the table, he followed the woman, who was half-way up the stairs.
'I'll show you to yer room!' he leered, grabbing hold of her and jerking her backward.
Caught off-balance, the guest fell into the ruffian's arms with a cry that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was, indeed, a female.
'Raistlin?' pleaded Caramon, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
'Very well, my brother,' the mage said with a sigh. Reaching out his hand for the staff he had leaned against the wall, he used it to pull himself to his feet.
Caramon was starting to stand up when he saw his brother's eyes go to a point just behind him. Catching the look, Caramon nodded slightly just as a heavy hand closed over his shoulder.
'Good stew, ain't it?' said one of the hunting party. 'Shame to interrupt yer dinner over somethin' that ain't none of yer business. Unless, of course, you want to share some of the fun. If so, we'll let you know when it's your tur — »
Caramon's fist thudded into the man's jaw. 'Thanks,' the warrior said coolly, drawing his sword and twisting around to face the other thugs behind him. 'I think I'll take my turn now.'
A chair flung from the back of the crowd caught Caramon on the shoulder of his sword arm. Two men in front jumped him, one grabbing his wrist and trying to knock the sword free, the other flailing away with his fists. The mob — seeing the warrior apparently falling — surged forward.
'Get the girl, Raist! I'll take care of these!' Caramon shouted in muffled tones from beneath a sea of bodies. 'Everything's… under… contr — »
'As usual, my brother,' said the mage wryly. Ignoring the grunts and yells, the cracking of furniture and bone, Raistlin leaned on his staff and began climbing the stairs.
The girl was fighting her attacker with her fists — she apparently had no other weapon — and it was easy to see she must soon lose. The man's attention was fixed on dragging his struggling victim up the stairs, and he never noticed the red-robed mage moving swiftly behind him. There was a flash of silver, a quick thrust of the mage's hand, and the ruffian, letting loose of the girl, clutched his ribs. Blood welled out from between his fingers. For an instant he stared at Raistlin in astonishment, then tumbled past him, falling headlong down the stairs, the mage's dagger protruding from his side.
'Raist! Help!' Caramon shouted from below. Though he had laid three opponents low, he was locked in a vicious battle with a fourth, his movements decidedly hampered by a gully dwarf, who had crawled up his back and was beating him over the head with a pan.
But Raistlin was not able to go to his brother's rescue. The girl, weak and dizzy from her struggles, missed her step upon the stairs and swayed unsteadily.
Letting go of his staff — which remained perfectly upright, standing next to him as though he were holding it — Raistlin caught the girl before she fell.
'Thank you,' she murmured, keeping her head down. Her scarf had come undone in her struggles and she tried to wrap it around her face again. But Raist lin, with a sardonic smile and a deft movement of his skilled hands, snatched the scarf from the girl's head.
'You dropped this,' he said coolly, holding the scarf out to her, all the while his keen eyes looking to see why this young woman hid her face from the sun. He gasped.
The girl kept her head down, even after losing the scarf, but, hearing the man's swift intake of breath, she knew it was too late. He had seen her. She checked the movement, therefore, looking up at the mage with a small sigh. What she saw in his face shocked her almost as much as what he saw in hers.
'Who… what kind of human are you?' she cried, shrinking away from him.
'What kind are you?' the mage demanded, holding onto the girl with his slender hands that were, nevertheless, unbelievably strong.
'I–I am… ordinary,' the girl faltered, staring at Raistlin with wide eyes.
'Ordinary!' Raistlin gripped her more tightly as she made a half-hearted attempt to break free. His eyes gazed in disbelief at the fine-boned, delicate face; the mass of hair that was the brilliance and color of silver starlight; the eyes that were dark and soft and velvet-black as the night sky. 'Ordinary! In my hands I hold the most beautiful woman I have seen in all my twenty-one years. What is more, I hold in my hands A WOMAN WHO DOES NOT AGE!' He laughed mirthlessly. 'And she calls herself 'ordinary!'»
'What about you?' Trembling, the girl's hand reached up to touch Raistlin's golden-skinned face. 'And what do you mean — I do not age?'
The mage saw fear in the girl's eyes as she asked this question, and his own eyes narrowed, studying her intently. 'My golden skin is my sacrifice for my magic, as is my shattered body. As for you not aging, I mean you do not age in my sight. You see, my eyes are different from the eyes of other men…' He paused, staring at the girl, who began to shiver beneath the unwavering scrutiny. 'My eyes see time as it passes, they see the death of all living things. In my vision, human flesh wastes and withers, spring trees lose their leaves, rocks crumble to dust. Only the young among the long-lived elves would appear normal to me, and even then I would see them as flowers about to lose their bloom. But you — »
'Raist!' Caramon boomed from below. There was a crash. Endeavoring to shake off the gully dwarf — who was holding his hands firmly over the big man's eyes, blinding him — Caramon tripped, and fell headlong on a table, smashing it to splinters.
The mage did not move, nor did the girl. 'You do not age at all! You are not elven,' Raistlin said.
'No,' the girl murmured. Her eyes still fixed on the mage, she tried unsuccessfully to free herself from his grasp. 'You — you're hurting me…'
'What are you?' he demanded.
She shrugged, squirming and pushing at his hands. 'Human, like yourself,' she protested, looking up into the strange eyes. 'And I thank you for saving me, but — »
Suddenly she froze, her efforts to free herself ceased. Her gaze was locked onto Raistlin's, the mage's gaze was fixed upon her. 'No!' she moaned helplessly. 'No!' Her moan became a shriek, echoing above the howling of the storm winds outside the inn.
Raistlin reeled backward, slamming into the wall as though she had driven a sword into his body. Yet she had not touched him, she had done nothing but look at him. With a wild cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and ran up the stairs, leaving the mage slumped against the wall, staring with stunned, unseeing eyes at where she had crouched before him on the staircase.
'Well, I took care of the scum. Small thanks to you,' Caramon muttered, coming up beside his brother. Wiping blood from a cut on the mouth, the big warrior looked over the railing in satisfaction. Four men lay on the floor, not counting the one his brother had stabbed, whose inert body was huddled at the foot of the staircase in a heap. The gully dwarf was sticking out of a barrel, upside down, its feet waving pathetically in the air, its ear- splittling screams likely to cause serious breakage of the glassware.
'What about damages?' Slegart demanded, coming over to survey the ruin.
'Collect it from them,' Caramon growled, gesturing to the groaning members of the hunting party. 'Here's your dagger, Raist,' the warrior said, holding out a small silver knife. 'I cleaned it as best I could. Guess you didn't want to waste your magic on those wretches, huh? Anyway — hey, Raist — you all right?'
'I'm… not injured…' Raistlin said softly, reaching out his hand to catch hold of his brother.
'Then what's the matter?' Caramon asked, puzzled. 'You look like you've seen a spirit. Say, where's the girl?' He glanced around. 'Didn't she even stay to thank us?'
'I–I sent her to her room,' Raistlin said, blinking in confusion and looking at Caramon as though wondering who he was. After a moment, he seemed more himself. Taking the dagger from his brother's hand, the mage replaced it on the cunningly made thong he had attached around his wrist. 'And we should be going to our rooms, my brother,' he said firmly, seeing Caramon's gaze go longingly to the pitcher of ale still on their table. 'Lend me your arm,' the mage added, taking hold of his staff. 'My exertions have exhausted me.'
'Oh, uh, sure, Raist,' Caramon said, his thirst forgotten in his concern for his brother.
'Number thirteen,' grunted Slegart, helping the ruffians drag their wounded comrade off into a comer.
'It figures,' Caramon muttered, assisting his brother up the stairs. 'Hey, you got a good look at that girl? Was she pretty?'
'Why ask me, my brother?' Raistlin replied softly. Pulling his hood down low over his face again, he evaded his brother's question. 'You know what these eyes of mine see!'
