mage’s eyes burned through her, touching something deep
inside, filling her with sweet pain. “I have . . . never heard
of this . . . happening to – to a . . . human before.”
“So you are not human,” Raistlin remarked.
“No, I am not,” Amberyl replied, still unable to face
him.
“You are not elven, nor any of the other races that I am
familiar with who live upon Krynn – and I tell you – What
is your name?”
“Amberyl.”
“Amberyl,” he said it lingeringly, as though tasting it.
She shivered again.
“I tell you, Amberyl,” he repeated, “I am familiar with
all the races on Krynn.”
“Wise you may be, mage,” Amberyl murmured, “but
the mysteries of this world that have yet to be discovered
are as numberless as the snowflakes.”
“You will not reveal your secret to me?”
Amberyl shook her glistening hair. “It is not my secret
alone.”
Raistlin was silent. Amberyl did not speak either. Both
sat listening to the hissing and popping of the wood and the
whistling of the wind among the trees.
“So … I am to die, then,” Raistlin said, breaking the
silence at last. He didn’t sound angry, just weary and
resigned.
“No, no, no!” Amberyl cried, her eyes going to the
mage. Reaching out impulsively, she took his thin, wasted
hand in her own, cradling her cheek against it. “No,” she
repeated. “Because then I would die.”
Raistlin snatched his hand from hers. Propping himself
up weakly on his elbow, his golden eyes glittering, he
whispered hoarsely, “There IS a cure? You can break this . . .
this enchantment?”
“Yes,” Amberyl answered without a voice, feeling the
warm blood suffuse her face.
“How?” Raistlin demanded, his hand clenching.
“First,” said Amberyl, swallowing, “I – I must tell you
something about . . . about the VALIN.”
“The what?” Raistlin asked quickly. Amberyl could see
his eyes flicker. Even facing death, his mind was working,
catching hold eagerly of this new information, storing it
away.
“The VALIN. That is what it is called in our language. It
means . . .” She paused, frowning, trying to think. I suppose
the closest meaning in your language is LIFE-MATE.”
The startled expression on the mage’s face was so funny
that Amberyl laughed nervously. “Wait, let me explain,” she
said, feeling her own face growing more and more flushed.
“For reasons of our own, in ages so far back that they are
past reckoning, my people fled this land and retreated to one
where we could live undisturbed. Our race is, as you were
able to detect, long-lived. But we are not immortal. As all
others, in order for our race to survive, we must produce
children. But there were few of us and fewer still as time
went by. The land we chose to live in is a harsh one. We
tend to be loners, living by ourselves with little interaction
even among our own kind. What you know as families are
unknown among us. We saw our race begin to dwindle, and
the elders knew that soon it must die out completely. They
were able to establish the VALIN to ensure that our young
people . . . that they . . .”
Raistlin’s face had not changed expression, his eyes
continued to stare at her. But Amberyl could not continue
speaking beneath that strange, unblinking gaze.
“You chose to leave your land?” Raistlin asked. “Or
were you sent away?”
“I was sent to this land … by the elders. There are others
here as well. . . .”
“Why? What for?”
Amberyl shook her head. Picking up a stick, she poked
at the fire, giving herself an excuse to avoid his eyes.
“But surely your elders knew that something like this
must happen if you go out into other lands,” Raistlin said
bitterly. “Or have they been away THAT long?”
“You have no conception of how long we have been
away,” Amberyl said softly, staring at the fire that was
flickering out despite her best efforts to keep it going. “And,
no, it should NOT have happened. Not with one who is not
of our race.” Her gaze went back to Raistlin. “And now it is