The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  “Oh, uh, sure, Raist,” Caramon said, his thirst forgotten in his concern for his brother.

  “Number thirteen,” grunted Slegart, helping the ruffians drag their wounded comrade off into a corner.

  “It figures,” Caramon muttered, assisting his brother up the stairs. “Hey, you got a good look at that girl? Was she pretty?”

  “Why ask me, my brother?” Raistlin replied softly. Pulling his hood down low over his face again, he evaded his brother’s question. “You know what these eyes of mine see!”

  “Yeah, sorry, Raist.” Caramon flushed. “I keep forgetting. Damn! That one bastard broke a chair over my back end when I was bending over. I know I got splinters.…”

  “Yes, my brother,” Raistlin murmured, not listening. His gaze went to the door at the end of the hall, a door marked with the number sixteen.

  Behind that door, Amberyl paced restlessly, clasping and unclasping her hands and occasionally making that low, moaning cry.

  “How could this happen?” she asked feverishly, walking back and forth, back and forth, in the small chamber. The room was chill and dark. In her preoccupation, Amberyl had allowed the fire to go out. “Why did this happen? How could it happen? Why didn’t any of the wise foresee this?” Over and over again she repeated these words, her feet tracing the circular path of her thoughts out upon the grime-encrusted wooden floor.

  “I must see him,” she said to herself suddenly. “He is magi, after all. He may know some way … some way to … help … Yes! I’ll see him.”

  Grabbing up her scarf, she wound it around her face again and cautiously opened the door. The hallway was empty and she started to creep out when she realized she had no idea which room was his.

  “Perhaps he isn’t even staying the night,” she said, sagging against the door frame in despair. “What would I say to him anyway?” Turning, she started back into her room when she stopped. “No, I must see him!” she said, and closed the door firmly so that she might not be tempted back inside. “If he isn’t up here yet, I’ll go after him.”

  Moving down the hall, Amberyl crept near each door, listening. Behind some she heard groans and muttered oaths and hurriedly shied away from these, realizing that her attackers were inside, recovering from their fray with the mage and his brother. At another door there was the shrill giggle of a female and the deeper laughter of a man. Amberyl continued to number thirteen.

  “But, Raist! What am I supposed to say to the girl? ‘Come down to our room. My brother wants you’?”

  Recognizing the voice, Amberyl pressed closer against the door, listening carefully.

  “If that is all you can think of saying, then say that.”

  The whispering, sneering voice, barely heard above the howling of the storm wind, sent tiny prickles of pain through Amberyl’s body. Shivering, she drew closer still.

  “I don’t care what you do, just bring her to me!”

  Amberyl heard a shuffling sound and a deprecating cough. “Uh, Raist, I don’t know how grateful you think she’s gonna be, but from what I’ve seen of her—”

  “Caramon,” said the whispering voice, “I am weary and sick, and I have no more patience to cope with your stupidity. I told you to bring the girl to me. Now do so.…” The voice trailed off in coughing.

  There came the sound of heavy footsteps nearing the door. Fearful of being caught listening, yet unable to leave, Amberyl wondered frantically what to do. She had just decided to run back to her room and hide when the door opened.

  “Name of the gods!” Caramon said in astonishment, reaching out and catching hold of Amberyl as she shrank backward. “Here she is, Raist! Standing outside in the hall. Eavesdropping!”

  “Is she?” The golden-eyed, golden-skinned mage looked up curiously from where he sat huddled by the fire as his brother half-dragged, half-led Amberyl into the room. “What were you doing out there?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  For a moment, Amberyl could say nothing. She just stood staring at the mage, twisting the bottom of her scarf in her hands.

  “Hold on, Raist,” Caramon said gently. “Don’t yell at her. The poor thing’s freezing. Her hands are like a ghoul’s. Here, my lady,” the big man said awkwardly, leading her closer to the fire and drawing up a chair for her. “Sit down. You’ll catch your death.” He put his hand on her scarf. “This is wet from the snow. Let me take—”

  “No!” Amberyl cried in a choked voice, her hands going to the scarf. “No,” she repeated more softly, flushing to see Raistlin look at her with a grim smile. “I—I’m fine. I … never … catch cold. Please.…”

  “Leave us, Caramon,” Raistlin ordered.

  “What?” The big man looked startled.

  “I said leave us. Go back to your pitcher of ale and the barmaid. She appeared not insensible to your attractions.”

  “Uh, sure, Raist. If that’s what you want.…” Caramon hesitated, looking at his brother with such a dumbfounded expression on his face that Amberyl started to laugh, only it came out in a sob. Hiding her face in her scarf, she tried to check her tears.

  “Leave us!” Raistlin commanded.

  “Sure!” Amberyl heard Caramon backing out the door. “Just … just remember, you’re not strong, Raistlin.…”

  The door closed gently.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Amberyl faltered, raising her face from the scarf and using the tip to dry her eyes. “I didn’t mean to cry. I lost control. It—it won’t happen again.”

  Raistlin did not answer her. Comfortably settled in a battered old chair, the mage sat calmly staring at Amberyl, his frail hands clutching a mug of tea that had long ago gone cold. Behind him, near at hand, his staff leaned against the wall. “Remove the scarf,” he said finally, after a long silence.

  Swallowing her tears, Amberyl slowly reached up and unwound the scarf from her face. The expression in the golden eyes did not change; it was as cold and smooth as glass. Amberyl discovered, looking into those eyes, that she could see herself reflected there. She wouldn’t be able to enter again, not as she had cm the stairs. The mage had put up barriers around his soul.

  Too late! she thought in despair. Too late.…

  “What have you done to me?” Raistlin asked, still not moving. “What spell have you cast upon me? Name it, that I may know how to break it.”

  Amberyl looked down, unable to stand the gaze of those strange eyes a moment longer. “No—no spell,” she murmured, twisting the scarf round and round. “I—I am not … not magi … as surely you can tell—”

  “Damn you!” Raistlin slid out of the chair with the speed of a striking snake. Hurling the mug to the floor, he grabbed hold of Amberyl’s wrists and dragged her to her feet. “You’re lying! You have done something to me! You invaded my being! You live inside me! All I can think of is you. All I see in my mind is your face. I cannot concentrate! My magic eludes me! What have you done, woman?”

  “You—you’re hurting me!” Amberyl cried softly, twisting her arms in his grasp. His touch burned. She could feel an unnatural warmth radiate from his body, as though he were being consumed alive by some inner fire.

  “I will hurt you much worse than this,” Raistlin hissed, drawing her nearer, “if you do not tell me what I ask!”

  “I—I can’t explain!” Amberyl whispered brokenly, gasping as Raistlin tightened his grip. “Please! You must believe me. I didn’t do this to you deliberately! I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

  “Then why did you come here … to my room?”

  “You—you are magi.… I hoped there might be some way … You might know—”

  “—how to break the enchantment,” Raistlin finished softly, loosening his grip and staring at Amberyl. “So—you are telling the truth. It is happening to you. I see that now. That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it? Somehow I have invaded your being as well.”

  Amberyl hung her head. “No. I mean yes. Well, partly.” Raising her face, she looked at the mage. “I did truly come here t
o see if there wasn’t some way …”

  Laughing bitterly, Raistlin dropped her hands. “How can I remove a spell when you won’t tell me what you have cast?”

  “It isn’t a spell!” Amberyl cried despairingly. She could see the marks his fingers had left on her flesh.

  “Then what is it?” Raistlin shouted. His voice cracked, and, coughing, he fell backward, clutching his chest.

  “Here,” Amberyl said, reaching out her hands, “let me help—”

  “Get out!” Raistlin panted through lips flecked with blood and froth. With his last strength, he shoved Amberyl away from him, then sank down into his chair. “Get out!” he said again. Though the words were inaudible, his eyes spoke them clearly, the hourglass pupils dilated with rage.

  Frightened, Amberyl turned and fled. Opening the door, she plummeted out into the hallway, crashing headlong into Caramon and the barmaid who were heading for another room.

  “Hey!” Caramon cried, catching Amberyl in his arms. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “Your—your brother,” Amberyl said in confusion, hiding her face in her long hair. “He … he’s ill.”

  “I warned him …” Caramon said softly, his face crumpling in worry as he heard his brother’s rasping cough. Forgetting the barmaid, who was setting up a disappointed cry behind him, the big warrior went back into his room.

  Amberyl ran blindly down the hall, yanked open her door, and stumbled inside her room to stand, shivering, against the wall in the darkness.

  She may have slept. She wasn’t certain. Her dreams were too near her waking thoughts. But she’d heard a sound. Yes, there it was again. A door slamming. Though it could have been any one of the rooms in the inn, Amberyl knew instinctively whose door it was.

  Rising from the bed on which she’d been lying, fully dressed, the girl opened her door a crack as a voice echoed down the hall.

  “Raist! It’s a blizzard out there! We’ll perish! You can’t take this!”

  “I am leaving this inn! Now!” came the mage’s voice. No longer whispering, it was hoarse with anger and fear. “I am leaving, and I go with you or without you. It’s up to you!”

  The mage started walking down the hall, leaning upon his staff. Stopping, he cast a piercing glance at Amberyl’s room. Panic-stricken, she ducked back into the shadows. He headed toward the stairs, his brother standing behind him, hands spread helplessly.

  “This has to do with that girl, doesn’t it?” Caramon shouted. “Name of the Abyss, answer me! I— He’s gone.” Left alone in the hall, the big warrior scratched his head. “Well, he won’t get far without me. I’ll go after him. Women!” he muttered, hurrying back into the room and reappearing, struggling to lift a pack to his back. “Just after we got out of that damn magic forest, too. Now, I suppose we’ll end up right back in it.”

  Amberyl saw Caramon look down the hall toward her room and, once more, ducked back.

  “I’d like to know what’s going on, my lady,” the big man said in her general direction. Then, shaking his head, Caramon shouldered the pack and clumped hastily down the stairs.

  Amberyl stood for a moment in the darkness of her room, waiting until her breathing calmed and she could think clearly. Then, grabbing her scarf, she wound it tightly around her face. Pulling a fur cloak from her own pack, she crept cautiously down the hall after Caramon.

  Amberyl could recall no worse storm in her life and she had lived many years in the world, though she was young yet by the standards of her kind. The snow was blinding. Blown by a fierce wind, it blotted out all traces of any object from her sight—even her own hands held out before her were swallowed up by the stinging, blinding white darkness. There was no possible way she could have tracked Raistlin and his brother—no way except the way she did it—by the bond that had been accidentally created between herself and the mage.

  Accidental. Yes, it must have been accidental, she thought as she trudged through the drifts. Though the snow had been falling only a matter of hours, it was already knee-deep. Strong as she was, she was having some difficulty plowing her way through the steep drifts and she could imagine the magic-user … in his long robes.…

  Shaking her head, Amberyl sighed. Well, the two humans would stop soon. That much was certain. Wrapping her scarf tighter about her face, covering her skin from the biting snow, she asked herself what she intended to do when they did stop. Would she tell the mage?

  What choice do I have? she argued with herself bitterly and, even as she asked the question, she slipped and stumbled. There! she thought, a sickening wave of fear convulsing her. It’s beginning already, the weakness that came from the bond. And if it was happening to her, it must be happening to him also! Would it be worse in a human? she wondered in sudden alarm. What if he died!

  No, she would tell him tonight, she decided firmly. Then, stopping to lean against a tree and catch her breath, she closed her eyes.

  And after you’ve told—then what?

  “I don’t know …” she murmured to herself brokenly. “The gods help me. I don’t know!”

  So lost in her fear and inner turmoil was Amberyl that, for a moment, she did not notice that the snow had suddenly ceased falling, the cutting, biting wind had lessened. When she became aware of the fact, she looked around. There were stars, she saw, and even moonlight! Solinari shone brightly, turning the snow silver and the white-covered woods into a wondrous realm of the most fantastic beauty.

  The woods.… She had crossed the boundary. Amberyl laid her hand gently upon the trunk of the tree against which she leaned. She could feel the life pulsing in the bark, the magic pulsing within that life.

  She was in the magical Forest of Wayreth. Though the blizzard might rage unabated not one foot away from her, here, within the shelter of these trees, it could be summer if the wizards commanded it. But it wasn’t. The wind, though it had ceased its inhuman howl, still bit the flesh with teeth of ice. The snow was piled thigh-deep in places. But at least the storm was not permitted to vent its full fury inside the forest. Amberyl could see now quite clearly. Solinari’s light against the snow was bright as the sun. No longer was she stumbling in the dark, led on only by the burning remembrance of the mage’s golden eyes, his touch.…

  Sighing, Amberyl walked on until she found tracks in the snow. It was the humans. Yes, her instincts had led her unerringly. Not that she had ever doubted her powers. But would they hold true in this forest? Ever since she had come to this land, she had been hearing tales about the strange and magical wood.

  Pausing, Amberyl examined the tracks, and her fear grew. There were two sets—one pair of footprints that went through the deepest drifts without stopping. The other, however, was a wide swath cut through the snow, the swath left by a man floundering along in heavy, wet robes. In more than one place, she could see quite clearly the marks of hands, as though the mage had fallen. Her heart began to beat painfully when she saw that one set of tracks—the mage’s—had come to an end. His brother must be carrying him! Perhaps he … perhaps he was …

  No! Amberyl caught her breath, shaking her head. The mage might be frail-looking, but there was a strength in him greater than the finest steel blade ever forged. All this meant was that the two must stop and find shelter, and that would work to her advantage.

  It wasn’t long before she heard voices.

  Dodging behind a tree, keeping within its moon-cast shadow, Amberyl saw a tiny bit of light streaming outside what must be a cave in the side of a cliff, a cliff that had apparently appeared out of nowhere, for she could have sworn she had not seen it ahead of her.

  “Of course,” she whispered to herself in thankfulness, “the wizards will take care of one of their own. Do they know I am here?” she wondered suddenly. “Would they recognize me? Perhaps not. It has been so long, after all.…” Well, it did not matter. There was little they could do. Hopefully, they would not interfere.

  “I’ve got to get help, Raist!” she heard the big warrior saying as she dr
ew near. Caramon’s voice sounded tense and anguished. “You’ve never been this bad! Never!”

  There was silence, then Caramon’s voice rose again in answer to words Amberyl could not hear.

  “I don’t know! Back to the inn if I have to! All I know is that this firewood isn’t going to last until morning. You yourself tell me not to cut the trees in this forest, and they’re wet anyway. It’s stopped snowing. I’ll only be gone a few hours at most. You’ll be safe here. Probably a lot safer in these accursed woods than I will.” A pause, then. “No, Raist. This time I’m doing what I think best!”

  In her mind, Amberyl could almost hear the mage’s bitter curse, and she smiled to herself. The light from the cave was obliterated for an instant by a dark shadow—Caramon coming out. It hesitated. Could the man be having second thoughts? The shadow half-turned, going back into the cave.

  Quickly murmuring words to herself in a language that none on the continent of Ansalon had heard for countless centuries, Amberyl gestured. Barely visible from where she stood, a glimmer of firelight burst into being far off in another part of the forest.

  Catching a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye, Caramon shouted. “Raist! There’s— A fire! Someone’s close by! You stay wrapped up and … and warm.… I’ll be back soon!”

  The shadow merged with the darkness, then Amberyl saw the bright glint of armor in the moonlight and heard the heavy footsteps and labored breathing of the big man slogging through the snow.

  Amberyl smiled. “No, you won’t be back very soon, my friend,” she told him silently as he passed right by the tree where she was hiding, “not very soon at all.”

  Waiting until she was certain Caramon was well off on his pursuit of the elusive blaze that would, she knew, keep always just beyond his reach, Amberyl drew a deep breath, said a silent prayer to her god, and crept swiftly through the sparkling silver snow toward the cave.