more by instinct than because she feared she would wake
him from his enchanted sleep – Amberyl slid out from his
unconscious embrace. Gathering her things, she wrapped
the scarf once more about her head. Then, kneeling down
beside the sleeping mage, she looked upon Raistlin’s face
one last time.
“I could stay,” she told him softly. “I could stay with
you a little while. But then my solitary nature would get the
better of me and I would leave you and you would be hurt.”
A sudden thought made her shudder. Closing her eyes, she
shook her head. “Or you might find out the truth about our
race. If you ever discovered it, then you would loathe me,
despise me! Worse still” – her eyes filled with tears – “you
would despise our child.”
Gently, Amberyl stroked back the mage’s prematurely
white hair, her hand caressed the golden skin. “There is
something about you that frightens me,” she said, her voice
trembling. “I don’t understand. Perhaps the wise will know.
…” A tear crept down her face. “Farewell, mage. What I do
now will keep pain from us both” – bending down, she
kissed the sleeping face – “and from one who should come
into this world free of all its burdens.”
Amberyl placed her hand upon the mage’s temples and,
closing her eyes, began reciting words in the ancient
language. Then, tracing the name CARAMON upon the dirt
floor, she spoke the same words over it as well. Rising
hurriedly to her feet, she started to leave the cave. At the
entrance she paused. The cave was damp and chill, she
heard the mage cough. Pointing at the fire, she spoke again.
A blazing flame leaped up from the cold stone, filling the
cave with warmth and light. With a final backward glance, a
last, small sigh, Amberyl stepped out of the cave and
walked away beneath the watchful, puzzled trees of the
magical Forest of Wayreth.
Dawn glistened brightly on the new-fallen snow when
Caramon finally made his way back to the cave.
“Raist!” he called out in a frightened voice as he drew
nearer. “Raist! I’m sorry! This cursed forest!” He swore,
glancing nervously at the trees as he did so. “This . . .
blasted place. I spent half the night chasing after some
wretched firelight that vanished when the sun came up. Are
– are you all right?” Frightened, wet, and exhausted,
Caramon stumbled through the snow, listening for his
brother’s answer, cough . . . anything.
Hearing nothing from within the cave but ominous
silence, Caramon hurried forward, tearing the blanket from
the entrance in his desperate haste to get inside.
Once there, he stopped, staring about him in
astonishment.
A comfortable, cheery fire burned brightly. The cave
was as warm – warmer – than a room in the finest inn. His
twin lay fast asleep, his face peaceful, as though lost in
some sweet dream. The air was filled with a springlike
fragrance, as of lilacs and lavendar.
“I’ll be a gully dwarf,” Caramon breathed in awe,
suddenly noticing that the fire was burning solid rock.
Shivering, the big man glanced around. “Mages!” he
muttered, keeping a safe distance from the strange blaze.
“The sooner we’re out of this weird forest the better, to my
mind. Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily. “Looks
like you wizards saved Raist’s life. I just wonder why it was
necessary to send me on that wild-swimmingbird chase.”
Kneeling down, he shook his brother by the shoulder.
“Raist,” Caramon whispered gently. “Raist. Wake up!”
Raistlin’s eyes opened wide. Starting up, he looked
around. “Where is – ” he began.
“Where is who? What?” Caramon cried in alarm.
Backing up, his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looked
frantically around the small cave. “I knew – ”
“is . . . is – ” Raistlin stopped, frowning.
“No one, I guess,” the mage said softly, his hand going
to his head. He felt dizzy. “Relax, my brother,” he snapped
irritably, glancing up at Caramon. “There is no one here but
us.”
“But . . . this fire . . .” Caramon said, eyeing the blaze