The real Caramon looked wildly at Par-Salian, but the mage only shook his head and-wordlessly-pointed back to the image that wavered before Caramon’s eyes. Frightened and confused, Caramon turned back to watch.
He saw Raistlin rise slowly.
“How did you do that?” Raistlin asked, propping himself up against the wall.
Caramon didn’t know. How could he do something that took his brother years of study! But the warrior saw himself rattling off a glib explanation. Caramon also saw the look of pain and anguish on his brother’s face.
“No, Raistlin!” the real Caramon cried. “It’s a trick! A trick of this old man’s! I can’t do that! I’d never steal your magic from you! Never!”
But the image Caramon-swaggering and brash-went over to “rescue” his “little” brother, to save him from himself.
Raising his hands, Raistlin held them out toward his brother. But not to embrace him. No. The young mage, sick and injured and totally consumed with jealousy, began to speak the words of the one spell, the last spell he had strength to cast.
Flames flared from Raistlin’s hands. The magical fire billowed forth-and engulfed his brother.
Caramon watched in horror, too stunned to speak, as his own image was consumed in fire… .He watched as his brother collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
“No! Raist-”
Cool, gentle hands touched his face. He could hear voices, but their words were meaningless. He could understand, if he chose. But he didn’t want to understand. His eyes were closed. He could open them, but he refused. Opening his eyes, hearing those words, would only make the pain real.
“I must rest,” Caramon heard himself say, and he sank back into darkness.
He was approaching another Tower, a different Tower. The Tower of the Stars in Silvanesti. Once more Raistlin was with him, only now his brother wore the Black Robes. And now it was Raistlin’s turn to help Caramon. The big warrior was wounded. Blood pulsed steadily from a spear-wound that had nearly taken off his arm.
“I must rest,” Caramon said again.
Gently Raistlin laid him down, making him comfortable, his back propped up against the cold stone of the Tower. And then Raistlin started to leave.
“Raist! Don’t-” Caramon cried. “You can’t leave me here!”
Looking around, the injured, defenseless warrior saw hordes of the undead elves who had attacked them in Silvanesti waiting to leap upon him. Only one thing held them back, his brother’s magical power.
“Raist! Don’t leave me!” he screamed.
“How does it feel to be weak and alone?” Raistlin asked him softly.
“Raist, My brother…”
“I killed him once, Tanis, I can do it again!”
“Raist! No! Raist!”
“Caramon, please…” Another voice. This one gentle. Soft hands touched him. “Caramon, please! Wake up! Come back, Caramon. Come back to me. I need you.”
No! Caramon pushed away that voice. He pushed away the soft hands. No, I don’t want to come back. I won’t. I’m tired. I hurt. I want to rest.
But the hands, the voice, wouldn’t let him rest. They grabbed him, pulling him from the depths where he longed to sink.
And now he was falling, falling into a horrible red darkness. Skeletal fingers clutched at him, eyeless heads whirled past him, their mouths gaping in silent cries. He drew a breath, then sank into blood. Struggling, smothering, he finally fought his way back to the surface and gasped for air once more. Raistlin! But no, he’s gone. His friends. Tanis. Gone, too. He saw him swept away. The ship. Gone. Cracked in half. Sailors cut apart, their blood mingling with the blood-red sea.
Tika! She was near him. He pulled her close. She was gasping for air. But he could not hold onto her. The swirling water tore her from his arms and swept him under. This time he could not find the surface. His lungs were on fire, bursting. Death…rest… sweet, warm…
But always those hands! Dragging him back to the gruesome surface. Making him breathe the burning air. No, let me go!
And then other hands, rising up from the blood-red water. Firm hands, they took him down from the surface. He fell down . . . down . . . into merciful darkness. Whispered words of magic soothed him, he breathed… breathed water… and his eyes closed… the water was warm and comforting… He was a child once more.
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