strange eyes a moment longer. “No – no spell,” she
murmured, twisting the scarf round and round. “I – I am not.
. . not magi… as surely you can tell – ”
“Damn you!” Raistlin slid out of the chair with the speed
of a striking snake. Hurling the mug to the floor, he grabbed
hold of Amberyl’s wrists and dragged her to her feet.
“You’re lying! You have done something to me! You
invaded my being! You LIVE inside me! All I can think of
is you. All I see in my mind is your face. I cannot
concentrate! My magic eludes me! What have you done,
woman?”
“You’re hurting me!” Amberyl cried softly, twisting her
arms in his grasp. His touch burned. She could feel an
unnatural warmth radiate from his body, as though he were
being consumed alive by some inner fire.
“I will hurt you much worse than this,” Raistlin hissed,
drawing her nearer, “if you do not tell me what I ask!”
“I – I can’t explain!” Amberyl whispered brokenly,
gasping as Raistlin tightened his grip. “Please! You must
believe me. I didn’t do this to you deliberately! I didn’t mean
for this to happen – ”
“Then why did you come here … to my room?”
“You – you are magi. … I hoped there might be some
way . . . You might know – ”
” – how to break the enchantment,” Raistlin finished
softly, loosening his grip and staring at Amberyl. “So – you
are telling the truth. It is happening to you. I see that now.
That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it? Somehow I
have invaded your being as well.”
Amberyl hung her head. “No. I mean yes. Well,
partly.” Raising her face, she looked at the mage. “I did
truly come here to see if there wasn’t some way . . .”
Laughing bitterly, Raistlin dropped her hands. “How
can I remove a spell when you won’t tell me what you have
cast?”
“It isn’t a spell!” Amberyl cried despairingly. She could
see the marks his fingers had left on her flesh.
“Then what is it?” Raistlin shouted. His voice cracked
and, coughing, he fell backward, clutching his chest.
“Here,” Amberyl said, reaching out her hands, “let me
help – ”
“Get out!” Raistlin panted through lips flecked with blood
and froth. With his last strength, he shoved Amberyl away
from him, then sank down into his chair. “Get out!” he said
again. Though the words were inaudible, his eyes spoke
them clearly, the hourglass pupils dilated with rage.
Frightened, Amberyl turned and fled. Opening the door,
she plummeted out into the hallway, crashing headlong into
Caramon and the barmaid, who were heading for another
room.
“Hey!” Caramon cried, catching Amberyl in his arms.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Your – your brother,” Amberyl said in confusion,
hiding her face in her long hair. “He . . . he’s ill. . . .”
“I warned him. . . .” Caramon said softly, his face
crumpling in worry as he heard his brother’s rasping cough.
Forgetting the barmaid, who was setting up a disappointed
cry behind him, the big warrior hurried back into his room.
Amberyl ran blindly down the hall, yanked open her
door, and stumbled inside her room to stand, shivering,
against the wall in the darkness.
She may have slept. She wasn’t certain. Her dreams
were too near her waking thoughts. But she’d heard a sound.
Yes, there it was again. A door slamming. Though it could
have been any one of the rooms in the inn, Amberyl knew
instinctively whose door it was.
Rising from the bed on which she’d been lying, fully
dressed, the girl opened her door a crack as a voice echoed
down the hall.
“Raist! It’s a blizzard out there! We’ll perish! You can’t
take this!”
“I am leaving this inn! Now!” came the mages voice.
No longer whispering, it was hoarse with anger and fear. “I
am leaving, and I go with or without you. It’s up to you!”
The mage started walking down the hall, leaning upon his
staff. Stopping, he cast a piercing glance at Amberyl’s room.