scarf had come undone in her struggles and she tried to
wrap it around her face again. But Raist lin, with a sardonic
smile and a deft movement of his skilled hands, snatched
the scarf from the girl’s head.
“You dropped this,” he said coolly, holding the scarf
out to her, all the while his keen eyes looking to see why
this young woman hid her face from the sun. He gasped.
The girl kept her head down, even after losing the
scarf, but, hearing the man’s swift intake of breath, she
knew it was too late. He had seen her. She checked the
movement, therefore, looking up at the mage with a small
sigh. What she saw in his face shocked her almost as much
as what he saw in hers.
“Who . . . what kind of human are you?” she cried,
shrinking away from him.
“What kind are you?” the mage demanded, holding
onto the girl with his slender hands that were, nevertheless,
unbelievably strong.
“I – I am . . . ordinary,” the girl faltered, staring at
Raistlin with wide eyes.
“Ordinary!” Raistlin gripped her more tightly as she
made a half-hearted attempt to break free. His eyes gazed in
disbelief at the fine-boned, delicate face; the mass of hair
that was the brilliance and color of silver starlight; the eyes
that were dark and soft and velvet-black as the night sky.
“Ordinary! In my hands I hold the most beautiful woman I
have seen in all my twenty-one years. What is more, I hold
in my hands A WOMAN WHO DOES NOT AGE!” He
laughed mirthlessly. “And she calls herself ‘ordinary!’ ”
“What about you?” Trembling, the girl’s hand reached
up to touch Raistlin’s golden-skinned face. “And what do
you mean – I do not age?”
The mage saw fear in the girl’s eyes as she asked this
question, and his own eyes narrowed, studying her intently.
“My golden skin is my sacrifice for my magic, as is my
shattered body. As for you not aging, I mean you do not age
in my sight. You see, my eyes are different from the eyes of
other men. . . .” He paused, staring at the girl, who began to
shiver beneath the unwavering scrutiny. “My eyes see time
as it passes, they see the death of all living things. In my
vision, human flesh wastes and withers, spring trees lose
their leaves, rocks crumble to dust. Only the young among
the long-lived elves would appear normal to me, and even
then I would see them as flowers about to lose their bloom.
But you – ”
“Raist!” Caramon boomed from below. There was a
crash. Endeavoring to shake off the gully dwarf – who was
holding his hands firmly over the big man’s eyes, blinding
him – Caramon tripped, and fell headlong on a table,
smashing it to splinters.
The mage did not move, nor did the girl. “You do not
age at all! You are not elven,” Raistlin said.
“No,” the girl murmured. Her eyes still fixed on the
mage, she tried unsuccessfully to free herself from his
grasp. “You – you’re hurting me. . . .”
“What are you?” he demanded.
She shrugged, squirming and pushing at his hands.
“Human, like yourself,” she protested, looking up into the
strange eyes. “And I thank you for saving me, but – ”
Suddenly she froze, her efforts to free herself ceased.
Her gaze was locked onto Raistlin’s, the mage’s gaze was
fixed upon her. “No!” she moaned helplessly. “No!” Her
moan became a shriek, echoing above the howling of the
storm winds outside the inn.
Raistlin reeled backward, slamming into the wall as
though she had driven a sword into his body. Yet she had
not touched him, she had done nothing but look at him.
With a wild cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and ran up
the stairs, leaving the mage slumped against the wall,
staring with stunned, unseeing eyes at where she had
crouched before him on the staircase.
“Well, I took care of the scum. Small thanks to you,”
Caramon muttered, coming up beside his brother. Wiping
blood from a cut on the mouth, the big warrior looked over