"And I came to realize as I watched, helpless to prevent their quarrel, that neither loved me nearly so much as each loved his own misbegotten pride.
"When they were dead, I stood over their bodies and prayed to the gods that all men bound up in their own pride should come here and be held enthralled. Then I left this place and went forth into the world. I found a man who loved me truly enough to live for me, not die for me. I was blessed with a rich, full life, surrounded by love. After my death, my spirit returned to this place and has been here since, waiting for one who loved enough to ignore the voices" — her gaze went to Caramon — "and for one wise enough to break the spell.
"And now, young mage, you have freed them and you have freed me. I will go to my rest at the side of my husband who has waited patiently for me throughout the years. But first I would ask one thing of you. How was it that you saw and understood the truth?"
"I could say that I had a shining example of false pride before my eyes," said Raistlin, with a sidelong glance at the knight. Sir Gawain flushed and bowed his head. The mage, smiling slightly, added, "But it would be more truthful to say that it was mostly due to the curiosity of a kender."
"Me!" gasped Earwig, struck by this revelation. "That's me he's talking about! I did it! I lifted the curse! I TOLD you it had to be a knight, a mage, AND a kender!" The young woman's image began to fade. "Farewell," said Raistlin. "May your rest be undisturbed." "Fare you well, young mage. I leave you with a warning. Very nearly you succumbed. Your wits and your will saved you. But unless you change, I foresee a time when this doom you have now avoided will drag you down at last." The blue eyes closed, and were seen no more. "Don't go!" wailed Earwig, rushing around and grabbing at the empty air with his hands. "I've got so many questions! Have you been to the Abyss? What's it like being dead? Oh, please…"
Caramon came forward cautiously, his eyes on the place where the spirit had been, fearful that she might suddenly burst back to life. His big hand rested on his brother's shoulder.
"Raist," he said worriedly, "what did she mean by that?" "How should I know?" Raistlin snapped, pulling himself free of his brother's touch. He began to cough violently. "Go find wood to build a fire! Can't you see I'm freezing to death!"
"Sure, Raist," said Caramon gently. "C'mon, Earmite."
"Earwig," said the kender automatically, trudging after the big warrior. "Wait until Cousin Tas hears about this! Not even Uncle Trapspringer — the most famous kender of all time — ever ended a curse!"
Gawain remained standing in silence until Caramon and the kender had left the keep. Then, slowly, sword in hand, he approached the mage.
"I owe you my life," he said grudgingly, awkwardly. "By the Oath and the Measure, I owe you my allegiance." He held the sword — hilt first — out to the mage. "What would you have me do?"
Raistlin drew a shuddering breath. He glanced at the sword and his thin lip twisted. "What would I have you do? Break your Oath. Burn your Measure. As the maiden said, live for those you love. A time of darkness is coming to the world, Sir Knight, and love could well be the only thing that will save us."
The knight's lips tightened, his face flushed. Raistlin stared at him, unmoving, and the expression on Gawain's face altered from anger to one of thoughtful consideration. Abruptly, he slid his sword back into its sheath.
"Oh, and Sir Knight," said Raistlin coolly, "don't forget to give us our share of the reward."
Gawain unbuckled his sword belt and removed it from around his waist. "Take it all," he said, tossing sword and belt at the mage's feet. "I've found something of far greater value." Bowing stiffly, he turned and walked from the keep.
The red moon rose in the sky. Its eerie glow filtered through the crumbling walls of the ancient fortress, lighting the path. The mage remained standing in the empty hall. He could still feel, soft and silky beneath his fingers, the child's hair.
"Yes, Sir Knight, you have," said Raistlin. He stood a moment, thinking of the spirit's words. Then, shrugging, he tightened his grip on the magical staff. "DULAK", he said, and the light went out, leaving him to stand in darkness lit only by the rays of the red moon.
Dead on Target
Roger E. Moore
"There'd goes!" called a hobgoblin drunkenly in the last red light of evening. "There'd goes! S'goin' away!"
No cloud remained in the darkening sky. The wind picked up around me, the low roar almost drowning out the laughter of the hobgoblin sentries forty feet up the steep hillside at my back. From the sound of things, the two of them had long ago broken into one of the wine casks they'd taken from a farm near the outskirts of Twisting Creek, basking in the natural satisfaction hobgoblins get from killing unarmed farmers — like my cousins, Garayn and Klart.
I licked my lips and felt for the leather waterskin on my belt, preparing to untie it, but found the water was already low. I released it and leaned back against the rock face, keeping my arm close to my side so that the hobgoblins above wouldn't notice the movement in the dim light. My fingers closed over my sword hilt but stayed relaxed. The glow above the plain to the west was almost gone; Lunitari was a low, red crescent on the horizon, the only moon visible. Far overhead, the pantheon of gods was played out in the brightening stars. It was beautiful, but I could tell there'd be rain by tomorrow night. Scouts know these things.
"S'all gone!" called the hobgoblin again. "N'more sun!"
Several distant shouts came back, all curses in the coarse hobgoblins' tongue. "You basdards wanned me d'be a lookoud, and I'm looking oud!" the hobgoblin roared back hotly, then laughed again. He sounded as if he had a broken nose. "Bedder look oud for th' sdars! They're coming da ged ya!"
I'd gotten here only an hour ago but had already heard enough. About a dozen hobgoblins were camped out on this hilltop, near Solanthus's eastern border. Twisting Creek was two days to the southwest. On the other side of the low hills to the east, beyond the Garetmar River, was unclaimed territory populated by bandits, deserters, and hobgoblin garbage.
A hobgoblin snickered, then drunkenly mumbled a phrase that the wind carried away. Soon, both sentries would be dead to the world. They had nothing to fear that they knew of. They had been clever enough to raid light and avoid attracting too much unfavorable attention from Twisting Creek's militia. Hit fast, grab loot, and run — the same old formula. The hobgoblins had burned a few barns, killed some horses, and stolen some odds and ends before scurrying off. They didn't want a fight. They just wanted to rub it in that they were around.
I was Evredd Kaan: dark hair, dark eyes, good physique, ex-scout. I'd been out of the army since Neraka fell and my unit was disbanded. After that, I'd gone home to the city of Solanthus to find it mostly in ruins. I worked for a year on labor crews, shoveling ashes, rubble, and bones, sometimes taking night shift as a militiaman in a city overrun with beggars who stole to survive. Finally, I just quit and headed east for Twisting Creek, where my parents had lived years ago before fever took them. I worked on my uncle's farm and maintained the wagons for his trading business, which suffered more than a bit with the obnoxious hobgoblins around.