Brother's Majere p-3

by Kevin Stein

  Raistlin sat up. A bitter smile twisted his lips as he recalled his youth-a time when he was a target for contempt.

  The Festival of the Eye. Once a year, the children were allowed to pretend they were adults. He’d worn the robes of a wizard, crudely sewn by the impatient and clumsy hands of his older half-sister, Kitiara. She had outfitted Caramon as a warrior, complete with wooden shield and sword, then took the twins from door to door, begging for the special cookies that were made in honor of that night. It had been the brothers’ last festival together with their sister. Kit had left them soon after, to make her own way in the world.

  That night, when they were returning home to gloat over their treasures in private, Raistlin had suddenly become ill, pain clenching his stomach and sides. His brother and half-sister had been forced to carry him. When he spat to remove a bitter taste in his mouth, a small gout of blue flame had shot out. He could still recall the looks of alarm he’d seen on the faces of his siblings.

  The next morning, Raistlin was fine. The sickness had never occurred again, and neither the brothers nor their sister had ever told anyone else what had happened.

  Raistlin thought that now he was beginning to understand.

  “Hand me my pack,” he ordered his brother.

  Mystified, Caramon obeyed.

  The mage rummaged in it. Pulling out a small book, he flipped through the pages. Caramon, peering over his brother’s shoulder, saw nothing but rows and columns of numbers printed on the yellowing pages. Phases and positions of the moons were also indicated.

  Some of the dates had large circles around some of the numbers, when pictures of the two moons created a single dot on the page. Raistlin continued to leaf through the book, stopping when he reached the middle. Opening the book wide, making the binding crack in complaint, he laid it down on the bed in front of him. After a moment of silent calculation, he closed it and tossed it into his pack.

  “What?” asked Caramon.

  “The Festival of the Eye,” said Raistlin. “Remember? A long time ago, when we were little?”

  Caramon’s eyes crinkled in thought. Suddenly, his mouth sagged. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured, staring at his brother. “What does it mean? It’s just a holiday, that’s all.”

  “To most of you, it is,” Raistlin said, somewhat bitterly. “It’s a time to dress up and break the routine of dull existence. But to us, to wizards, it is much, much more.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” said Caramon. “You’re supposed to offer your services free.”

  “Bah! That’s the least of it!” Raistlin snarled impatiently. “It is, in reality, a time of great magical power. It began untold ages ago when three sorcerers of tremendous and unparalleled skill gave their lives to their crafts, ending their existence in one final, ultimate expenditure that drained their souls. They used the energy to create a force infinitely more potent than any one could ever summon on his own.”

  Caramon shifted uncomfortably, as he often did when his twin discussed his arcane craft.

  “Certain mystical texts stated that the wizards were each dedicated to one of the three alignments,” Raistlin continued. “Good, neutral, and evil-the incantations required all three members from the Great Balance of the World. Some of the books say that the wizards cast the spell to gamble on the future for their deities, hoping that their particular alignment would wrest control of the power when the time came.” Raistlin shrugged. “The sorcerers chose the game, but the gods cast the dice. The wizards died, the energy remained pent up. The texts say that the energy will be released only when the Great Eye is in the heavens.”

  “The Great Eye?”

  “Don’t interrupt me, if you want to know what’s going on. This year’s Festival of the Eye is going to be different from most others because all three moons, including the black moon Nuitari, are moving to rare conjunction. They will form the Great Eye-an orb of red, silver, and black hovering in the night sky, looking down upon Krynn with unfathomable intent.”

  Raistlin paused, gazing at his brother with his own golden hourglass eyes.

  “This has occurred once before in the history of the world-during the Cataclysm.”

  Caramon shook his head. “Look, the Festival of the Eye happens every year. You’ve never been sick before. Except that once.”

  “And on that night of the Festival-the night I was so strangely ill-my books showed the convergence of the two visible moons-Lunitari and Solinari. That is something that occurs more frequently, but still not often. Now, this year, according to my reading, that convergence will happen again. My calculations further confirm that the third-the black moon of the ancient, forgotten goddess Takhisis, Queen of Darkness-will cross over them, forming the Great Eye. What I felt so many years ago was the early gathering of mystic power that is going to be freed during the upcoming festival. Much is explained,” he added, thinking of the white line, understanding now why he could see it.

  “Maybe to you, but not to me,” Caramon grunted, yawning. He glanced at his brother uneasily. “Is this sickness likely to happen again?”

  But Raistlin was lost in thought and didn’t answer.

  Earwig walked back up Southgate Street, past the rows and blocks of houses. “Everyone sure likes this necklace,” he said to himself proudly. “I’m really glad I found it. Gosh, I’m tired, though. Being a great warrior and getting kissed by beautiful women really takes a lot out of a guy.”

  The kender made his way back to Barnstoke Hall, where he was delighted to find the street littered with dice and game pieces. He picked them all up and stuffed them into his pants pockets, wondering where they had come from.

  The large and unfriendly servant was still guarding the door to the inn. The kender kindly let the man rest and went around to the back of the inn, where he crawled up the trellis and climbed into a window.

  “I’ll just stop by and tell Caramon about my adventure,” he said, going up to the twins’ door and knocking on it loudly.

  A bleary-eyed Caramon threw open the door. “You!” He glowered at the kender. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “No,” said Earwig cheerfully. “But I can find out if you want. There’s a clock in the hall. I-” The kender’s mouth flew open. He stared.

  “Raistlin’s staff!”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “But it was … I mean I tried to … It just disa-!”

  “See you in the morning, Earwig!” growled Caramon as he slammed the door, nearly taking off the kender’s inquisitive nose.

  “How wonderful! It must have come back all by itself! Still,” Earwig added, miffed, “you’d think it would have said something before it let me go to all that trouble looking for it.”

  Yawning, he started to go to his room, but couldn’t remember where it was. He sneaked down into the dark dining hall, undid his pack, rolled out his sleeping mats, and fell asleep under the main table.

  Chapter 10

  “You little monster!”

  The woman’s scream echoed through the inn, awakening Caramon. The next instant, footsteps pounded up the stair and fists banged on the door.

  The fighter turned quickly to observe Raistlin, hoping the mage wouldn’t wake from his slumber. A muscle in his brother’s face twitched, and he stirred restlessly in his sleep.

  Caramon leaped to his feet, fatigue leaving his muscles as he stormed toward the door. Flinging it open, he faced the proprietor he had met briefly last night.

  “Stop that racket!” whispered Caramon loudly. “My brother is sick!”

  “Please, kind sir! I know you are important people-friends of the councillor’s-but you must help me!” The proprietor pointed down the stairs. “Your friend is assaulting my patrons!”

  “My friend?” The warrior looked around the room to see if he’d forgotten somebody. Realization glimmered. “Earwig!” he groaned.

  “Please, sir, please!” The innkeeper pulled on Caramon’s arm, attempting to tug him out the door.

  T
he fighter came to a dead standstill and looked the proprietor directly in the eye. “Don’t let anything disturb my brother, understand?” He held a thick finger in front of the proprietor’s face for emphasis.

  “Of course not,” the innkeeper said, swallowing hard. “Now would you please come reason with your friend, sir?”

  “Reason? With a kender? That’ll be a first!” the warrior muttered under his breath, closing the door softly behind him.

  Caramon walked into the room, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Earwig stood on a small oaken table in the corner of the dining hall, hoopak in his hand, threatening the staff of the inn. Something white and frilly was on his head.

  One of the cooks, a large portly man, brandished a huge butcher knife. “I’ll chop off your ears!” he threatened, advancing on the kender.

  “Cut out my eyes, too,” taunted the kender. “Then I won’t have to look at your ugly face!” Thwop! The hoopak flew out and slapped the man on the nose.

  “Come on! Who’s next? I’m the mighty warrior, Earwig Lockpicker!” He waved his staff in a wide arc as others attempted to approach. “Admired by men! Beloved by women!”

  Heaving a sigh, Caramon moved forward. Seeing his friend, Earwig warned, “Stay away from me, sir. I’m in the throes of the famous Kender Berzerkergang, which has not been seen on Krynn for hundreds of years!”

  Caramon grabbed the staff as it arced toward his head, the wood making a loud slap on his palm that caused many in the room to wince in sympathetic pain.

  “That’s enough, Earwig.” The warrior wrenched the hoopak from the kender’s hand.

  “Draw your sword, Caramon! Cut them down!” Earwig shrieked, jumping from the table. “They attacked me!”

  “Attacked you?” Caramon stared at the kender. “What in the name of the Abyss is that on your head?”

  Earwig’s face went from righteous anger to bland innocence in less time than it takes to tell it. “It’s my hair, Caramon.”

  The warrior eyed the lacy headpiece wrapped around the kender’s topknot. The headpiece looked familiar. It was-

  “A garter!” the fighter said suddenly. Caramon’s face flushed deep crimson. Reaching out, he snatched the piece of feminine underclothing from the kender’s head. “I’ve heard of kender swiping lots of things!” he hissed into Earwig’s ear, shaking the kender until his teeth rattled. “But how did you manage to steal this?”

  “The problem, sir,” the innkeeper spoke, stepping from the doorway where he had waited until the battle was over, “is that this … person … attempted to … to steal-”

  “Steal!” Earwig’s eyes widened in indignation. “A kender … steal?” He could barely speak for the injustice of the accusation.

  “Sir,” the proprietor continued. “A young lady was sitting down to breakfast when this person … uh …”

  Ignoring the flustered innkeeper, Caramon gazed sternly at Earwig. “What happened?” he asked with a sigh, knowing that he was in for a long and convoluted explanation.

  “Well, last night I went to pick up Raistlin’s staff that he left in the street, only when I reached out to grab it, the staff disappeared. I thought I’d better go look for it-you know, Caramon, how much your brother thinks of that staff. Well, anyway, I went back out-”

  “I locked you in your room!” thundered the innkeeper. “Councillor Shavas wouldn’t want him walking around town after dark,” he added hastily, for Caramon’s benefit. “The little fellow might get hurt.”

  “Hunh,” grunted Caramon, frowning.

  “Well, anyway,” continued Earwig, deciding magnanimously to overlook being called “little fellow,” “I walked around the town, and I saw a lot of cats, and I found this bar that looked like fun. And it was! A man there tried to kill me, Caramon! With a knife! What do you think of that? I fought him off. Thwack! Over the head with my hoopak. Then the most beautiful girl I ever saw in my life kissed me on the cheek. Just as if I’d been you, Caramon! By then I was getting kind of tired, so I came back here and found all these game pieces lying on the ground, so I picked them up and climbed back up the trellis and in through the window-”

  “What?” the proprietor yelled.

  “Shh!” Caramon insisted, feeling that they must be nearing the important part.

  “I went to your room, and Raistlin’s staff had come back by itself! Which is truly remarkable, except that I did go to a lot of trouble and it might have had more consideration. Then I couldn’t remember my room number, so I went to sleep under the table and when I woke up, that woman was sitting down right on top of me and I saw that this part of her clothing was sliding down her leg. And if this”-the kender pointed at the garter-“had slid down and wrapped around her ankle, she would have tripped and maybe hurt herself so I just took it off her. I guess you heard her scream, huh? After that she fainted. Then all these people jumped on me. For no reason!” Earwig added indignantly.

  His face burning, still holding the garter, Caramon glanced around uncertainly, wondering what to do.

  “I’ll take it, sir,” offered one of the female servants.

  “Yeah! Thanks!” Caramon handed it over in relief. “He didn’t really mean to cause any trouble, Master Innkeeper. He just sort of found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll keep an eye on him after this. It won’t happen again.”

  “I surely hope not,” said the proprietor, somewhat mollified.

  “Please give our apologies to the young lady,” Caramon added, marching Earwig up the stairs.

  “I thought maybe I’d get another kiss, Caramon,” said the kender cheerfully. “Boy! That was fun!”

  Raistlin stood at the window, staring down into the street below. There were hardly any more people out by day than by night. Those who were moving about on some business of their own walked with heads down, casting furtive looks this way and that. Raistlin had seen cities in the grip of plague. He could smell fear in the air. Now, he thought he could detect the same odor.

  And there, shining against the white stone pavement, was the line.

  Caramon walked into the room just behind Earwig, pushing the kender forward so that there would be no chance for him to escape. Raistlin slowly turned around from the window.

  “How are you feeling?” Caramon asked.

  “How do I ever feel?” Raistlin snapped. Seeing Caramon’s hurt look, the mage shook his head. “I’m sorry, my brother. I feel as if a crushing weight were on me. As if I’d been sent here to do something important, yet I haven’t any idea what! And we don’t have much time to do it!”

  “What do you mean? We’ve got all the time in the world,” said Caramon practically. “I’ve ordered breakfast. It’ll be up in a moment.”

  “Time!” Raistlin turned back to the window, staring down at the white line. “ ‘… To find the gate, to be there when the time arrives.’ We have no time, my brother. We have only until the Festival of the Eye. Three days.”

  “Huh?” Caramon frowned.

  “That’s the poem you quoted, isn’t it, Raistlin?” Earwig piped up. “I remember it, you see. ‘Darkness sends its agents, stealthy and black, to find the gate, to be there when the time arrives.’ I love stories, and that’s as good as a story. Did I ever tell you the one about Dizzy Longtongue and the minotaur-?”

  “I think you dropped something,” said Caramon, jostling one of the kender’s pouches and spilling its contents on the floor.

  Glass and ivory game pieces rolled across the wood, one of the pieces coming to rest at Raistlin’s feet. Reaching down, he picked it up. It was a small, yellowing statue carved into the likeness of a beautiful woman-beautiful, regal, evil, domineering. The mage held it up to his eyes, inspecting it, observing every tiny detail cut into the bone. Turning it over to look at the pedestal on which the woman stood, he saw an “X” on the bottom, a sign designating the piece as the Dark Queen in one of the mage’s favorite games, Wizards and Warriors.

  “It can’t be coincidence,” he murmured. “
The ‘cats decide the fate,’ and they are vanishing. The time of the Great Eye comes once again, when untold power awaits those who can use it. If I were the Dark Queen and I wanted to choose a time to come back into the world …” Raistlin’s voice died.

  Caramon scoffed. “Hey, don’t talk like that, Raist! You said it yourself. Coincidence. We’ll find the cats, and there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for their disappearance. Maybe it’ll be like that story about the guy with the flute who came into a town and played, and all of the rats followed him past the city limits.”

  “But you forget the end of the story, my brother. In the end, the piper came back and stole away the children.”

  Caramon kept silent. He didn’t think he’d helped matters any.

  Looking at the game piece carefully one more time, Raistlin handed it back to the kender. Earwig looked at the piece as carefully as the mage had, but he didn’t find anything of interest. It was just another game piece.

  “ ‘Fate moves the free,’ ” Caramon said under his breath, repeating one of his current, favorite proverbs. “What do we do now?”

  “It’s time we explored the city of Mereklar.”

  “How about seeing this Councillor Shavas? Shouldn’t we go meet her?”

  “I think, my brother, that I will let her come to me,” said Raistlin coolly.

  “You’re strangers, so you don’t see it like we do.”

  “I guess not, ma’am,” Caramon said. “To me, this place looks overrun.”

  “No, sir, no. Where once there were thousands, there are now few. Too few,” said the old woman.

  “That’s true,” added a man who was seated at another table. “From morning to evening, the cats would roam the streets. White, gray, brown, striped, spotted, mottled. All sorts.”

  “Except black,” the old woman interposed. “We never knew why, but there wasn’t a black cat among the lot of em.”

  “Some think mages came and took the black ones,” said the man, glowering darkly at Raistlin.