forest. Amberyl could see now quite clearly. Solinari’s light
against the snow was bright as the sun. No longer was she
stumbling in the dark, led on only by the burning
remembrance of the mage’s golden eyes, his touch. …
Sighing, Amberyl walked on until she found tracks in
the snow. It was the humans. Yes, her instincts had led her
unerringly. Not that she had ever doubted her powers. But
would they hold true in this forest? Ever since she had come
to this land, she had been hearing tales about the strange
and magical wood.
Pausing, Amberyl examined the tracks, and her fear
grew. There were two sets – one pair of footprints that went
through the deepest drifts without stopping. The other,
however, was a wide swath cut through the snow, the swath
left by a man floundering along in heavy, wet robes. In
more than one place, she could see quite clearly the marks
of hands, as though the mage had fallen. Hurrying forward,
her heart began to beat painfully when she saw that one set
of tracks – the mage’s – came to an end. His brother must be
carrying him! Perhaps he … perhaps he was . . .
No! Amberyl caught her breath, shaking her head. The
mage might be frail-looking, but there was a strength in him
greater than the finest steel blade ever forged. All this meant
was that the two must stop and find shelter, and that would
work to her advantage.
It wasn’t long before she heard voices.
Dodging behind a tree, keeping within its moon-cast
shadow, Amberyl saw a tiny bit of light streaming outside
what must be a cave in the side of a cliff, a cliff that had
apparently appeared out of nowhere, for she could have
sworn she had not seen it ahead of her.
“Of course,” she whispered to herself in thankful-ness,
“the mages will take care of one of their own. Do they know
I am here?” she wondered suddenly. “Would they recognize
me? Perhaps not. It has been so long, after all. . . .” Well, it
did not matter. There was little they could do. Hopefully,
they would not interfere.
“I’ve got to get help, Raist!” she heard the big warrior
saying as she drew near. Caramon’s voice sounded tense
and anguished. “You’ve never been this bad! Never!”
There was silence, then Caramon’s voice rose again in
answer to words Amberyl could not hear.
“I don’t know! Back to the inn if I have to! All I know
is that this firewood isn’t going to last until morning. You
yourself tell me not to cut the trees in this forest, and they’re
wet anyway. It’s stopped snowing. I’ll only be gone a few
hours at most. You’ll be safe here. Probably a lot safer in
these accursed woods than I will.” A pause, then. “No,
Raist. This time I’m doing what I think best!”
In her mind, Amberyl could almost hear the mage’s
bitter curse, and she smiled to herself. The light from the
cave was obliterated for an instant by a dark shadow –
Caramon coming out. It hesitated. Could the man be having
second thoughts? The shadow half-turned, going back into
the cave.
Quickly murmuring words to herself in a language that
none on the continent of Ansalon had heard for countless
centuries, Amberyl gestured. Barely visible from where she
stood, a glimmer of firelight burst into being far off in
another part of the forest.
Catching a glimpse of it from the comer of his eye,
Caramon shouted. “Raist! There’s – a fire! Someone’s close
by! You stay wrapped up and . . . and warm. . . . I’ll be back
soon!”
The shadow merged with the darkness, then Amberyl
saw the bright glint of armor in the moonlight and heard the
heavy footsteps and labored breathing of the big man
slogging through the snow.
Amberyl smiled. “No, you won’t be back very soon, my
friend,” she told him silently as he passed right by the tree
where she was hiding. “Not very soon at all.”
Waiting until she was certain Caramon was well off on
his pursuit of the elusive blaze that would, she knew, keep