The Second Generation

“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 Valin. 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....”