I stood at the bar and poured myself a whiskey. Raistlin was already
ensconced in an easy chair, a mug of hot water in his hand, within which he
was steeping a foul-smelling concoction that he claimed would "help his
cough". Something about the way he said it gave me the idea that that was
not, strictly speaking, the truth. Then again, since I'd met him, I hadn't
seen or heard him cough once.
I closed the bottle and crossed to where the mage was. He was looking around, taking in the room, as though he wanted to catalogue every article I kept there. There seemed to be an air of arrogant amusement about the man that grated on me. I did my best to ignore it as waited for the mage to complete his inspection of my quarters from his armchair.
Finally, those strange eyes fixed themselves on me. I opened my mouth to speak, only to be beaten to the punch.
"You are an enigma," said the mage, before I could get a word out.
I gaped. I had been expecting several things from this man, but this was not one of the. "S-say what?" I stammered.
"I said that you are an enigma," he replied. "I believe you are a man of intelligence. Surely that you understand."
I found myself briefly tempted to snarl at the man. I resisted. Instead, I shrugged. "I haven't given much thought to the matter. Perhaps I am."
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Slightly. "Amazing," he murmured. "You do think of some things, don't you?"
"More than you think." This time the urge to snarl was too great. I pushed myself upright, ready to trade insult for insult with this man. Just in time, I fought my temper down. Trading insults with Raistlin Majere was almost always a losing proposition. I sank back down into my easy chair and glared at the man. Logic warred with emotion for a few, brief, tense moments, and won.
Right, then. It wouldn't do to trade insults with this man. His considerable capacity for insult, sarcasm and imprecation aside, Raistlin would be providing magical aid to the group I intended to gather. Insulting him would only destroy all hope of any kind of working relationship. Still…allowing him to run around pissing everybody of would hardly be conducive to team spirit…
I felt a headache coming on. I made a mental note to myself not to accept any such offers of alliance so readily in the future. In the meantime, I had to prevent the mage from pissing me—and anybody else I brought into the team—off beyond all hope of reconciliation. I brought the whiskey up and tossed back.
I realized now how totally I'd been taken in by his friendly act earlier. Hero or not, Sorcerer Supreme or not, Raistlin was obviously a sociopath. And he'd seemed so sincere back at Vanishing Point, too.
I frowned. I was forgetting something. Back when we'd first met, Raistlin had snarled at me as well. It was only after I'd pointed out how unreasonable he'd been that he'd backed off. I felt my lips curling upwards. Maybe, just maybe…
Yes, that was it. I had a pretty good idea what was eating Raistlin. Time to put that theory to the test…
"I think its reflexive," I said.
The only sign of any response to my statement was a slight widening of the eyes, barely detectable had I not been looking for it. A thin smile spread itself across his skeletal features. "Attacking me with non sequiturs will not work, my friend." Those hourglass eyes fixed upon me, boring into mine like a snake's, hypnotizing its prey. There was a flash of white, as the lips momentarily parted. A predator, this man was, with words his weapons and other human beings his prey. "But you are welcome to try your best, though."
I sat a little straighter, matching him stare for stare. It wouldn't do, allowing myself to be cowed that easily. I kept my voice firm, even. "I'll tell you what I'm talking about. It's your chronic rudeness. That unstoppable barrage of sarcasm that you're constantly bombarding people with. Every time you're forced to interact with other people, that snarling, snapping subconscious of yours takes over. You're not even aware you're doing it. You, Raistlin Majere, are an insufferable, annoying son of a bitch because you just can't help it."
He sat bolt upright, eyes staring. From his mouth there came a hissing sound, like that of a serpent balked of its prey. He drew himself up, drawing breath as if to make a retort. His right hand half-lifted from the arm-rest of his chair, the fingers already twisting, making a mystic gesture of attack.
Abruptly, he stopped. The arm froze in mid-air, then dropped back onto the cushion. He glared at me for a long while. Then, the corners of his mouth rose. A noise, which I realized was a chuckle emerged from his lips. A moment later, he was laughing.
"Ah," he said, once he had gotten himself back under control. "I fear you must forgive me. You are quite right. My comrades on the Council have spoken more than once of this…tendency of mine. A relic of the days when I was a Companion of the Lance, I suppose. I apologize." He leaned back, still chuckling.
I allowed myself the luxury of a sigh of relief. Had anything gone wrong…it didn't bear thinking of.
"It can't win you that many friends, though. And I'll bet that teamwork's a bitch."
The mage bowed his head, looking thoughtful. "Yes," he said, after a while, "Yes, I suppose it is." He looked up. A wry smile played over his gaunt features. "Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing. As you well know, I have only ever "teamed-up", as some people put it, with my brothers of the Council." He chuckled. "My social life has been rather limited these last forty years."
"And your brothers haven't been put off by your…attitude?"
"Why, no." He gazed off into empty space for a moment, tapping his chin. "As a matter of fact, I do not recall ever having spoken to them as I did to you." He shrugged. "You may be right. As you suggest, my…attitude may very well be nothing more than a deeply conditioned reflex, set off by my first interaction with…ah, non-magical people." His expression sobered. "If you know as much as you seem to of my history, you will be aware that my experiences among them have not been at all pleasant."
"I know. It's hard, isn't it, remaining sane, when the world is against you for no better reason than that you're different. I know."
"You do?" he said, sitting up and leaning forward, with an inquisitive look in his eye.
I did not take the invitation to elaborate further. "Let's just say that I encountered some of what you faced, back on my home world. I'd rather not go any further."
His face clouded over. He straightened. His mouth opened, ready to let fly with an insult—and then he stopped. He sank back in his chair instead, his expelling a breath through his teeth with a hiss. "Be that as you wish, then," he said, shortly.
"Look," I said. "I'm not trying to be unfriendly or anything. It's just…bringing up my past…before this," and I waved, trying to encompass in that single gesture the room around us, the station around it, and the flickering void beyond, "it's painful. I'm sorry." I got up, went to the bar, poured myself another drink, and tossed it down. I turned the empty glass over and over in my hand, staring at it without really seeing. I put the glass back on the bar and turned back towards the mage.
"Listen," I said. "I'll tell you my story. You deserve that much, since we're going to be working together. But not now. Maybe later." I sighed. "I want some time to prepare…get ready to open old wounds…"
I took a deep breath, passed my hand over my eyes, and straightened. "I'm…going to check on Amalthea. Then I've got the refugees that Hal beamed over to deal with. Are you going to be all right here? Is there anything I can get you?"
Raistlin lazily raised his steaming mug to me in a mocking toast. "I will be fine," he said. "Go and see your…lady friend. But, I would like to go along with you, when you visit the refugees." He sank into his chair. It took me a few seconds to realize that the short, jerky motions he was making meant that he was laughing. I stared at him for a while more, then turned away with a muttered curse. Damn the man. Even when he was being polite, was he still going to be insufferable? What the hell was he laughing at? And what did he mean by calling Amalthea my "lady friend"?
The room where I'd left Amalthea was dark, bereft of the usual knickknacks and antiques that decorated the rest of the fortress. The light from the corridor formed a bright rectangle on the floor as the door slid open. The sound of sobbing floated out. The sound was incongruously like music to my ears. I sighed. Even the grief of a unicorn was a thing of beauty. That just made seeing it even worse. I quietly swore to myself that I'd make those Chaos bastards pay, preferably by collapsing their stinking Warp in on them and their repugnant gods.
In the corner, where I'd laid a pallet of straw for the unicorn to lie on, a pale shape quivered. The unicorn seemed to glow in the half- light. I took a step forward, hoping to comfort the poor creature. I was halfway towards her when the shape on the straw gasped abruptly—and then sat up.
My breath hissed inward through my teeth. After a while, I swore. "Oh, hell."
"Damn you!" I screamed at Raistlin when I got back. The mage ignored me, seemingly immersed in his tea and the copy of The Hive Queen and The Hegemon that he'd appropriated from my bookshelf.
"You knew about this, you stinking bastard!" I was standing behind him, my arms upraised, hands clenched into fists, though I was making every effort to avoid actually striking the man. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me, damn you?" The mage did not respond. I turned and hit the wall beside me. The blow left a considerable dent in the Imperial battle steel underlying the wallpaper. "Say something, dammit!"
Raistlin took a sip from his mug of tea. He glanced at me sidewise, smirked, and raised the mug in mocking salute.
"DAMN YOU! Look at her!" The mage did not respond. Snarling in my frustration, I seized the back of the chair and wrenched it around, so that the mage now faced the Last Unicorn. "I said, look at her!"
To my very immense surprise, the fight seemed to go out of the mage at once. He sagged, letting his breath out noisily through his mouth. The sight of Amalthea had sucked the arrogance from him like air rushing out of a leaky tire.
Sitting in the chair opposite the mage, wrapped in my cape and keening to herself in grief with tears streaming down her face, was a beautiful young woman. Her skin was white, almost pure white. Upon her forehead, a star of white blazed forth where the horn had been, giving off enough light to illuminate the entire room on its own.
I felt drained. The hostility I'd felt only a few moments before was gone. In its place was a desire to make peace and have done with the whole sordid affair. I looked at Amalthea again. As a woman, she had the kind of beauty that could carry off any look—such as wearing absolutely nothing but a borrowed cape.
She raised her head, as if realizing that two stunned men were both staring at her. Uncertainly, haltingly, her lips formed a word.
"Why?" By all rights, her voice should have been hoarse, her throat raw from hours spent crying in the darkened room as I met with the heroes of the multiverse. Instead, it was like a pure musical note, cutting through the air, thrumming with all the grief and heartache of its fair owner. A white hand emerged from within the cape. She stared at it dumbly, seemingly unable to believe it was there.
"Why did this happen?" She sounded…unreal, as if this whole mess were some sort of dream, and reality would start to assert itself soon. "My people…all dead. I'm all alone. And—and I'm not a unicorn any more. I'm human!" The last word was a high-voiced shriek, reverberating through the walls and floor as she fell from the chair to her knees on the floor, fingers clawed. The cape fell from her shoulders as, wailing, she beat the carpet with her fists.
I crossed the carpet, picked up the cape, and placed it around her again, holding her arms through the fabric to stop her from hitting the floor. A thin hand caressed her cheek. To my surprise, I found Raistlin beside me. The harsh humour had faded from his expression. In its place was a gentleness that surprised me, coming from a man with his reputation for sarcasm and acerbic wit.
"Don't cry, little one," he said. He helped me raise Amalthea to her feet and then set her down in the chair again.
"Stalker and I, the both of us, we will help you." The mage's voice was soft, soothing. Lower still, he added, as if to himself"A soul such as yours does not deserve to see such horrors."
I knelt down beside the chair. "Who did this to you, Amalthea? What happened?"
She looked at me with eyes large from terror and grief and madness. "The green man," she whispered, as she clung to me. "The man from the forest—the man who spoke to you. He came while you were gone and he—Oh!" She buried her head in my shoulder and burst into tears. "He changed me! He made me human again!"
I held the poor creature in my arms as she sobbed her heart out. "Who does she mean?" asked Raistlin, standing behind me.
"Hal Jordan. The Spectre," I replied shortly. Damn. What was Hal playing at? Hadn't the poor—I caught myself before I could begin thinking of Amalthea as a girl—creature been through enough? Jordan was going to owe me a long explanation.
"Change me back," she said, suddenly, looking at Raistlin. "You are a magician. Please, help me. I don't want to remain like this."
Raistlin started. "What—no. That I cannot do."
At close range, I saw the renewed pain creeping into her face. The worst thing was how beautiful she was. Even a soul experiencing the grief of losing an entire people could not mar that beauty. That made it even worse to watch. She buried her head into my shoulder again, sobbing.
The mage came over, laying his hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, little one. With all my heart, I truly am. The man who changed you is one of the most powerful beings in all reality. He serves the Creator Himself. If it was he who changed you, then it was for good reason. And he possesses power enough to prevent a mere Sorcerer Supreme—such as myself—from undoing his work. You are permanently, irrevocably human." I could hear the regret in his voice as he spoke. From out of his robe, he produced a handkerchief and handed it to Amalthea.
"Here," he said. "Dry your eyes."
"What am I to do now?" she asked, after having done so.
I straightened. "The first step, I guess, is to find out why Hal Jordan changed you. And then—" I took a deep breath. "We are fighting a war, Amalthea. The attack on your homeworld was just one of the opening salvos. Like it or not, I think you've been drafted into that war." I looked her straight in the face. "I'm recruiting a team, Amalthea. It's quite likely that Hal knew about this, and that when he changed you, he meant you to be a part of that team. A crucial part. You may not want this—neither do I—but it has been done. And it's a chance to fix what went wrong in the first place, to prevent the same thing from happening to other worlds. I don't think that, willingly at least, you'd allow that to happen. I've known you for too long to ever doubt that. More importantly, we can help you." I leaned forward, touched her on the cheek. "Everybody needs friends, Amalthea. Even a unicorn who's been transformed into a woman. We'll be there for you, whatever happens. Trust us on this."
She looked up at me for one long moment, then nodded. And smiled a smile that lit up the room more than the glowing mark on her forehead ever could.
"That's great," I said. "Come on, let's find you something to wear." I helped her stand, and together with Raistlin, we trooped out of the room.
I closed the bottle and crossed to where the mage was. He was looking around, taking in the room, as though he wanted to catalogue every article I kept there. There seemed to be an air of arrogant amusement about the man that grated on me. I did my best to ignore it as waited for the mage to complete his inspection of my quarters from his armchair.
Finally, those strange eyes fixed themselves on me. I opened my mouth to speak, only to be beaten to the punch.
"You are an enigma," said the mage, before I could get a word out.
I gaped. I had been expecting several things from this man, but this was not one of the. "S-say what?" I stammered.
"I said that you are an enigma," he replied. "I believe you are a man of intelligence. Surely that you understand."
I found myself briefly tempted to snarl at the man. I resisted. Instead, I shrugged. "I haven't given much thought to the matter. Perhaps I am."
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Slightly. "Amazing," he murmured. "You do think of some things, don't you?"
"More than you think." This time the urge to snarl was too great. I pushed myself upright, ready to trade insult for insult with this man. Just in time, I fought my temper down. Trading insults with Raistlin Majere was almost always a losing proposition. I sank back down into my easy chair and glared at the man. Logic warred with emotion for a few, brief, tense moments, and won.
Right, then. It wouldn't do to trade insults with this man. His considerable capacity for insult, sarcasm and imprecation aside, Raistlin would be providing magical aid to the group I intended to gather. Insulting him would only destroy all hope of any kind of working relationship. Still…allowing him to run around pissing everybody of would hardly be conducive to team spirit…
I felt a headache coming on. I made a mental note to myself not to accept any such offers of alliance so readily in the future. In the meantime, I had to prevent the mage from pissing me—and anybody else I brought into the team—off beyond all hope of reconciliation. I brought the whiskey up and tossed back.
I realized now how totally I'd been taken in by his friendly act earlier. Hero or not, Sorcerer Supreme or not, Raistlin was obviously a sociopath. And he'd seemed so sincere back at Vanishing Point, too.
I frowned. I was forgetting something. Back when we'd first met, Raistlin had snarled at me as well. It was only after I'd pointed out how unreasonable he'd been that he'd backed off. I felt my lips curling upwards. Maybe, just maybe…
Yes, that was it. I had a pretty good idea what was eating Raistlin. Time to put that theory to the test…
"I think its reflexive," I said.
The only sign of any response to my statement was a slight widening of the eyes, barely detectable had I not been looking for it. A thin smile spread itself across his skeletal features. "Attacking me with non sequiturs will not work, my friend." Those hourglass eyes fixed upon me, boring into mine like a snake's, hypnotizing its prey. There was a flash of white, as the lips momentarily parted. A predator, this man was, with words his weapons and other human beings his prey. "But you are welcome to try your best, though."
I sat a little straighter, matching him stare for stare. It wouldn't do, allowing myself to be cowed that easily. I kept my voice firm, even. "I'll tell you what I'm talking about. It's your chronic rudeness. That unstoppable barrage of sarcasm that you're constantly bombarding people with. Every time you're forced to interact with other people, that snarling, snapping subconscious of yours takes over. You're not even aware you're doing it. You, Raistlin Majere, are an insufferable, annoying son of a bitch because you just can't help it."
He sat bolt upright, eyes staring. From his mouth there came a hissing sound, like that of a serpent balked of its prey. He drew himself up, drawing breath as if to make a retort. His right hand half-lifted from the arm-rest of his chair, the fingers already twisting, making a mystic gesture of attack.
Abruptly, he stopped. The arm froze in mid-air, then dropped back onto the cushion. He glared at me for a long while. Then, the corners of his mouth rose. A noise, which I realized was a chuckle emerged from his lips. A moment later, he was laughing.
"Ah," he said, once he had gotten himself back under control. "I fear you must forgive me. You are quite right. My comrades on the Council have spoken more than once of this…tendency of mine. A relic of the days when I was a Companion of the Lance, I suppose. I apologize." He leaned back, still chuckling.
I allowed myself the luxury of a sigh of relief. Had anything gone wrong…it didn't bear thinking of.
"It can't win you that many friends, though. And I'll bet that teamwork's a bitch."
The mage bowed his head, looking thoughtful. "Yes," he said, after a while, "Yes, I suppose it is." He looked up. A wry smile played over his gaunt features. "Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing. As you well know, I have only ever "teamed-up", as some people put it, with my brothers of the Council." He chuckled. "My social life has been rather limited these last forty years."
"And your brothers haven't been put off by your…attitude?"
"Why, no." He gazed off into empty space for a moment, tapping his chin. "As a matter of fact, I do not recall ever having spoken to them as I did to you." He shrugged. "You may be right. As you suggest, my…attitude may very well be nothing more than a deeply conditioned reflex, set off by my first interaction with…ah, non-magical people." His expression sobered. "If you know as much as you seem to of my history, you will be aware that my experiences among them have not been at all pleasant."
"I know. It's hard, isn't it, remaining sane, when the world is against you for no better reason than that you're different. I know."
"You do?" he said, sitting up and leaning forward, with an inquisitive look in his eye.
I did not take the invitation to elaborate further. "Let's just say that I encountered some of what you faced, back on my home world. I'd rather not go any further."
His face clouded over. He straightened. His mouth opened, ready to let fly with an insult—and then he stopped. He sank back in his chair instead, his expelling a breath through his teeth with a hiss. "Be that as you wish, then," he said, shortly.
"Look," I said. "I'm not trying to be unfriendly or anything. It's just…bringing up my past…before this," and I waved, trying to encompass in that single gesture the room around us, the station around it, and the flickering void beyond, "it's painful. I'm sorry." I got up, went to the bar, poured myself another drink, and tossed it down. I turned the empty glass over and over in my hand, staring at it without really seeing. I put the glass back on the bar and turned back towards the mage.
"Listen," I said. "I'll tell you my story. You deserve that much, since we're going to be working together. But not now. Maybe later." I sighed. "I want some time to prepare…get ready to open old wounds…"
I took a deep breath, passed my hand over my eyes, and straightened. "I'm…going to check on Amalthea. Then I've got the refugees that Hal beamed over to deal with. Are you going to be all right here? Is there anything I can get you?"
Raistlin lazily raised his steaming mug to me in a mocking toast. "I will be fine," he said. "Go and see your…lady friend. But, I would like to go along with you, when you visit the refugees." He sank into his chair. It took me a few seconds to realize that the short, jerky motions he was making meant that he was laughing. I stared at him for a while more, then turned away with a muttered curse. Damn the man. Even when he was being polite, was he still going to be insufferable? What the hell was he laughing at? And what did he mean by calling Amalthea my "lady friend"?
The room where I'd left Amalthea was dark, bereft of the usual knickknacks and antiques that decorated the rest of the fortress. The light from the corridor formed a bright rectangle on the floor as the door slid open. The sound of sobbing floated out. The sound was incongruously like music to my ears. I sighed. Even the grief of a unicorn was a thing of beauty. That just made seeing it even worse. I quietly swore to myself that I'd make those Chaos bastards pay, preferably by collapsing their stinking Warp in on them and their repugnant gods.
In the corner, where I'd laid a pallet of straw for the unicorn to lie on, a pale shape quivered. The unicorn seemed to glow in the half- light. I took a step forward, hoping to comfort the poor creature. I was halfway towards her when the shape on the straw gasped abruptly—and then sat up.
My breath hissed inward through my teeth. After a while, I swore. "Oh, hell."
"Damn you!" I screamed at Raistlin when I got back. The mage ignored me, seemingly immersed in his tea and the copy of The Hive Queen and The Hegemon that he'd appropriated from my bookshelf.
"You knew about this, you stinking bastard!" I was standing behind him, my arms upraised, hands clenched into fists, though I was making every effort to avoid actually striking the man. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me, damn you?" The mage did not respond. I turned and hit the wall beside me. The blow left a considerable dent in the Imperial battle steel underlying the wallpaper. "Say something, dammit!"
Raistlin took a sip from his mug of tea. He glanced at me sidewise, smirked, and raised the mug in mocking salute.
"DAMN YOU! Look at her!" The mage did not respond. Snarling in my frustration, I seized the back of the chair and wrenched it around, so that the mage now faced the Last Unicorn. "I said, look at her!"
To my very immense surprise, the fight seemed to go out of the mage at once. He sagged, letting his breath out noisily through his mouth. The sight of Amalthea had sucked the arrogance from him like air rushing out of a leaky tire.
Sitting in the chair opposite the mage, wrapped in my cape and keening to herself in grief with tears streaming down her face, was a beautiful young woman. Her skin was white, almost pure white. Upon her forehead, a star of white blazed forth where the horn had been, giving off enough light to illuminate the entire room on its own.
I felt drained. The hostility I'd felt only a few moments before was gone. In its place was a desire to make peace and have done with the whole sordid affair. I looked at Amalthea again. As a woman, she had the kind of beauty that could carry off any look—such as wearing absolutely nothing but a borrowed cape.
She raised her head, as if realizing that two stunned men were both staring at her. Uncertainly, haltingly, her lips formed a word.
"Why?" By all rights, her voice should have been hoarse, her throat raw from hours spent crying in the darkened room as I met with the heroes of the multiverse. Instead, it was like a pure musical note, cutting through the air, thrumming with all the grief and heartache of its fair owner. A white hand emerged from within the cape. She stared at it dumbly, seemingly unable to believe it was there.
"Why did this happen?" She sounded…unreal, as if this whole mess were some sort of dream, and reality would start to assert itself soon. "My people…all dead. I'm all alone. And—and I'm not a unicorn any more. I'm human!" The last word was a high-voiced shriek, reverberating through the walls and floor as she fell from the chair to her knees on the floor, fingers clawed. The cape fell from her shoulders as, wailing, she beat the carpet with her fists.
I crossed the carpet, picked up the cape, and placed it around her again, holding her arms through the fabric to stop her from hitting the floor. A thin hand caressed her cheek. To my surprise, I found Raistlin beside me. The harsh humour had faded from his expression. In its place was a gentleness that surprised me, coming from a man with his reputation for sarcasm and acerbic wit.
"Don't cry, little one," he said. He helped me raise Amalthea to her feet and then set her down in the chair again.
"Stalker and I, the both of us, we will help you." The mage's voice was soft, soothing. Lower still, he added, as if to himself"A soul such as yours does not deserve to see such horrors."
I knelt down beside the chair. "Who did this to you, Amalthea? What happened?"
She looked at me with eyes large from terror and grief and madness. "The green man," she whispered, as she clung to me. "The man from the forest—the man who spoke to you. He came while you were gone and he—Oh!" She buried her head in my shoulder and burst into tears. "He changed me! He made me human again!"
I held the poor creature in my arms as she sobbed her heart out. "Who does she mean?" asked Raistlin, standing behind me.
"Hal Jordan. The Spectre," I replied shortly. Damn. What was Hal playing at? Hadn't the poor—I caught myself before I could begin thinking of Amalthea as a girl—creature been through enough? Jordan was going to owe me a long explanation.
"Change me back," she said, suddenly, looking at Raistlin. "You are a magician. Please, help me. I don't want to remain like this."
Raistlin started. "What—no. That I cannot do."
At close range, I saw the renewed pain creeping into her face. The worst thing was how beautiful she was. Even a soul experiencing the grief of losing an entire people could not mar that beauty. That made it even worse to watch. She buried her head into my shoulder again, sobbing.
The mage came over, laying his hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, little one. With all my heart, I truly am. The man who changed you is one of the most powerful beings in all reality. He serves the Creator Himself. If it was he who changed you, then it was for good reason. And he possesses power enough to prevent a mere Sorcerer Supreme—such as myself—from undoing his work. You are permanently, irrevocably human." I could hear the regret in his voice as he spoke. From out of his robe, he produced a handkerchief and handed it to Amalthea.
"Here," he said. "Dry your eyes."
"What am I to do now?" she asked, after having done so.
I straightened. "The first step, I guess, is to find out why Hal Jordan changed you. And then—" I took a deep breath. "We are fighting a war, Amalthea. The attack on your homeworld was just one of the opening salvos. Like it or not, I think you've been drafted into that war." I looked her straight in the face. "I'm recruiting a team, Amalthea. It's quite likely that Hal knew about this, and that when he changed you, he meant you to be a part of that team. A crucial part. You may not want this—neither do I—but it has been done. And it's a chance to fix what went wrong in the first place, to prevent the same thing from happening to other worlds. I don't think that, willingly at least, you'd allow that to happen. I've known you for too long to ever doubt that. More importantly, we can help you." I leaned forward, touched her on the cheek. "Everybody needs friends, Amalthea. Even a unicorn who's been transformed into a woman. We'll be there for you, whatever happens. Trust us on this."
She looked up at me for one long moment, then nodded. And smiled a smile that lit up the room more than the glowing mark on her forehead ever could.
"That's great," I said. "Come on, let's find you something to wear." I helped her stand, and together with Raistlin, we trooped out of the room.