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"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, her eyes going to the
mage. 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
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