The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  Pushing aside the blanket Caramon had strung up in a pathetic attempt to block out the elements, Amberyl entered. The cave was cold, damp, and dark, 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 woodlore that he had been able to coax a flame from it at all. But it wouldn’t last long and there was no wood at all 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 to sit in front of the mage, she clasped her arms around her legs, looking at him as intently as he stared at her.

  “Take off your scarf,” he whispered.

  Slowly, Amberyl unwound the scarf from her face, letting it fall about her shoulders. She shook out her snow-wet hair, feeling drops of water spatter on her hands.

  “How beautiful you—” He broke off. “What will happen to me?” Raistlin asked abruptly. “Will I die?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Amberyl answered reluctantly, her gaze going to the fire. She couldn’t bear to look at him. The mage’s eyes burned through her, touching something deep inside, filling her with sweet pain. “I have … never heard of this … happening to—to a … human before.”

  “So you are not human,” Raistlin remarked.

  “No, I am not,” Amberyl replied, still unable to face him.

  “You are not elven, nor any of the other races that I am familiar with who live upon Krynn—and I tell you— What is your name?”

  “Amberyl.”

  “Amberyl,” he said it lingeringly, as though tasting it. She shivered again.

  “I tell you, Amberyl,” he repeated, “I am familiar with all the races on Krynn.”

  “Wise you may be, mage,” Amberyl murmured, “but the mysteries of this world that have yet to be discovered are as numberless as the snowflakes.”

  “You will not reveal your secret to me?”

  Amberyl shook her glistening hair. “It is not my secret alone.”

  Raistlin was silent. Amberyl did not speak either. Both sat listening to the hissing and popping of the wood and the whistling of the wind among the trees.

  “So … I am to die, then,” Raistlin said, breaking the silence at last. He didn’t sound angry, just weary and resigned.

  “No, no, no!” Amberyl cried. Reaching out impulsively, she took his thin, wasted hand in her own, cradling her cheek against it. “No,” she repeated. “Because then I would die.”

  Raistlin snatched his hand from hers. Propping himself up weakly on his elbow, his golden eyes glittering, he whispered hoarsely, “There is a cure? You can break this … this enchantment?”

  “Yes,” Amberyl answered without a voice, feeling the warm blood suffuse her face.

  “How?” Raistlin demanded, his hand clenching.

  “First,” said Amberyl, swallowing, “I—I must tell you something about … about the Valin.”

  “The what?” Raistlin asked quickly Amberyl could see his eyes flicker. Even facing death, his mind was working, catching hold eagerly of this new information, storing it away.

  “The Valiti. That is what it is called in our language. It means …” She paused, frowning, trying to think. “I suppose the closest meaning in your language is life-mate.”

  The startled expression on the mage’s face was so funny that Amberyl laughed nervously. “Wait, let me explain,” she said, feeling her own face growing more and more flushed. “For reasons of our own, in ages so far back that they are past reckoning, my people fled this land and retreated to one where we could live undisturbed. Our race is, as you were able to detect, long-lived. But we are not immortal. As all others, in order for our race to survive, we must produce children. But there were few of us and fewer still as time went by. The land we chose to live in is a harsh one. We tend to be loners, living by ourselves with little interaction even among our own kind. What you know as families are unknown among us. We saw our race begin to dwindle and the elders knew that soon it must die out completely. They were able to establish the Valin to ensure that our young people … that they …”

  Raistlin’s face had not changed expression; his eyes continued to stare at her. But Amberyl could not continue speaking beneath that strange, unblinking gaze.

  “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 she was. Stirring slightly, she felt the mage’s arm wrapped around her protectively, the warmth of his body lying next to hers. Sighing, 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 astonishment.

  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.

  “I’ll be a gully dwarf,” Caramon breathed in awe, suddenly noticing that the fire was burning solid rock. Shivering, the big man glanced around. “Mages!” he muttered, keeping a safe distance from the strange blaze. “The sooner we’re out of this weird forest the better, to my mind. Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily. “Looks like you wizards saved Raist’s life. I just wonder why it was necessary to send me on that wild swimming-bird chase.” Kneeling down, he shook his brother by the shoulder.

  “Raist,” Caramon whispered gently. “Raist. Wake up!”

  Raistlin’s eyes opened wide. Starting up, he looked around. “Where is—” he began.

  “Where is who? What?” Caramon cried in alarm. Backing up, his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looked frantically around the small cave. “I knew—”

  “Is … is—” Raistlin stopped, frowning.

  “No one, I guess,” the mage said softly, his hand going to his head. He felt dizzy. “Relax, my brother,” he snapped irritably, glancing up at Caramon. “There is no one here but us.”

  “But … this fire …” Caramon said, eyeing the blaze suspiciously. “Who—”

  “My own work,” Raistlin replied. “After you ran off and left me, what else could I do? Help me to my feet.” Stretching out his frail hand, the mage caught hold of his brother’s strong one and slowly rose up out of the pile of blankets on the stone floor.

  “I—I didn’t know you could do anything like that!” Caramon said, staring at the fire whose fuel was rock.

  “There is much about me you do not know, my brother,” Raistlin returned. Wrapping himself up warmly in his cloak, he watched as Caramon hurriedly repacked the blankets.

&nbs
p; “They’re still a little damp,” the big man muttered. “I suppose we ought to stay and dry them out.…”

  “No,” Raistlin said, shivering. He took hold of the Staff of Magius, which was leaning against the cavern wall. “I have no desire to spend any more time in the Forest of Wayreth.”

  “You’ve got my vote there,” Caramon said fervently. “I wonder if there are any good inns around here. I heard that there was one, built near the forest. It’s called the Wayward Inn or some such thing.” The big man’s eyes brightened. “Maybe tonight we’ll eat hot food and drink good ale for a change. And sleep in a bed!”

  “Perhaps.” Raistlin shrugged, as if it didn’t much matter.

  Still talking of what he had heard about the rumored inn, Caramon picked up the blanket that had hung over the cave entrance, folded it, and added it to the ones in his pack. “I’ll go ahead a little way,” he said to his brother. “Break a trail through the snow for you.”

  Raistlin nodded, but said nothing. Walking to the entrance of the cave, he stood in the doorway, watching his strong twin wade through the snowdrifts, making a path the frail twin could follow. Raistlin’s lip curled in bitterness, but the sneer slipped as, turning, he looked back inside the cave. The fire had died almost instantly, upon Caramon’s leaving. Already, the chill was creeping back.

  But there lingered on the air, still, the faint fragrance of lilac, of spring.…

  Shrugging, Raistlin turned and walked out into the snow-blanketed forest.

  The Wayward Inn looked its best in summer, a season that has this happy influence on just about anything and everyone. Great quantities of ivy had been persuaded to cradle the inn in its leafy green embrace, thus hiding some of the building’s worst deficiencies. The roof still needed patching; this occurred to Slegart every time it rained, when it was impossible to go out and fix it. During dry weather, of course, it didn’t leak and so didn’t need fixing. The windows were still cracked, but in the heat of summer, the cool breeze that wafted through the panes was a welcome one.

  There were more travelers at the inn during these journeying months. Dwarven smiths, occasionally an elf, many humans, and more kender than anyone cared to think about, generally kept Slegart and his barmaids busy from morning until late, late at night.