Love And War (33 page)

“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 to 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 hurried 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 mages voice. No longer whispering, it was hoarse
with anger and fear. “I am leaving, and I go with 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. The
mage 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 cautiously crept 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 her self and the mage.

Accidental. Yes, it must have been accidental, she thought as she trudged along. 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. Hurrying forward, her heart began to beat painfully when she saw that
one set of tracks - the mage's - came 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 thankful-ness, “the mages 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 drew 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 comer 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.

Pushing aside the blanket Caramon had strung up in a pathetic attempt to block out the
elements, Amberyl entered the cave. It was cold, damp, and dark, being lit only by a fire
that sputtered feebly near the doorway to allow for ventilation. Glancing at it, Amberyl
shook her head. What firewood Caramon had been able to find was wet with snow and ice. It
was a tribute to the big man's skill in woodslore that he had been able to coax a flame
from it at all. But it wouldn't last long and there was no wood to replace it when it was
gone.

Peering into the shadows, Amberyl couldn't find the mage at first, though she could hear
his rattling breath and smell the spicy fragrance of his spell components. Then he
coughed. A bundle of clothes and blankets near the fire moved, and Amberyl saw a thin hand
snake out to clasp hold of a steaming mug that stood near the blaze. The fingers trembled, nearly dropping
the mug. Hurriedly kneeling by his side, Amberyl caught hold of it.

“Let me help you,” she said. Not waiting for an answer, she lifted the mug in her hand,
then assisted Raistlin to sit. “Lean on me,” she offered, seeing the mage endeavoring
weakly to prop himself up.

“You're not surprised to see me, are you?” she asked.

Raistlin regarded her for a few moments with his flat, golden eyes, then - with a bitter
smile - rested his frail body against Amberyl's as she settled down beside him. Chilled as
he was, Amberyl could feel that strange warmth emanate from the thin body. He was tense
and rigid, his breathing labored. Raistlin lifted the mug to his lips but began to cough
again, a cough that Amberyl could feel tear at him.

Taking the mug from him, she set it down and held onto him as he choked and gasped for
breath, wrapping her arms around him as though she would hold his body together. Her own
heart was torn, both in pity for him and his suffering and with fear for herself. He was
so weak! What if he died?

But, finally, the spasm eased. Raistlin was able to draw a shuddering breath and motioned
for his drink. Amberyl held it to his lips, her nose wrinkling at the foul smell.

Slowly, Raistlin sipped it. “I wondered if you would find us here,” he whispered. “I
wondered if the wizards would allow you inside the forest.”

“I wondered the same myself,” Amberyl said softly. “As for me finding you” - she sighed -
“if I hadn't, you would have found me. You would have come back to me. You couldn't help
yourself.”

“So that's the way it is,” Raistlin said, his breathing coming easier.

“That's the way it is. . . .” Amberyl murmured.

“Help me lie down,” Raistlin ordered, sinking back among his blankets. Amberyl made him as
comfortable as possible, her gaze going to the dying fire. A sudden gust of wind blew the
blanket aside. A flurry of snow hissed and danced on the glowing embers.

“I feel myself growing strangely weak, as though my life were being drained off,” the mage
said, huddling into the wet blankets. “Is that a result of the spell?”

“Yes ... I feel it, too. And it isn't a spell,” Amberyl said, doing what she could to stir
up the blaze. Coming around to sit in front of the mage, she clasped her arms around her
legs, looking at him as intently as he stared at her.