his face that began to fade as the knight approached.
“Oh, no,” said the kender firmly, clutching the sword
to his bosom. “Finders keepers. You obviously didn’t
want this anymore.”
“Raist! Don’t listen to them!” Caramon staggered to
his feet. TOO LATE, he thought. His brother was walking
toward the dead wizard, who was extending a bony hand
for the glowing staff.
The chill fingers were nearly touching it when Raistlin
suddenly turned the staff horizontally and held it out
before him. The crystal’s light flared, the dead wizard
sprang back from the frail barrier as though it had scalded
him.
“I will not join your fight, for it is an eternal fight!”
Raistlin raised his voice above the clamoring. “A fight that
can never be won.”
At this, the dead ceased their calling. A brooding
silence descended in the hall. Gawain ceased to threaten
the kender and turned around. Earwig, suddenly losing
interest in the sword, let it fall to the floor and hopped
forward to see what was going on. Caramon rubbed his
aching jaw and watched warily, ready to leap to his
brother’s defense.
Leaning on his staff, whose crystal seemed to shine
more brightly in the chill darkness, Raistlin walked
forward until he stood in the center of the hall. He looked
first at the knight – the rotting, decaying face beneath a
battered helm, a bony hand clutching a rusting sword. The
young mage turned his golden-eyed gaze to the wizard –
red robes, torn and slashed by sword thrusts, covering a
body that had for centuries been denied the peace of
death.
Then Raistlin, lifting his head, stared up into the
darkness. “I would talk with the maiden,” he called.
The figure of a young woman materialized out of the
night and came to stand before the mage. She was fair-
haired and pretty, with an oval face, rich brown hair, and
blue eyes that were bright and spirited. So lovely was she,
and so warm and seemingly alive, that it took some
moments before Caramon realized she was long-since
dead.
“YOU are the one who called down the curse, are you
not?” asked Raistlin.
“Yes,” the maiden answered in a voice cold as the
end of the world. “Which side do you choose, mage? Here
stands pride” – she gestured toward the knight – “and here
stands pride” – she gestured toward the mage. “Which will
you choose? Not that it much matters.”
“I fight for neither,” said Raistlin. “I do not choose
pride. I choose,” he paused, then said gently, “I choose
love.”
Darkness crashed down upon them with the weight
and force of an avalanche, quenching even the magical
light of the staff.
“Wow!” came the awed voice of the kender.
Caramon blinked and peered around, trying to see
through the blackness, which was thick and impenetrable
as solid stone. The ghostly armies were gone.
“Raistlin?” he called, panicked.
“I am here, my brother. Hush. Keep silent.”
Feeling a hand grasp his shoulder, Caramon reached
out and touched a warm human arm.
“Gawain?” he whispered.
“Yes,” said the knight in strained tones. “What is
happening? I don’t trust that mage! He’ll get us killed.”
“So far it seems to me he’s done a good job of
keeping us alive,” said Caramon grimly. “Look!”
“SHIRAK,” said Raistlin and the crystal’s light
beamed brightly. Standing in front of Raistlin, illuminated
by his staff, was the young woman.
“You have broken the curse, young mage,” said the
spirit. “Is there anything you would ask of me before I go
to my long-awaited rest?”
“Tell us your story,” said Raistlin. “According to the
legend, the mage carried you off by force.”
“Of course, that is what they have said, who never
bothered to seek the truth!” said the spirit scornfully.
“And their words were fuel to the fire of my curse. The
truth is that the mage and I loved each other. My father, a
Knight of Solamnia, forbade me to marry a wizard. He
betrothed me to another knight, one whom I did not love.
The mage and I ran off together. I left of my own free will
to be with the man I loved. The knight followed us and