Dragonlance Tales, Vol. 3 – Love and War

my turn to ask questions. What is there about YOU that is

different from other humans? For there is something,

something besides your golden skin and eyes that see death

in the living. Looking at you, I perceive the shadow of

another. You are young, yet there is a timelessness about

you. Who are YOU, Raistlin, that this has happened

between us?”

To her amazement, Raistlin blanched, his eyes

widening in fear, then narrowing in suspicion. “It seems we

both have our secrets.” He shrugged. “And now, Amberyl, it

appears that we will never know what caused this to

happen. All that should really concern us is what must be

done to rid ourselves of this . . . this VALIN?”

Shutting her eyes, Amberyl licked her lips. Her mouth

was dry, the cave was suddenly unbearably cold. Shivering,

she tried more than once to speak.

“What?” Raistlin’s voice grated.

“I … must bear . . . your child,” Amberyl said weakly,

her throat constricting.

For long moments there was silence. Amberyl did not

dare open her eyes, she did not dare look at the mage.

Ashamed and afraid, she buried her face in her arms. But an

odd sound made her look up.

Raistlin was lying back on his blankets, laughing. It

was almost inaudible laughter, more a wheeze and a

choking, but laughter nonetheless – taunting, cutting

laughter. And Amberyl saw, with pity in her heart, that its

sharp edge was directed against himself.

“Don’t, please, don’t,” Amberyl said, crawling nearer to

the mage.

“Look at me, lady!” Raistlin gasped, his laughter catching

in his throat, setting him to coughing. Grinning at her

mirthlessly, he gestured outside. “You had best wait for my

brother,” he said. “Caramon will be back soon… .”

“No, he won’t,” Amberyl said softly, creeping closer

still to Raistlin. “Your brother will not be back before

morning.”

Raistlin’s lips parted. His eyes – filled with a sudden

hunger – devoured Amberyl’s face. “Morning,” he repeated.

“Morning,” she said.

Reaching up a trembling hand, Raistlin brushed back

the beautiful hair from her delicate face. “The fire will be

out long before morning.”

“Yes,” said Amberyl softly, blushing, resting her cheek

against the mage’s hand. “It – it’s already growing cold in

here. We will have to do something to keep warm … or we

will perish. . . .”

Raistlin drew his hand over her smooth skin, his finger

touching her soft lips. Her eyes closed, she leaned toward

him. His hand moved to touch her long eyelashes, as fine as

elven lace. Her body pressed close to his. He could feel her

shivering. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close. As

he did so, the fire’s last little flame flickered and died.

Darkness warmer and softer than the blankets covered them.

Outside they could hear the wind laughing, the trees

whispering to themselves.

“Or we will perish . . .” Raistlin murmured.

Amberyl woke from a fitful sleep wondering, for a

moment, where she was. Stirring slightly, she felt the

mage’s arm wrapped around her protectively, the warmth of

his body lying next to hers. Sighing, she rested her head

against his shoulder, listening to the shallow, too rapid

breathing. She let herself lie there, surrounded by his

warmth, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.

Outside, she could no longer hear the wind and knew

the storm must have ended. The darkness that covered them

was giving way to dawn. She could barely make out the

blackened remnants of the firewood in the gray half-light.

Turning slightly, she could see Raistlin’s face.

He was a light sleeper. He stirred and muttered at her

movement, coughing, starting to wake. Amberyl touched

his eyelids lightly with her fingertips, and he sighed deeply

and relaxed back into sleep, the lines of pain smoothing

from his face.

How young he looks, she thought to herself. How

young and vulnerable. He has been deeply hurt. That is why

he wears the armor of arrogance and unfeeling. It chafes

him now. He is not used to it. But something tells me he

will become all too accustomed to this armor before his

brief life ends.

Moving carefully and quietly so as not to disturb him –

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