never get used to it."

The corridor they walked came to a dead end. Raistlin guessed they had not walked all that way for nothing, and he waited patiently to see what happened. Kit handed the torch to Raistlin to hold. Raistlin could have offered to use the light from his staff, but he never liked to reveal its power to people unless there was some good reason to do so. He held the torch so she could see what she was doing.

Kitiara put her left hand on a certain stone in the wall, her right hand on another stone, and pressed a third stone on the floor with her foot. By force of habit, Raistlin made a mental note of the precise location of each stone with regard to its neighbors. He certainly hoped he would never have to return to Dargaard Keep, but one never knew. Grinding on its hinges, the wall that was actually a door swung slowly open. Kit sprang through the opening into the darkness beyond. Raistlin glanced around, then followed cautiously after her.

Kitiara placed her hand on a stone on the other side, and the door swung shut, muffling the banshees' wail. He and Kitiara both shared a sigh of relief.

She took the torch from him and went ahead of him, lighting the way. Stairs carved out of rock, enclosed by rough-hewn rock walls, spiraled downward. Kitiara descended rapidly, her boots ringing on the stone, drowning out all sound of the banshees. Raistlin followed. He noted that the stairway was not charred and that there was no smell of smoke or death.

"This stonework is new," he said, running his hand over the rock and collecting dust on his fingers. "Recently built."

"By the hand of our Queen," said Kitiara.

Raistlin stopped walking. "Where are you taking me? What is down here?"

Kitiara smiled slyly. "Perhaps you'd rather go back upstairs to listen to the choir?"

Raistlin resumed his descent. The staircase-he counted forty-five stairs-led to a door made of solid steel. Raistlin stared at it, impressed. The door alone was worth all the wealth in Neraka. He could not imagine what treasure lay behind it.

Kitiara placed her right hand, palm flat, on the center of the door, which was smooth, without a mark that Raistlin could see. Kit spoke a single word, "Takhisis," and light flared white beneath her palm. She invoked the name of the Dark Queen again, and a green light glowed. Kitiara said the name three more times, and three times the light changed colors, going from red to blue to black.

The outline of a five-headed dragon blazed, etched into the door, and the door rose, silently and smoothly, until it disappeared into the ceiling.

Kitiara motioned Raistlin to go inside. He remained outside the door, regarding her coldly.

"You first," he said.

Kitiara laughed and shook her head and walked ahead of him. She held the torch high, so he could inspect the vault. The light shone on walls carved out of solid rock. The vault was not large, perhaps twenty paces by twenty paces. The ceiling was low. Raistlin could have reached up his hand to touch it.

The vault contained only three objects-an hourglass, made of crystal encased in gold; the golden pedestal on which the hourglass stood; and a candle marked with red, numbered stripes placed at regular intervals, starting with one and ending at twenty-four. The candle kept count of the hours of the day. It had burned nearly to the bottom.

Raistlin still did not trust Kitiara, but curiosity overcame caution. He entered the room and walked over to inspect the hourglass. He had no need to cast a spell to tell that it was enchanted.

The top of the hourglass was filled with sand; the bottom held darkness, utter and eternal. Raistlin looked closely and saw that a single grain of sand was lodged in the narrow opening between the two halves. The grain had not fallen. It was blocking the rest of the sand, preventing it from dropping.

"It's clogged," said Raistlin.

"Wait!" Kitiara breathed.

"For what?"

"For Dark Watch," said Kitiara.

Raistlin watched the flame of the candle consume the wax, eating away at the white until it reached the red stripe that marked the end of a day. When the red began to melt, he looked at the hourglass and drew in a soft breath.

The single grain of sand that was lodged in the narrow opening between the two halves began to sparkle. The grain shone, bright as a star, and like a star, it streaked through the darkness, falling to the bottom. The grain flickered a moment in the darkness; then the light faded and went out. Another small grain dropped into the narrow opening and hung there.

Kitiara replaced the candle that marked the hours with a new candle, lighting the new one from the guttering flame of the old. The flame burned clear and unwavering in the still air of the vault.

"What is this?" Raistlin asked, his voice soft with awe.

"The Hourglass of Stars," said Kitiara. "It began keeping time on the first day of creation, and when the sand runs out, time will end."

Raistlin longed to touch the glistening sides of the crystal, but he kept his hands clasped together in the sleeves of his robes. One needed to be wary of artifacts.

"And what is it doing here? How did Takhisis come by it?"

"She forged it," said Kitiara.

"What does this have to do with Ariakas?" Raistlin asked. "Nothing," said Kitiara. He looked at her, startled.

"Oh, I know that's what I told Iolanthe. I had to tell her something for her to bring you here, otherwise she would have been suspicious. How do you think that wizardess Ladonna escaped? Iolanthe helped her. The witch is not to be trusted, Baby brother."

Raistlin was not surprised. That fit with his suspicions.

"I do not trust her," said Raistlin. "I trust no one."

"Not even me?" Kitiara asked playfully.

She reached out her hand as if to smooth back his hair as she had done when he was a child burning up with fever.