by Kevin Stein
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.
The staff’s light gleamed in the carriage. Raistlin stared into his brother’s face. The warrior’s features were sunken and his eyes had dark rings under them, as if he had been awake for many days. His back was bent, and his shoulders sagged.
“It must have been the brandy,” Caramon concluded, groaning and leaning against the side of the carriage.
“Just how much did you have to drink?” Raistlin asked.
“Not much,” Caramon mumbled defensively.
Raistlin regarded his brother silently. Caramon could generally drink most men under the table. Reaching out his hand, the mage closed his fingers over his brother’s wrist, felt his pulse, rapid and thready. Beads of sweat began to pop out on the warrior’s forehead and upper lip.
Raistlin knew the symptoms, knew them well. But he denied it to himself. “You should learn to control your appetites, my brother,” said the mage.
The carriage dropped them off in front of the inn. This time it was Raistlin who assisted his twin inside the door of Barnstoke Hall.
“I’m all right, Raist. Honest,” said Caramon, ashamed of his weakness. He stood up straight, refusing his brother’s arm.
Raistlin looked at him, then shrugged and, leaning on his staff, walked toward the stairs. Earwig trudged along behind. The kender’s head was bowed. He looked neither to the right nor the left, but kept his eyes straight ahead on the floor in front of him. Caramon followed, staggering slightly, wondering if the ceiling was actually going to cave in on him, as it seemed.
The proprietor stood behind the desk at the side of the main room, looking through a stack of books, making notes with a black quill. He looked up when he heard his guests arrive.
“You’re returning late. It’s way past the middle of the night. I assume your meeting with the councillor went well, then, sirs?”
“I don’t see that it’s any business of yours,” Raistlin said softly as he passed by the desk, ascending the stairs, heading up to their room. The proprietor, affronted, went back to his work.
Caramon stumbled over to the stairway, falling to his knees. Raistlin looked back, pausing in concern.
“Go ahead,” Caramon waved his brother on. “I … just need to rest. I’ll … meet you in the room.” The fighter heaved himself off the floor, leaning against the stairwell. Earwig, not looking around, kept climbing the stairs.
Raistlin stared after the kender, who was acting every bit as strangely as Caramon. The mage wasn’t certain whom to assist.
“I will wait for you here, on the landing, my brother,” he said, keeping one eye on Caramon and one on Earwig.
The warrior, nodding, made it up the stairs. Raistlin took the big man’s arm and helped him
to the room.
“Earwig, open the door.”
The kender nodded and did as he was told without comment, acting as if he were walking in his sleep. Caramon stumbled headlong into the room. Lifting his head, he caught, by the light of the staff, a quick glimpse of movement in a dark corner.
“Raist-” he began, but before he could say anything more, his brother had shoved him to one side. A dart, its point glittering in the staff’s light, sped from the darkness straight at the fighter. Raistlin threw himself into the path of the missile, opening his cloak to create a shield of cloth. Two more darts followed, burying themselves in the cloth of the red robes before they reached their target.
The assassin dashed forward-a figure in black, dodging around the mage with the agility of an acrobat. He leaped over the dumbfounded kender, took the stairs to the first floor in one jump, and disappeared into the street.
Raistlin ran to the window, pulling a shard of glass from a pouch to use in a spell, but the assassin was already gone. Turning, he hurried back to his brother, who was lying on the floor.
“Caramon? Are you hurt?” he asked, kneeling at his brother’s side.
“No, I … don’t think so.”
Looking up into his twin’s face, Caramon saw true concern, true worry. Warmth spread through his body, banishing the sickness for a moment. Somewhere deep inside, Raistlin cared for him. The knowledge was worth facing all the assassins in the world. “Thanks, Raist,” he said weakly.
Raistlin inspected his robes and pulled the three darts from the cloth. Two were lodged in the folds, the third had struck a metal disk-the charm of good fortune he had received from the woman at the Black Cat. He looked at the amulet with a touch of amusement.
Earwig, aimlessly roaming the room, found another dart that the assassin had dropped. Without saying anything to the brothers, the kender slipped it into his pocket.
“Do you need anything, Caramon?” Raistlin asked.
“No, nothing. I just need to rest.” The warrior collapsed on the bed. His brother sat by his side. “Raist, I thought you said nobody’d hurt us now. Too many people knew we were here.”