Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [52]
Raistlin spoke, “Ast kiranann kair Soth-aran/Suh kali Jalaran.” A ball of flame flashed from the mage’s hands to burst directly upon the elf—without effect. Its spear, driven by incredible force, pierced Caramon’s armor, entering his body, nailing him to the tree behind.
The elven warrior yanked his weapon free from the big man’s shoulder. Caramon slumped to the ground, his life’s blood mingling with the tree’s blood. Raistlin, with a fury that surprised him, drew the silver dagger from the leather thong he wore hidden on his arm and flung it at the elf. The blade pricked its undead spirit and the elven warrior, horse and all, vanished into air. Yet Caramon lay upon the ground, his arm hanging from his body by only a thin strip of flesh.
Goldmoon knelt to heal him, but she stumbled over her prayers, her faith failing her amid the horror.
“Help me, Mishakal,” Goldmoon prayed. “Help me to help my friend.”
The dreadful wound closed. Though blood still seeped from it, trickling down Caramon’s arm, death loosed its grip on the warrior. Raistlin knelt beside his brother and started to speak to him. Then suddenly the mage fell silent. He stared past Caramon into the trees, his strange eyes widening with disbelief.
“You!” Raistlin whispered.
“Who is it?” Caramon asked weakly, hearing a thrill of horror and fear in Raistlin’s voice. The big man peered into the green light but could see nothing. “Who do you mean?”
But Raistlin, intent upon another conversation, did not answer.
“I need your aid,” the mage said sternly. “Now, as before.”
Caramon saw his brother stretch out his hand, as though reaching across a great gap, and was consumed with fear without knowing why.
“No, Raist!” he cried, clutching at his brother in panic. Raistlin’s hand dropped.
“Our bargain remains. What? You ask for more?” Raistlin was silent a moment, then he sighed. “Name it!”
For long moments, the mage listened, absorbing. Caramon, watching him with loving anxiety, saw his brother’s thin metallic-tinged face grow deathly pale. Raistlin closed his eyes, swallowing as though drinking his bitter herbal brew. Finally he bowed his head.
“I accept.”
Caramon cried out in horror as he saw Raistlin’s robes, the red robes that marked his neutrality in the world, begin to deepen to crimson, then darken to a blood red, and then darken more—to black.
“I accept this,” Raistlin repeated more calmly, “with the understanding that the future can be changed. What must we do?”
He listened. Caramon clutched his arm, moaning in agony.
“How do we get through to the Tower alive?” Raistlin asked his unseen instructor. Once more he attended carefully, then nodded. “And I will be given what I need? Very well. Farewell then, if such a thing is possible for you on your dark journey.”
Raistlin rose to his feet, his black robes rustling around him. Ignoring Caramon’s sobs and Goldmoon’s terrified gasp as she saw him, the mage went in search of Tanis. He found the half-elf, back against a tree, battling a host of elven warriors.
Calmly, Raistlin reached into his pouch and drew forth a bit of rabbit fur and a small amber rod. Rubbing these together in his left palm, he held forth his right hand and spoke. “Ast kiranann kair Gadurm Sotharn/Suh kali Jalaran.”
Bolts of lightning shot from his fingertips, streaking through the green-tinted air, striking the elven warriors. As before, they vanished. Tanis stumbled backward, exhausted.
Raistlin stood in the center of a clearing of the distorted, tormented trees.
“Come around me!” the mage commanded his companions.
Tanis hesitated. Elven warriors hovered on the fringes of the clearing. They surged forward to attack, but Raistlin raised his hand, and they stopped as though crashing against an unseen wall.
“Come to stand near me.” The companions were astonished to hear Raistlin speak—for the first time since his Tests—in a normal voice. “Hurry,” he added, “they will not attack now. They fear me. But I cannot hold them back long.”
Tanis came forward, his face pale beneath the red beard, blood dribbling from a wound on his head.