Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [27]
The Aesthetics found him huddled in his red robes, vomiting blood upon their stairs. He managed to gasp out the name of Astinus and his own name when they asked. Then he lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was here, in this cold, narrow monk’s cell. And with waking came the knowledge that he was dying. He had asked more of his body than it was capable of giving. The dragon orb might save him, but he had no more strength to work his magic. The words to draw upon its enchantment were gone from his mind.
I am too weak to control its tremendous power anyway, he realized. Let it once know I have lost my strength and it would devour me.
No, there was only one chance remaining to him, the books inside the great library. The dragon orb had promised him that these books held the secrets of the ancient ones, great and powerful mages whose like would never be seen again on Krynn. Perhaps there he could find the means to extend his life. He had to talk to Astinus! He had to gain admittance to the great library, he had shrieked at the complacent Aesthetics. But they only nodded.
“Astinus will see you,” they said, “this evening, if he has time.”
If he has time! Raistlin swore viciously. If I have time! He could feel the sands of his life running through his fingers and, grasp at them as he might, he could not stop them.
Gazing at him with pitying eyes, not knowing what to do for him, the Aesthetics brought Raistlin food, but he could not eat. He could not even swallow the bitter herbal medicine that eased his cough. Furious, he sent the idiots away from him. Then he lay back on his hard pillow, watching the sun’s light creep across his cell. Exerting all his effort to cling to life, Raistlin forced himself to relax, knowing that this feverish anger would burn him up. His thoughts went to his brother.
Closing his eyes wearily, Raistlin imagined Caramon sitting beside him. He could almost feel Caramon’s arms around him, lifting him up so that he could breathe more easily. He could smell his brother’s familiar scent of sweat and leather and steel. Caramon would take care of him. Caramon would not let him die.…
No, Raistlin thought dreamily. Caramon is dead now. They are all dead, the fools. I must look after myself. Suddenly he realized he was losing consciousness again. Desperately he fought, but it was a losing battle. Making a final, supreme effort, he thrust his shaking hand into a pocket in his robe. His fingers closed around the dragon orb, shrunk to the size of a child’s marble, even as he sank into darkness.
He woke to the sound of voices and the knowledge that someone was in the cell with him. Fighting through layers of blackness, Raistlin struggled to the surface of his consciousness and opened his eyes.
It was evening. Lunitari’s red light glanced through his window, a shimmering blood-stain upon the wall. A candle burned beside his bed and, by its light, he saw two men standing over him. One he recognized as the Aesthetic who had discovered him. The other? He seemed familiar.…
“He wakes, Master,” said the Aesthetic.
“So he does,” remarked the man imperturbably. Bending down, he studied the young mage’s face, then smiled and nodded to himself, almost as if someone he had long expected had finally arrived. It was a peculiar look, and it did not go unnoticed by either Raistlin or the Aesthetic.
“I am Astinus,” the man spoke. “You are Raistlin of Solace.”
“I am.” Raistlin’s mouth formed the words, his voice was little more than a croak. Gazing up at Astinus, Raistlin’s anger returned as he remembered the man’s callous remark that he would see him if he had time. As Raistlin stared at the man, he felt suddenly chilled. He had never seen a face so cold and unfeeling, totally devoid of human emotion and human passion. A face untouched by time—
Raistlin gasped. Struggling to sit up—with the Aesthetic’s help—he stared at Astinus.
Noticing Raistlin’s reaction, Astinus remarked, “You look at me strangely, young mage. What do you see with those hourglass eyes of yours?”
“I see