by Kevin Stein
Caramon’s heart was in his throat. He had to cough to get it back down. “Just … don’t ever … run into a … place like this … without looking first!”
“All right, Caramon.”
The fighter winced, anticipating the next question.
“Why?” asked Earwig.
“I just thought you might like to live a little longer!” Caramon growled. The warrior stared into the room, blinking his eyes, raising his sword. “Earwig, behind you!” he shouted.
“Whu—?” The kender swung his hoopak around in a great arc. “What is it, Caramon?” he shouted, batting at nothing. “I can’t see anything!”
“That—thing,” Caramon cried, pointing. “It looks like a … a … hand!”
“Oh, yeah! Wow!”
A slender, sinuous, extraordinarily beautiful arm appeared out of the air, hand waving aimlessly, seemingly grasping for something it could not see.
Earwig reached up his own hand. “Hullo. My name’s—”
“No!” shrieked Caramon, but the arm passed straight through Earwig’s fingers.
Earwig stared. “Well, how rude!”
The kender tried to catch the hand again, but it always passed right through him. Growing bored, he skipped over to inspect the box.
Caramon held his bastard sword, ready to swing. He stepped slowly into the room, turning to regard the entrance, then turned back to the box.
“Don’t touch it!” he reprimanded the kender sharply.
Earwig snatched his hand back.
“What are we supposed to do with it?” he asked.
“Destroy it,” the fighter replied, involuntarily ducking as a shadowy arm passed above him. Several more arms appeared, hands reaching down out of the darkness. “That’s what Raistlin told us to do.”
“How?” Earwig eyed the sealed box with a professional air. “I don’t suppose you could hack it to bits?”
Caramon gave the box a troubled glance. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, what are we doing down here, then?” demanded Earwig in exasperation.
“Don’t ask me! I just … always figured that Raist’d be here to help us.”
“Well, if we can’t destroy it, then let’s open it and see what’s inside.”
Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Earwig jumped up on the dais. He inspected the box, running his hands along the artifact’s sides, attempting to find a keyhole or a crack.
“Earwig, I’m not sure about this—” Caramon began, his attention divided between the kender and the flailing arms.
“Ah, ha!”
A loud click came from the box, and a crack opened in its center, running around it horizontally.
“Oops,” said Earwig.
Caramon, having been with other kender on adventures, knew that dreaded word all too well. He immediately assumed a fighting stance.
“What is it? What did you do, Earwig?”
“Nothing!” said the kender with an air of offended innocence. “But I think you could pry this open now.”
Caramon edged his way toward the dais, noticing, as he moved, that the weaving arms were becoming more real. There were now too many to duck, and the warrior braced himself when the first touched him. But it passed right through his body as if he were as insubstantial as they.
“Hurry, Caramon!” said Earwig in excitement. “I can’t wait to see what’s inside.”
“I can,” muttered the warrior.
He stepped up to the box. Glancing around him one last time, he propped his sword on the side of the box, spat on his hands, and rubbed them together. He braced himself, grasped the top, and heaved.
There was a hissing sound. The lid opened so easily that he nearly fell on top of it. Gingerly, holding the heavy top open with both hands, he gazed into the box.
“Let me see! Let me see!” shouted Earwig, shoving his head beneath Caramon’s big arm.
Jewels sparkled in the flickering torchlight. Earwig’s small hand darted forward.
“Hey!” said Caramon, panting beneath the weight of the lid. “We’re here to destroy those … not steal them.”
“I’ve never stolen anything in my life!” Earwig cried indignantly. He lifted a glass tube filled with glowing blue sapphires from the box.
“Look at this!” he said in awe. “Did you ever see anything more beautiful?” A line of blue light trailed from the jewels back into the box.
“I don’t think you should do that,” Caramon said nervously. “Put it—”
Without warning, one of the hands reached out, grabbed the tube, and replaced it in the box. Caramon braced himself for an attack, but the hand returned to its incomprehensible wavings.
“Wasn’t that great, Caramon? Let’s see if it’ll do it again!”
Earwig reached in and took hold of a glass tube lined with black obsidian. Rubies and emeralds and sapphires gleamed in the center. The kender pulled, but he couldn’t budge it.
The hands seemed to pause in their wavings. Caramon had the uneasy impression he was being watched by unseen eyes.
“Earwig,” he said in a low undertone. “I think you’ve found something there.”
“I know, but”—the kender tugged, his face turning red—“it won’t come out!”
Caramon risked a glance. “Give it a twist.” His arms were beginning to give beneath the lid’s weight. “Hurry! I don’t think I can hold this open much longer!”
Earwig put both hands around the tube and tried to rotate it, but his fingers slipped on the smooth container.
“Try the other way,” Caramon suggested.
He was watching the hands closely and could have sworn that he saw the fingers twitch in alarm. We’re doing something that somebody doesn’t like, Caramon thought grimly. He only wished he knew what.
The kender turned the tube to his left.
“I’ve got it!” he shouted. “It’s giving way!” He twisted it harder.
“Great! Keep going and—”
A shadowy hand suddenly gripped Caramon around the neck. Two others caught him beneath his shoulders and began to tug at him. He exerted his strength against them, keeping a tight grip on the lid.
“I don’t know … how long … I can keep this … raised!” he gasped. “Hurry!”
“Hurry? Hurry and do what?” Earwig cried frantically, twisting faster.
The tube was slowly coming out of its hole. Hands reached for him, but seemed unwilling to touch him, perhaps because he held the tube.
“What am I supposed to do after I get it?”
Caramon could only grunt in answer. His face was twisted in pain, turning red with the strain of trying to hang on to the lid and pulling against the hands.
“I’ve got it!” Earwig yanked out the tube.
He stared into it, shook it, and held it against his ear, listening for a sound. Fingers on the hands near him curled and twitched, as if in an agony of frustration.
Caramon issued a smothered scream. More hands were descending, gripping him, endeavoring to haul him up into the air. He clung to the lid with all his strength.
“Do something!”
“I’m trying!” Earwig gasped.
He turned the tube over and over. “Argh!” he finally cried in frustration and smashed the tube against the side of the box.
A high-pitched keening noise cut through the air, piercing the head. Caramon had never heard anything so horrible, felt anything more painful. He dropped the lid, and it closed with a slam. Hands wrapped around his throat and began choking out his life.
Shoulders hunched to try to block out the noise, Earwig bashed the dark cylinder against the side of the box again.
Caramon felt himself losing consciousness. His neck was thick, but the hands were strong and were slowly cutting off his air.
Earwig, looking at his friend, saw the warrior’s mouth gaping open, his eyes bulging from his head.
“Break!” the kender commanded frantically, and hit the tube against the box once again. The bottom
of the tube gave way, and a smaller tube slid out. Inside it was a band of gold.
“Oh, no!” Earwig groaned.
Kender aren’t afraid anything, but this one had definitely had his fill of rings.
I have to do something, though. They’re killing Caramon. He shook the tube and the ring rolled out into his palm.
What do you want of me? boomed a voice.
“You again!” Earwig muttered.
The hands near him curled into fists. One swung at him. Earwig ducked. The air whistling past from the force of the blow nearly knocked him down. He looked at Caramon. His friend had lost consciousness and was hanging limply in the grip of the hands that were slowly hauling the big man up into the air.
Earwig looked back at the ring.
“I want out of here!” he cried.
Put the ring on your thumb, Your Dark Majesty, and the gate will open.
“Well, I’m not a Dark Majesty, but there’s certainly no time to go and find someone who is. Here goes!” said Earwig and shoved the ring onto his thumb.
“No!” shrieked a terrible-sounding voice, and it seemed to the kender that five voices were actually screaming at once. “It is not the time! I do not have the power of the Eye!”
A blast of air hit the kender, knocking him flat on top of Caramon. The darkness rushed past him, and then the street rushed past him and then buildings and ugly creatures rushed past him, all seeming to be going somewhere in a tremendous hurry. Oddly enough, however, they all seemed to be going backward.
And then the rushing ceased.
Earwig, feeling tumbled and upsidedown, didn’t know for a minute if he was on his head or his feet. In actuality, he was on Caramon. And Caramon was lying on a white stone street.
Earwig knelt down and put his small hand over Caramon’s heart. It was beating strongly. He could feel the warrior’s chest rise and fall, breathing in air. But the big man was unconscious. Earwig could hear sounds of fighting quite near him—horrible screams and shrieks.
“Like a bunch of cats in barrel,” said the kender. Looking around, he saw the magical lights—dim but shining. He saw the arcade and the inn where Catherine had kissed him.
“We’re back!” he said, slightly disappointed. “Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.”
Settling down beside Caramon, waiting for the warrior to regain consciousness, Earwig admired his new ring.
Chapter 27
“And what if I were to tell you that I am not interested in an alliance with the Dark Queen?” Raistlin asked softly.
Shavas raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You think you will gain that much power without Her Dark Majesty making some attempt to stop you?” The woman began to laugh. “This is one of the reasons you are so incredibly attractive to me, Raistlin. You fear nothing.”
“ ‘Those who live in fear fall prey to their own disquiet.’ ”
“Yes. Eyavel would be one of your favorite authors. ‘And you, gentle reader, must follow in my path, for I am the way you must know.’ Ali Azra, another of your favorites.” Shavas set her half-emptied brandy glass down on the sideboard. “The wizard knew where to turn, who to worship. Like him, you could find great power. And great pleasure.”
The woman removed her gown, twisting open the buttons one at a time, twenty-three in all. She shrugged her shoulders with a slow, graceful movement. The silk gown fell to the floor. Firelight gleamed on her white skin, casting a ruddy glow that emphasized the shadowy curves of her body.
She moved near him. Reaching up, Shavas touched Raistlin’s face with the tips of her fingers.
The mage clasped her hands, feeling the coolness of her flesh against the burning warmth of his own. A shudder ran through his body, a shudder that the woman could sense.
Shavas pulled away from him, staring at him uncertainly, suspiciously.
Raistlin lifted his brandy glass, but his shaking hand nearly dropped it. He set it back down and turned abruptly to look at the game board, staring at the piece of his champion. As he watched, he saw it twist into a hideous, undead warrior. The mage sat down, afraid that his legs would not support him.
“Your offer is tempting …”
“Then you accept?”
Shavas knelt beside the mage’s chair. Placing her hands on his, she gazed, smiling, up into the hourglass eyes. She seemed certain of victory.
Raistlin shook his head. “I cannot.”
“Why? I’ve offered you everything! The chance to rule with me. Power to forge your own destiny. Myself!”
The mage said nothing. He did not look at her, but gazed at the board and his destroyed game piece.
Shavas slowly and with dignity rose to her feet. “You desire me. You can’t deny it!”
Without looking up, the mage replied, “That I desire you, lady, I cannot deny. But I can deny my desire.”
“Then you are a fool!”
“Perhaps,” Raistlin said in a subdued voice. “Perhaps. But I’ve won the game.”
Reaching out his hand, he removed the Dark Queen from the board and tossed it contemptuously into the fire.
He could feel the woman’s anger rise up around him, more scorching than the flames.
“You? You’ve won nothing!” Shavas cried. “Nothing but your own destruction!”
She raised her arms into the air. Dark bolts of lightning formed at her fingertips, surrounding her naked body with a cold, enervating halo. Her long hair rose around her head like writhing snakes. Her eyes vanished, sinking into deep pools of blackness.
Raistlin rose to his feet, leaning on the Staff of Magius.
“That puny toy will not save you! You will die by—” The woman’s voice cracked, then rose in a terrified scream. “What is happening?”
“The magics you summoned are growing beyond the confines of your ability to control them,” Raistlin answered.
“Help me!” Shavas screamed. Black lightning streaked down from the sky, engulfing the woman’s naked body. She reached for Raistlin, but her hands were beginning to wither, the flesh melting from the bones.
“I cannot,” said the mage. “I am the cause of your destruction!”
Shavas writhed in agony. “One day you will fall! One day the Dark Queen will have you!”
“No,” answered Raistlin. “No matter what happens, I will always be my own.”
The woman’s body slowly disintegrated until all that was left was a pile of dust on the carpet of the library. In its center lay a necklace; the fire opal glistened with a mockery of life.
Raistlin stood unmoving, watching the dust of Shavas stir, clutching for life. Walking over, he lifted the Staff of Magius and brought it down with crushing force on the necklace. The fire opal exploded.
Reaching around, grabbing a book, Raistlin soaked it in brandy and hurled it into the fire. The binding began to blacken and curl as the flames consumed the golden words, Brothers Majere.
Raistlin thrust the tip of his staff into the fire, holding it in the coals until the end burned brightly. Bringing out the flaming staff, the mage touched it to the curtains, the furniture, and, finally, the game board. Flames crackled. The air filled with smoke.
Raistlin tapped the staff on the floor and its fire died, leaving the black wood smooth, cold, and unscarred.
The mage turned and walked out of the burning house.
Epilogue
Raistlin and Caramon stood outside the south gate of Mereklar, beyond the city’s white confines.
“—and the woman rushed back to her home, screaming and waving her arms.” Earwig waved his own arms to illustrate. “The next day, there was a knock at the door. Know who it was?”
Catherine shook her head, “No. Who?”
“Dizzy’s hoopak!” Earwig tumbled to the ground and rolled around in uncontrolled mirth.
Catherine stood there, lips twitching.
“Don’t you get it?” Earwig asked after a moment, sitting up.
Catherine raised her eyes to the heavens, a gesture she woul
d come to repeat often. The young woman was dressed in leather pants and a long, buckskin tunic. Soft, supple boots hugged her legs, and she carried a pack on her back. In her hand she held a small tangle of wire—the gift Earwig had given her. She tossed it in the air. The bead inside caught the sun, flashing brightly. Catching the wire as it fell, Catherine winked at the kender.
Earwig, grinning, winked back. The two shared a wonderful secret, a secret that was about to lead them on what the kender hoped would be another wonderful adventure.
Caramon shuffled his feet. “I wish you’d change your mind and travel with us. At least as far as the Black Cat.”
“Can’t,” said Earwig, almost ready to explode with excitement. “We have a Very Important Mission. You see, it’s this wire—”
Catherine prodded him in the back. “Hush up,” she said. “It’s also a Very Secret Mission.”
“That’s right,” said Earwig, rubbing the ring on his thumb. “Well, good-bye, Caramon. Good-bye, Raistlin. It sure was fun!”
Raistlin started to say something, then began to cough violently. Clutching his chest, he leaned on the staff to maintain his balance. Caramon looked at him in concern.
“Are you sure you can make it?”
“Are you sure you can?” Raistlin cast a scathing glance at his brother, who was bandaged and walking stiffly and painfully.
Drawing a white cloth from his robes, the mage dabbed his lips. The cloth came away stained red with blood. “If you must know,” he whispered, “I have no desire to spend another night in this city.”
Caramon glanced around. The gate was empty, unguarded. The streets were filled with people hurrying from door to door, each relating to another his own version of the terrifying wonders that had occurred during the night. The city was in chaos, its leaders dead. Rumor had it that they had perished, fighting alongside the Lord of the Cats to protect the city from some great evil. The walls of Mereklar knew better, but few in the city paid any attention to the new carvings.
A cat carrying a newborn kitten in her mouth hurried past on light feet, moving her family from the wilderness into the city that was said to welcome felines. Several townsfolk, spotting the cat, knelt down to make overtures.