Dragonlance Tales, Vol. 3 – Love and War

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

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