Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

“You chose to leave your land?” Raistlin asked. “Or were you sent away?”

“I was sent to this land ... by the elders. There are others here as well....”

“Why? What for?”

Amberyl shook her head. Picking up a stick, she poked at the fire, giving herself an excuse to avoid his eyes.

“But surely your elders knew that something like this must happen if you go out into other lands,” Raistlin said bitterly. “Or have they been away that long?”

“You have no conception of how long we have been away,” Amberyl said softly, staring at the fire that was flickering out despite her best efforts to keep it going. “And, no, it should not have happened. Not with one who is not of our race.” Her gaze went back to Raistlin. “And now it is my turn to ask questions. What is there about you that is different from other humans? For there is something, something besides your golden skin and eyes that see death in the living. Looking at you, I perceive the shadow of another. You are young, yet there is a timelessness about you. Who are you, Raistlin, that this has happened between us?”

To her amazement, Raistlin blanched, his eyes widening in fear, then narrowing in suspicion. “It seems we both have our secrets.” He shrugged.

“And now, Amberyl, it appears that we will never know what caused this to happen. All that should really concern us is what must be done to rid ourselves of this ... this Valin.”

Shutting her eyes, Amberyl licked her lips. Her mouth was dry, and the cave was suddenly unbearably cold. Shivering, she tried more than once to speak. “What?” Raistlin’s voice grated.

“I. . . must bear ... your child,” Amberyl said weakly, her throat constricting.

For long moments there was silence. Amberyl did not dare open her eyes, she did not dare look at the mage. Ashamed and afraid, she buried her face in her arms. But an odd sound made her raise her gaze.

Raistlin was lying back on his blankets, laughing. It was almost inaudible laughter, more a wheeze and a choking but laughter nonetheless—taunting, cutting laughter. And Amberyl saw, with pity in her heart, that its sharp edge was directed against himself.

“Don’t, please, don’t,” Amberyl said, crawling nearer. “Look at me, lady!” Raistlin gasped, his laughter catching in his throat, setting him to coughing. Grinning at her mirthlessly, he gestured outside. “You had best wait for my brother. Caramon will be back soon....”

“No, he won’t,” Amberyl said softly, creeping closer to Raistlin. “Your brother will not be back before morning.”

Raistlin’s lips parted. His eyes—filled with a sudden hunger—devoured Amberyl’s face. “Morning,” he repeated. “Morning,” she said.

Reaching up a trembling hand, Raistlin brushed back the beautiful hair from her delicate face. “The fire will be out long before morning.”

“Yes,” said Amberyl softly, blushing, resting her cheek against the mage’s hand. “It—it’s already growing cold in here. We will have to do something to keep warm ... or we will perish....”

Raistlin drew his hand over her smooth skin, his finger touching her soft lips. Her eyes closed, she leaned toward him. His hand moved to touch her long eyelashes, as fine as elven lace. Her body pressed close to his. He could feel her shivering. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close. As he did so, the fire’s last little flame flickered and died. Darkness warmer and softer than the blankets covered them. Outside they could hear the wind laughing, the trees whispering to themselves.

“Or we will perish...” Raistlin murmured.

Amberyl woke from a fitful sleep wondering, for a moment, where sh e was. Stirring slightly, she felt the mage’s arm wrapped around her protectively, the warmth of his body lying next to hers. Signing, she rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the shallow, too rapid breathing.

She let herself lie there, surrounded by his warmth, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.

Outside, she could no longer hear the wind and knew the storm must have ended. The darkness that covered them was giving way to dawn. She could barely make out the blackened remnants of the firewood in the gray half-light. Turning slightly, she could see Raistlin’s face.

He was a light sleeper. He stirred and muttered at her movement, coughing, starting to wake. Amberyl touched his eyelids lightly with her fingertips, and he sighed deeply and relaxed back into sleep, the lines of pain smoothing from his face.

How young he looks, she thought to herself. How young and vulnerable. He has been deeply hurt. That is why he wears the armor of arrogance and unfeeling. It chafes him now. He is not used to it. But something tells me he will become all too accustomed to this armor before his brief life ends.

Moving carefully and quietly so as not to disturb him—more by instinct than because she feared she would wake him from his enchanted sleep—Amberyl slid out from his unconscious embrace. Gathering her things, she wrapped the scarf once more about her head. Then, kneeling down beside the sleeping mage, she looked upon Raistlin’s face one last time.

“I could stay,” she told him softly. “I could stay with you a little while. But then my solitary nature would get the better of me and I would leave you and you would be hurt.” A sudden thought made her shudder. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Or you might find out the truth about our race. If you ever discovered it, then you would loathe me, despise me! Worse still”—her eyes filled with tears—“you would despise our child.”

Gently, Amberyl stroked back the mage’s prematurely white hair, and her hand caressed the golden skin. “There is something about you that frightens me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand. Perhaps the wise will know....” A tear crept down her face. “Farewell, mage. What I do now will keep pain from us both”—bending down, she kissed the sleeping face—“and from one who should come into this world free of all its burdens.”

Amberyl placed her hand upon the mage’s temples and, closing her eyes, began reciting words in the ancient language. Then, tracing the name Caramon upon the dirt floor, she spoke the same words over it as well. Rising hurriedly to her feet, she started to leave the cave. At the entrance she paused.

The cave was damp and chill; she heard the mage cough. Pointing at the fire, she spoke again. A blazing flame leapt up from the cold stone, filling the cave with warmth and light. With a final backward glance, a last, small sigh, Amberyl stepped out of the cave and walked away beneath the watchful, puzzled trees of the magical Forest of Wayreth.

Dawn glistened brightly on the new-fallen snow when Caramon finally made his way back to the cave.

“Raist!” he called out in a frightened voice as he drew nearer. “Raist! I’m sorry! This cursed forest!” He swore, glancing nervously at the trees as he did so. “This . . .blasted place. I spent half the night chasing after some wretched firelight that vanished when the sun came up. Are—are you all right?"

Frightened, wet, and exhausted, Caramon stumbled through the snow, listening for his brother’s answer, cough ... anything.

Hearing nothing from within the cave but ominous silence, Caramon hurried forward, tearing the blanket from the entrance in his desperate haste to get inside.

Once there, he stopped, staring about him in astonish ment.

A comfortable, cheery fire burned brightly. The cave was as warm—warmer—than a room in the finest inn. His twin lay fast asleep, his face peaceful as though lost in some sweet dream. The air was filled with a springlike fragrance, as of lilacs and lavender.