check it out.”
“You think there’s something in there, don’t you?” Tas
accused the big man. “That’s why you’re making me stay out!
You’ll go in there and there’ll be a big fight. You’ll probably kill
it, and I’ll miss the whole thing!”
“I doubt that,” Caramon muttered. Glancing into the fog-
ridden Forest apprehensively, he tightened his sword belt.
“At least you might tell me what you think it is,” Tas said.
“And, say, Caramon, what am I supposed to do if it kills you 7
Can I go in then?How long should I wait? Could it kill you in –
say – five minutes? Ten? Not that I think it will,” he added hast-
ily, seeing Caramon’s eyes widen. “But I really should know, I
mean, since you’re leaving me in charge.”
Bupu studied the slovenly warrior speculatively. “Me say –
two minutes. It kill him in two minutes. You make bet’?” She
looked at Tas.
Caramon glared grimly at both of them, then heaved
another sigh. Tas was only being logical, after all.
“I’m not sure what to expect,” Caramon muttered. “I-I
remember last time, we… we met this thing… a wraith. It –
Raist…” Caramon fell silent. “I don’t know what you should
do,” he said after a moment. Shoulders slumping, he turned
away and began to walk slowly toward the Forest. “The best
you can, I guess.”
“I got nice snake here, me say he last two minutes,” Bupu said
to Tas, rummaging around in her bag. “What stakes you put
Up?
“Shhhh,” Tas said softly, watching Caramon walk away.
Then, shaking his head, he scooted over to sit beside Crysania,
who lay on the ground, her sightless eyes staring up at the sky.
Gently, Tas drew the cleric’s white hood over her head, shading
her from the sun’s rays. He had tried unsuccessfully to shut
those staring eyes, but it was as if her flesh had turned to mar-
ble.
Raistlin seemed to walk beside Caramon every step of the
way into the Forest. The warrior could almost hear the soft
whisper of his brother’s red robes – they had been red then! He
could hear his brother’s voice – always gentle, always soft, but
with that faint hiss of sarcasm that grated so on their friends.
But it had never bothered Caramon. He had understood – or
anyway thought he had.
The trees in the Forest suddenly shifted at Caramon’s
approach, just as they had shifted at the kender’s approach.
Just as they shifted when we approached… how many
years ago, Caramon thought. Seven? Has it only been seven
years? No, he realized sadly. It’s been a lifetime, a lifetime for
both of us.
As Caramon came to the edge of the wood, the mist flowed
out along the ground, chilling his ankles with a cold that seared
through flesh and bit into bone. The trees stared at him, their
branches writhing in agony. He remembered the tortured
woods of Silvanesti, and that brought more memories of his
brother. Caramon stood still a moment, looking into the For-
est. He could see the dark and shadowy shapes waiting for him.
And there was no Raistlin to keep them at bay. Not this time.
“I was never afraid of anything until I entered the Forest of
Wayreth,” Caramon said to himself softly. “I only went in last
time because you were with me, my brother. Your courage
alone kept me going. How can I go in there now without you?
It’s magic. I don’t understand magic! I can’t fight it! What hope
is there?” Caramon put his hands over his eyes to blot out the
hideous sight. “I can’t go in there,” he said wretchedly. “It’s too
much to ask of me!”
Pulling his sword from its sheath, he held it out. His hand
shook so he nearly dropped the weapon. “Hah!” he said bit-
terly. “See? I couldn’t fight a child. This is too much to ask. No
hope. There is no hope….”
“It is easy to have hope in the spring, warrior, when the
weather is warm and the vallenwoods are green. It is easy to
have hope in the summer, when the vallenwoods glitter with