"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 said coldly.
"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 dumb-founded 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 ordered.
"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, using the hem 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 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 on 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'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 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.