by Kevin Stein
“What’s the matter, Caramon?” the kender asked, noting that the big man’s face was red and he appeared to be breathing more rapidly than normal.
“Nothing! Just leave me alone!” Caramon ordered, tromping down the hall.
Open me! Open me!
“This is truly remarkable,” said Earwig happily as he reached into his pouch for the box. There was really no reason why he shouldn’t open it in front of Caramon, but the kender felt a sudden need to keep the marvelous box hidden from his friend. Letting the warrior get ahead of him, Earwig flicked the catch with his finger. The lid of the box flew open. Inside was a single ring—a plain, gold band without stone or engraving, nestled in red velvet. Earwig frowned in disappointment, having hoped to find something more interesting. After all, the box had talked to him.
“So, where were you?” Caramon demanded, stopping dead in his tracks to confront the kender. “Hiding behind a curtain?”
Earwig thrust the box beneath his tunic. “Curtain? I wasn’t behind any curtain!”
“I heard you call my name from that room! You must have been somewhere? One of the dressers?”
Earwig shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Caramon. I came into that room looking for you!”
The warrior glared at the kender skeptically. Then, shrugging, he shook his head and sighed. “It’s this weird house. It’s got me hearing things. So, where have you been?”
“Well, I’ve been to Solace and Thelgaard and Southern Ergoth and—”
“I mean where in the house!” Caramon shouted, exasperated.
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Earwig said, slapping himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand, raising his eyes to heaven. “There’s a really fantastic room that’s filled with plants, and they’re all growing indoors.”
“Plants?” Caramon repeated. “Are you sure there’s a room with plants in it?”
“Yeah. It’s all hot and steamy in there, too.”
“Uh-huh. Next you’ll tell me there’s a secret chamber somewhere.”
“Wow! How did you kn—”
“Name of the Abyss, Earwig! Quit making up these wild tales of yours!” Caramon stalked off down the hall. “Come on. I think we should be getting back to Raist.”
“Sure, Caramon,” Earwig said cheerfully. He slipped the ring onto his finger.
“You and Caramon are twins?” Shavas asked from across the small table.
Raistlin glanced up from the game board before him, startled by the observation. He had made no mention of it before. “I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he said dryly.
“Granted, you don’t resemble each other, but you and your brother are more alike than perhaps either of you realize.”
“I doubt that, Lady Shavas. The same informant who told you of our plans to come to Mereklar must have given you this information, as well.”
“Don’t be angry, Raistlin,” the lady said, looking at him with her splendid eyes, the eyes that did not age. “With such terrible trouble coming to our city, it is my duty as councillor to divine the intent and motives of all who visit Mereklar.”
She was right, of course. Raistlin grudgingly admitted and sneered at himself. This cursed nature of his that must gain dominion of everything, everyone … despite the fact that he could still taste the sweetness of her lips on his.
The game board was a block of unidentifiable grayish metal the length of a forearm and many inches thick, checkered on top with alternating squares of silver and ebony. The mage reached over and moved the carved figure of a man on a horse two spaces left and one forward.
“An excellent move, but one with which I am familiar.” The councillor smiled.
Taking a piece of gold—a small rectangle with a raised square at one end—from a scale set to the side of the players, she placed it among a small pile she was accumulating. The scales tipped toward the mage. Shavas moved one of her own pieces—a man with a large shield and spear—from in front of Raistlin’s knight, next to two other knights on the same row. She placed a thick metal bar under her men, creating a barrier Raistlin’s horseman could not cross.
The mage deployed one of his own pieces—a tower—behind his cavalrymen and took a larger bar from his own side of the scales, causing them to tilt slightly, though still in his favor. He removed the barrier and the three men from the board, pushing his knight forward one square.
“I am familiar with that move as well,” Raistlin said, leaning back in his chair, regarding the board with calculating eyes.
His tactic had forced Shavas to expend important magic—represented by the ingots—and move a piece from the side of the board where the mage’s real concentration of forces was waiting. He had caused her to sacrifice three yeomen, a fortification, and position in the game through his diversion.
Shavas also leaned back in her chair, measuring the amount of magic she had available, reading the gauge at the top of the scales, a pointer leaning to her opponent’s advantage.
“You play an excellent game, Master Mage.”
“Thank you. I have been playing a long time.”
The door opened with a bang, slamming back against the wall. Caramon and Earwig clomped into the room.
“I found him,” said Caramon.
“Found who? Me? I wasn’t lost, was I? Was I lost, Raistlin?” asked Earwig.
The mage, watching Shavas, saw the woman’s gaze fasten on Earwig. Her eyes glinted, the lids narrowed. Raistlin glanced swiftly at Earwig and saw that the kender’s collar was askew, the cat’s skull necklace shone brightly in the firelight. He looked swiftly back to the councillor, but her face was expressionless.
Surely I was mistaken, he thought, a cold chill convulsing him. “It took you long enough. What have you been doing?” he demanded, speaking tersely to cover his emotion.
“Just … walking around,” Caramon mumbled. He looked down at the game they were playing. “Wizards and Warriors. Never could get the hang of that.”
“Many people have difficulty mastering it, Caramon,” the woman said soothingly.
“I guess I just don’t have a head for long-term strategies,” the fighter confessed.
The councillor’s eyes met his. She seemed to say that she admired men who were above playing silly games. The warrior felt the blood rush to his face.
“Hey!” Earwig cried excitedly. “Those pieces are just like the pieces in my pouch. Do you want to see?”
The kender, plopping himself down on a couch, bumped into Caramon, causing the big man to lose his balance and jostle the game board. Pieces rolled everywhere.
“You clumsy oaf! We’ve been playing this game for hours!” Raistlin snarled in anger.
“I … I’m sorry, Raist,” the warrior said in confusion. He started to add something, but a look from the councillor made him forget what it was.
“No harm done,” Shavas said, smiling up into Caramon’s eyes. “We should return to discussing business anyway. Your brother and I were only passing the time until you came back.”
Her look told Caramon that she’d been counting the moments. The warrior had never met a woman so fascinating, so alluring. He couldn’t understand how he’d stayed away from her for so long. It was the house … this strange house.
“What kept you anyway?” Raistlin asked. “Surely it didn’t take that long to find the kender!”
“I wasn’t lost,” said Earwig sternly. “I knew where I was the whole time. If anyone was lost, it was Caramon. I found him in—ouch! Hey!”
“What? Oh, sorry, Earwig. I didn’t mean to sit on you.” Extricating the kender from beneath him, Caramon moved to the other side of the couch, near his brother.
“As you already know,” the councillor began, waiting for all her guests to settle themselves, “Mereklar’s welfare depends on the cats that live here. They protect us from evil in the world. The prophecy—”
“We’ve read the prophecies,” interrupted Raistlin shortly. “But perhaps you can tell us who gave
them?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. May I continue? Recently, the cats have started to disappear. Nobody knows why. Nobody knows where they have gone. The citizens are beginning to fear for their lives. They believe the prophecies, you see. They fear the end of the world is coming.
“Do you know the origins of the city?” she asked of all three companions.
“We have heard some things about Mereklar,” the mage replied, “but perhaps you could fill in the missing details?”
Shavas smiled slightly, nodded her head. “Nobody is certain of the origins of city, except that it apparently survived the Cataclysm untouched. Unfortunately, its inhabitants did not. When the people living in the surrounding lands fled to the city, they discovered that all of the buildings were empty. Mereklar’s citizens—if there were any—had disappeared.”
“What do you mean, ‘if there were any’?”
“There are those who believe that the city dates only from the Cataclysm. That it wasn’t here before then. Absurd, I know, but I thought I would mention it to you.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. In time, some of the families took over key positions of state, helping everyone live together in this new place.”
“And your family was among them?” Raistlin asked.
“That is correct. My family have always been councillors, those who direct and guide all aspects of the city. Lord Brunswick is the Minister of Agriculture and keeps track of the lands that produce our food. Lord Alvin is Minister of Property. The others are lords and ladies of their respective spheres, such as the Sergeant at Arms, Master of the Libraries, and similar functions. There are ten in all.”
Shavas shifted languidly in her chair. Her hand gracefully drew the folds of her clinging gown away from her throat, revealing her long, arched neck and marble-white skin. The brothers stared, transfixed.
“When I say that there were no signs of the former inhabitants, I am not wholly correct,” Shavas murmured, her fingers toying with her opal necklace. “We found the prophecies, which were discovered in every home, without exception. These books were here, in the library. And then there were the—”
“—cats!” Earwig cried.
Raistlin and Caramon both started, the kender’s voice causing them to awaken from dreams of desire.
“Yes, that’s right, Earwig.” The councillor smiled at the kender. “The cats. Thousands roamed the streets freely. They were always friendly, and they seemed glad to have people around. The new citizens of Mereklar took the felines to be a sign from the gods.”
“When did you start noticing the disappearance of the cats?” Caramon asked, clearing his throat.
“A little more than a month ago.”
“How did you know they were gone? I mean, there’s still a lot of them wandering around.…”
“It was, of course, difficult to tell, since there were so many cats already in the city. But people had made pets of the cats—or perhaps the cats had made pets of the people, it’s difficult to tell sometimes. They noticed that the cats were disappearing, and then we saw that the total number of cats in the city had decreased alarmingly.”
“And you’re sure that they are not hiding somewhere? Or just walking outside the city walls?”
Shavas’s brows came together slightly. “We are not fools.”
Caramon flushed bright red. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The councillor sighed. “Forgive me. I—This has been a very trying time. Yes, we are sure. We would not have offered the reward otherwise.”
“Just what, exactly, do you want us to do?” Raistlin asked.
“Why, we want you to discover what’s happening to the cats and stop it,” Shavas said, looking surprised.
“You say ‘we.’ Am I to assume that the other members of the city council want our aid as well?” Raistlin regarded the woman carefully and thought he saw her grow slightly paler. Her eyes fell before his.
“Some are reluctant … to hire outside.…” Shavas hesitated completing the sentence.
Raistlin’s lips twisted in a grim smile. “What you mean to say, lady, is that the other members of the council do not want a sorcerer in their town because they think their problem is the fault of the magical community!”
“Don’t be angry, Raistlin!” Shavas gazed at him with pleading eyes. “The other members of the council do blame wizards for the cats’ disappearance. For the moment. I have convinced them, however, that your help is needed, that not all magicians are evil. Won’t you help us? Please?”
Caramon could almost feel the satisfaction flowing from his brother—the satisfaction at having made this beautiful, desirable woman crawl. The fighter was furious at his twin. He moved to reach out and comfort his hostess. Just then he saw Earwig stuffing all the councillor’s knights and yeomen into his pouch. Sighing, Caramon changed the direction of his reach and nabbed the kender. “Put those back!”
“Put what back?”
“Those game pieces!”
“Why? They’re mine.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are. Ask Raistlin. He was looking at them in the room this morning. Here’s the Dark Queen and here’s the other Dark Queen … Why! I have two now! Isn’t that wonderful …”
Caramon snatched the kender’s pouch—ignoring Earwig’s wail of protest—and dumped its contents out on the game board. “Do you see anything else that belongs to you, my lady?”
Shavas’s gaze flicked over the kender and rested a moment on the ring on his finger. “No,” she said to Caramon. “Thank you.”
“It is past time for us to leave.” Raistlin, leaning on the staff, pulled himself up. “I am tired and have much to think about.”
“I will have my carriage drop you at the inn. You will tell me if you have decided to take the job tomorrow, Raistlin?” Shavas asked, rising gracefully to her feet.
“Perhaps, my lady,” the mage replied, bowed and left the room.
Chapter 13
“Why do you treat people like that, Raist?” Caramon demanded, sitting forward on the comfortable leather seats of the councillor’s private carriage. This vehicle was enclosed, to protect against the chill of the evening.
Raistlin glanced at his twin, amused at his brother’s unusually antagonistic tone. “Treat people like what?”
“You know.” Caramon couldn’t exactly put his ire into words. “She’s done nothing to hurt you.”
“Hasn’t she?” Raistlin murmured, but the words were muffled in the cowl of his red robes. He stirred slightly. “Don’t be naive, Caramon. She wants our help only so long as it suits her needs. You heard her confess that the other council members hate us and are going to hire our services only because they have to.”
“They only hate you,” Caramon said, then snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t imagine why he’d said that, except that suddenly he wasn’t feeling well. His insides were twisting like snakes.
Raistlin regarded his brother with a steadfast gaze.
“Well,” said Earwig, “are we going to take the job or aren’t we?”
“What difference does it make to you, kender?” Raistlin asked irritably. “Since when did you ever care about work?”
Earwig blinked, rubbing his hand. The skin around one of his fingers itched. “I care about a lot of things! You never take me seriously, that’s all. And you should!” he stated, glaring at his companions. “If you don’t, someday you’ll be sorry!”
“Calm down,” muttered Caramon, rubbing his hand over his churning stomach.
“We’ll take the job. There was never any doubt of that,” Raistlin remarked.
“Then when do we start? What do we do first? I’ve got to know!” Earwig cried loudly.
Caramon looked at his friend, face wrinkling in confusion and pain. “Why?”
“I just do, that’s all!” Earwig said defiantly, flinging himself back into the seat and crossing his arms over his small chest.
“What’s wrong with you
tonight?” Caramon stared at him.
“What’s wrong with any of us?” Raistlin snapped.
No one said anything. Each of the twins could have found his own answer, though neither spoke it aloud.
The ride back to the tavern was quiet, the night very still. Raistlin saw decorations hanging from many of the houses, in preparation for the upcoming Festival of the Eye. He shook his head slowly, tapping the Staff of Magius on the floor. These people. They’re so foolish. They celebrate, they dance. They don’t know why. They don’t understand the terrible sacrifice that brought about this holiday, he said inwardly.
Raistlin thought back to his time with the councillor. The intimacy they’d shared had been exciting and over too soon. She’d slipped from his embrace as swiftly as she’d entered it, whispering something about the servants. Raistlin, to distract himself, to focus his mind back on what was important, had inspected the books on the shelves. He’d found texts on thaumaturgy, sorcery, summoning. He thought he’d glimpsed rare volumes on naming magics, illusions, invocations. Wonders from the ages lined the shelves, wonders that had been missing for hundreds of years.
I heard of some of these books while I was apprenticed. Why are they here? Why does she have them? he asked himself. Raistlin seemed to recall her saying something about the books being there when her family arrived after the Cataclysm. That was a credible answer, of course, but …
The mage tried to recall everything he had seen in the room—every decoration, statuette, picture. On a table were five stones of unusual hues and colors, each the length of a finger and very smooth, shining in the firelight. They might match the description of the lost Sending Stones. There was a model of the universe—a contraption of brass, a construction of moving parts, spheres and gauges, springs for winding, coils that released their energy when tightened—
Raistlin felt a hand on his. He jumped, then relaxed quickly when he saw that it was only Caramon’s. “Don’t touch me! You know how I hate it!” the mage snarled.
“I’m sorry, Raist, but I … I don’t feel very good.”
“Really? Shirak,” he whispered.