Margaret Weis - THE SOULFORGE

Raistlin deduced from these lights that he was back in the Tower of Wayreth, walking one of the many corridors of that magical building. Fistandantilus had lied. Raistlin's Test was over. He had only to find his way back to the Hall of Mages, there to receive congratulations.

A breath of air touched the back of his neck. Raistlin started to turn. Burning pain and the nerve- jarring sensation of metal scraping against bone, his own bone, caused his body to jerk with agony.

"This is for Micah and Renet!" hissed Liam's vicious voice.

Liam's arm, thin, strong, tried to encircle Raistlin's neck. A blade flashed.

The elf had intended his first blow to be his last. He had tried to sever Raistlin's spinal cord. That breath of air on his neck had been enough to alert Raistlin. When he turned, the blade missed its mark, slid along his ribs. Liam was going to make another try, this time going for the throat.

Raistlin's panic-stripped mind could not come up with the words of a spell. He had no weapon other than his magic. He was reduced to fighting like an animal, with tooth and claw. His fear was his most powerful tool, if he did not let it debilitate him. He remembered vaguely watching Sturm and his brother in hand-to-hand combat.

Clasping his hands together, Raistlin drove his right elbow with all the force his adrenaline- pumping body could manage into Liam's midriff.

The dark elf grunted and fell back. But he was not injured, just short of breath. He leapt back to the fight, his knife slashing.

Frantic and terrified, Raistlin grabbed hold of his attacker's knife hand. The two grappled, Liam trying to stab Raistlin, Raistlin struggling to wrench the knife from the dark elf's grip.

They lurched about the narrow corridor. Raistlin's strength was ebbing fast. He could not hope to keep up this deadly contest for long. Staking his hopes on one desperate move, Raistlin concentrated his remaining energy, smashed the elf's hand-the hand holding the knife-against the stone.

Bones cracked, the elf gasped in pain, but he clung tenaciously to his weapon.

Panic seized hold. Again and again Raistlin struck Liam's hand against the hard stone. The knife's handle was slippery with blood. Liam could not hold on to it. The knife slipped from his grip and fell to the floor.

Liam made a lunge to try to recover his weapon. He lost it in the shadows, apparently, for he was down on all fours, frantically searching the floor.

Raistlin saw the knife. The blade burned with red fire in Lunitari's bright light. The elf saw it at the same time, made a lunge for it. Snatching the knife from beneath the elf's grasping fingers, Raistlin drove the blade into Liam's stomach.

The dark elf screamed, doubled over.

Raistlin yanked the blade free. Liam tumbled to his knees, his hand pressed over his stomach. Blood poured from his mouth. He pitched forward, dead, at Raistlin's feet.

Gasping, each breath causing him wrenching agony, Raistlin started to turn, to flee. He could not make his legs work properly and collapsed to the stone floor. A burning sensation spread from the knife wound throughout his nerve endings. He was nauseated, sick.

Liam would have his revenge after all, Raistlin realized in bitter despair. The dark elf's knife blade had been tipped with poison.

The lights of Solinari and Lunitari wavered in his sight, blurred together, and then darkness overtook him.

Raistlin woke to find himself lying in the same corridor. Liam's body was still there, beside him, the elf's dead hand touching him. The body was still warm. Raistlin had not been unconscious long.

He dragged himself away from the dead body of the dark elf. Wounded and weak, he crawled into a shadowy corridor and slumped against a wall. Pain coiled around his bowels. Clutching his stomach, he retched and heaved. When the vomiting subsided, he lay back on the stone floor and waited to die.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded through a haze of sickness.

He knew the answer. Because he had dared to bargain with a wizard so powerful that he had once thought of overthrowing Takhisis, a wizard so powerful that the conclave feared his power even after he was dead.

If your armor is made of dross, it will crack at the first blow, and when that happens, I will slip inside and take what is mine.

Raistlin almost laughed. "What little life I have left, you are welcome to, archmagus!"

He lay on the floor, his cheek pressed against the stone. Did he want to survive? The Test had taken a terrible toll, one from which he might never recover. His health had always been precarious. If he survived, his body would be like a shattered crystal, held together by the force of his own will. How would he live? Who would take care of him?

Caramon. Caramon would care for his weak twin.

Raistlin stared into Lunitari's red, flickering light. He couldn't imagine such a life, a life of dependency on his brother. Death was preferable.

A figure materialized out of the shadowy darkness of the corridor, a figure illuminated by Solinari's white light.

"This is it," Raistlin said to himself. "This is my final test. The one I won't survive."

He felt almost grateful to the wizards for ending his suffering. He lay helpless, watching the dark shadow as it drew closer and closer. It came to stand next to him. He could sense its living presence, hear its breathing. It bent over him. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes.

"Raist?"

Gentle fingers touched his feverish flesh.

"Raist!" The voice sobbed. "What have they done to you?"

"Caramon," Raistlin spoke, but he couldn't hear his own words. His throat was raw from the smoke, the retching.

"I'm taking you out of here," his brother said.

Strong arms slipped under Raistlin's body. He smelled Caramon's familiar smell of sweat and leather, heard the familiar sound of creaking armor, his broadsword clanking against the stone.

"No!" Raistlin tried to free himself. He pushed against his brother's massive chest with his frail, fragile hand. "Leave me, Caramon! My Test is not finished! Leave me!" His voice was an intelligible croak. He gagged, coughed.

Caramon lifted his brother, cradled him in his arms. "Nothing is worth this, Raist. Rest easy."

They walked beneath the silver hand, holding the white light. Raistlin saw tears, wet and glistening, on his brother's cheeks. He made one last attempt.

"They won't permit me to leave, Caramon!" He fought for breath enough to speak. "They'll try to stop us. You're only putting yourself in danger."

"Let them come," Caramon said grimly. He walked with firm, unhurried steps down the corridor.

Raistlin sank back, helpless, his head resting on Caramon's shoulder. For an instant, he allowed himself to feel comforted by his brother's strength. The next moment he cursed his weakness, cursed his twin.

"You fool!" Raistlin said silently, lacking the strength to speak the words aloud. "You great, stubborn fool! Now we'll both die. And, of course, you will die protecting me. Even in death, I will be indebted to you."

"Ah!"

Raistlin heard and felt the sharp intake of breath into his brother's body. Caramon's pace slowed. Raistlin raised his head.

At the end of the corridor floated the disembodied head of an old man. Raistlin heard whispered words.

If your armor is made of dross…

"Mmmmm." Caramon rumbled deeply in his chest-his battle cry.

"My magic can destroy it!" Raistlin protested as Caramon laid his brother gently on the stone floor. That was a lie. Raistlin did not have energy enough to pull a rabbit from a hat. But he'd be damned if Caramon was going to fight his battles, especially against the old man. Raistlin had made the bargain, he had been the one to benefit, he must pay.

"Get out of my way, Caramon!"