Brother's Majere p-3

by Kevin Stein

  “Will we?” questioned the man in black. He jerked the lord’s head back. The neck snapped. The minister went limp, though-for a moment-his eyes appeared remarkably alive. Remarkably malevolent.

  Tossing Manion to the ground, the assassin bent down over the corpse. Sharp claws rent cloak and clothes, skin and sinew.

  “You will have whatever you need, Raistlin,” Shavas said.

  The discussions had been concluded. Lord Cal had not returned, and Caramon was wondering if Shavas had sent him out on some sort of trumped-up mission in order to get rid of him.

  “Thank you, Councillor … and officials of Mereklar,” Raistlin said with a slight sneer.

  “When will you start?” Lady Masak asked.

  “I have already started, Lady Masak.” The mage smiled. The woman appeared somewhat alarmed.

  Everyone began to make preparations to leave, gathering up any notes they had taken during the talk, when the door flew open.

  Lord Cal stepped in. “Councillor! I must speak with you!”

  The man’s voice was strained, tense. Going to Shavas, he whispered something. Color drained from the woman’s face. She swallowed, opened her mouth, closed it.

  “Gentlemen.” Lord Cal glared at Raistlin and his companions. “I must speak with the ministers in private. Would you excuse us, please?”

  It wasn’t a request, but a command. Raistlin and Caramon left the room, Caramon returning in a moment to grab the kender.

  “I didn’t know he meant me!” Earwig said, wriggling in the warrior’s grasp. “No one ever called me a gentleman before!”

  The door shut behind them. Raistlin waited until he heard the lock click, then he swiftly withdrew one of the pouches hanging from his belt. Removing the cup he used to mix his drink, he placed it against one of the walls and put his ear to it, listening intently. There came a scraping sound from inside and Raistlin sprang backward, thrusting the cup beneath the folds of his robe.

  The door opened, and Shavas entered the hall. “I’m sorry, but we must end the meeting now. My carriage will take you back to your lodgings.” She gazed at them, as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t make up her mind. Then, shaking her head, she dispatched a servant, turned, and reentered the council room, closing the door behind her.

  “What did you hear?” Caramon came over to Raistlin, who was leaning on his staff, staring after the woman thoughtfully.

  “Lord Manion. He’s been killed. His body was found in a park not far from here.”

  Caramon stared. “Killed?”

  “Excuse me, sirs.” The coachman entered. “Councillor Shavas has instructed me to take to your inn.”

  “Maybe we’re not ready to g-” Caramon began.

  Raistlin laid a hand on his arm. “I am feeling tired. I could use a night’s rest.” He took a step forward, then suddenly halted, glancing around. “My staff! I left it behind in the council room!”

  “No, you didn’t,” said Caramon. “You had it just a moment-” The warrior stared. The staff was nowhere to be seen.

  “I don’t want to interrupt the meeting. If you could wait for us, sir,” said Raistlin to the coachman, “we’ll be right out. You can wait outside,” he added pointedly.

  The driver appeared dubious, but-not having any instructions to the contrary-he left the room.

  Raistlin breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Now, Caramon, we must leave this house without anyone noticing us. There must be another door … Ah, yes. We’ll use this one.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the park, to inspect the body ourselves.”

  “Wow!” breathed Earwig in awe.

  Raistlin started down the hall, walking rapidly, with unusual energy. Caramon trailed behind. He’d seen enough dead men in his life and didn’t particularly relish the sight of another.

  “Hey, Raist!” he said, remembering. “What about your staff?”

  The mage turned around. The Staff of Magius was in his hand. “What about it?” he asked.

  The park where the attack had taken place was now well lit by lamps and torches, held by guardsmen wearing blue uniforms and tall helmets. They stood in a wide circle around the corpse, staring down at it, talking in low, horror-filled voices. None noticed the silent intrusion of the mage, creeping out of the shadows to stand behind them.

  What was left of Lord Manion lay sprawled on the grass, his limbs twisted at odd angles. The head, it appeared, had nearly been torn from the body.

  “His neck’s been broken,” said one of the guards. “And ’is throat ripped open. In fact, most of ’is insides has been torn out, like a giant hand reached in and yanked ’em.”

  Caramon, peering over his brother’s shoulder, felt his stomach turn. The big man looked away. He’d seen violent death before, but that was on the battlefield. Death by stealth, by night, made him sick.

  Earwig stared. He stood, twisting his ring, his usually cheerful face turning a dull leaden color. “Raistlin,” he said, gulping and tugging on the mage’s sleeve.

  The mage silenced him with a glance.

  “A hand didn’t do this,” said another guard. “Leastwise not a human hand. It was claws! Gigantic claws!”

  “Lady Shavas,” spoke a voice that Caramon recognized as Lord Cal’s. “You shouldn’t be here. This is a gruesome sight.”

  “I am Councillor. It is my duty.”

  Shavas stepped forward into the light. She stared at the grisly corpse on the ground, then put her hand over her mouth and turned away. The other council members, trailing along behind, pushed through the guards to view the body.

  “Brunswick, take the councillor home,” ordered Lord Cal.

  The minister started to lead Shavas away when she suddenly looked up and saw Raistlin. “You!” she cried in a hollow voice.

  “What are these men doing here? Guards, I want them removed! Now!” Lord Alvin commanded, pointing.

  Shavas recovered herself. “Please, Raistlin. Leave us. This is a personal loss.…”

  One of the guards reached forward to grab the mage’s arm, but a glance from the hourglass eyes stopped him in his tracks. Caramon took a step nearer, to be ready if his brother needed assistance. Earwig, quiet and subdued, was still staring at the body.

  “Everything will be fine, Councillor,” said Raistlin reassuringly. “We will say nothing about this to anyone.”

  “But I-”

  “What are you doing here, wizard? How did you know about this man’s death, unless you helped commit his murder?” demanded Lord Cal. “It’s obvious he died as the result of some foul magical spell!”

  “Is it?” the mage inquired with bland interest. “I suppose that explains the absence of blood?”

  The question caught them all by surprise. Shavas sucked in a whistling breath through her teeth. Lord Alvin pointed at the mage with a trembling hand.

  “Nobody ever died by violence in this town until you entered it!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Raistlin. He glanced again at the corpse. “The man obviously died while on his way to the meeting. I was with Councillor Shavas the entire time.”

  “Mages can get others to do their dark deeds for them, or so I’ve heard,” said Lord Cal grimly. “Others-like their familiars! Like giant cats!”

  The councillor shot Cal a look so filled with venom that Caramon took a step back to avoid being poisoned by the glare.

  Raistlin turned. “Perhaps I should leave your city to its own devices-”

  “I’m sure that will not be necessary, Raistlin,” Shavas said. Gliding over to the mage, she put a hand on his robed shoulder, keeping her eyes averted from the horror on the ground. “Isn’t that correct, Lord Cal?”

  The lord tensed, as if afraid of some veiled threat. Clearing his throat, he said, “No, of course not.”

  Shavas slumped, letting her body sag against Raistlin’s. He put his arm around her, supporting her.

  “Raistlin!” said Earwig urgently.

  “No
t now!” The mage didn’t even glance at the kender. He and Shavas whispered together softly.

  Caramon watched his brother and the councillor, feeling something hot and angry stir deep inside him. Raistlin hated to be touched! And here he was, holding Shavas! How could he do this to me? the warrior demanded inwardly in frustration.

  He was about to say something, he didn’t know for certain what, when he saw a cat move out from under a bush to stand next to a tree. The animal was regarding him with bright eyes that shone red in the torchlight. Caramon beckoned, and the cat darted forward. Standing on its hind paws, it clawed at his leg.

  “Well, at least someone loves me,” said Caramon, recognizing his black-furred friend of the other afternoon. “You want to come up?”

  The cat leaped onto Caramon’s shoulder, balancing perfectly. His brother and Shavas were still conferring. Raistlin kept his arm around her. The warrior reached up to scratch the feline behind the ear.

  “There is a test I can make,” Raistlin said, moving away from the councillor, “to tell if the man died by magical means.”

  He waved the Staff of Magius over the body, closing his eyes to prepare a spell. Shavas’s terse voice broke his concentration.

  “We cannot allow you do to that, Master Mage! We have certain … sacred rituals that must be performed before the body is interred in the ground.”

  “I would not do anything that interferes with your religious beliefs-”

  “I’m afraid I must insist. Please, Raistlin.” Choking back tears, Shavas put her hand to the necklace at her throat. “This is very difficult for me. He was … a close friend!”

  Raistlin lowered the staff. “I’m sorry, Councillor. I have been thoughtless, it seems. Forgive me.”

  Lady Shavas beckoned to a guardsman, then leaned over to speak softly into his ear. The soldier nodded once and ran off.

  “This evening has been a great strain on all of us,” she said, addressing everyone in the park. “It is time for us all to return to our homes.”

  The soldier came back, driving a carriage that he had commandeered. It was obvious to Caramon that this time they weren’t going to be able to convince the fellow to wait for them outside.

  Raistlin drew his hood up over his head. Taking his brother’s arm, he said softly, “Come, Caramon, Earwig … Let us go.”

  The cat dug its claws into Caramon’s shoulder, drawing a very small trickle of blood.

  “Ouch! Hey!” he exclaimed, attempting to dislodge the animal. The cat, however, would not be moved but clung to Caramon tenaciously. They clambered into the carriage. Once Caramon was inside and seated, the cat jumped lightly from his shoulder and curled up in his lap, its red eyes fixed on the twin opposite. The carriage, driven by the soldier, rumbled through the empty, silent streets.

  “Raistlin,” said Earwig in a small voice.

  “What is it, kender?” the mage asked wearily.

  “That man. He’s the one who tried to kill me.”

  Caramon jerked his head up, staring. Raistlin, however, did not move.

  “What do you think, Raist?” Caramon asked, feeling a chill of horror creep over his body.

  “I think,” said the mage, “that we have one more day, my brother. One more day.”

  Chapter 15

  No one spoke during the carriage ride. No one made a sound except the cat, who purred loudly, rumbling like a small thunderstorm. Earwig sat in one corner of the carriage, scratching his hand. Raistlin sat huddled in another, his cowl pulled low over his head. He might have been thinking or fast asleep. Caramon sat miserably, his broad shoulders spanning two corners, wishing he was back in Solace.

  “I’d ask Tanis about this mess,” he said quietly to himself, a wave of homesickness sweeping over him. The half-elf was the wisest man Caramon knew. Always calm and steady-going, Tanis rarely allowed anything to shake him-with the possible exception of the twins’ older sister, Kitiara. Caramon heaved a great sigh. He wouldn’t see Tanis again for a long time, perhaps ever, the way the world seemed to be falling headlong into darkness. They were supposed to meet again in five-no, now make it four-years time. It seemed an eternity. Caramon sighed again. The cat licked his hand with its rough tongue.

  “Barnstoke Hall, sirs,” said the soldier-driver.

  The carriage rolled to a halt. The companions climbed out, the soldier watching every step. It was obvious he wasn’t going to leave until they were safely inside the inn. From the look of him, Caramon thought, he might be planning to spend the night.

  The fighter, cat tucked under one arm, attempted to open the door of the hall, but discovered it was locked. He pounded on it loudly. Minutes passed, then the proprietor slid open a panel in the door and peered outside. Seeing the companions, he slid the panel shut. They waited another several moments, hearing bolts being drawn and chains rattling. Finally the door opened a crack, barely large enough for the warrior to squeeze through.

  The proprietor slammed the door shut again immediately after the three were inside. He was trembling so hard he could barely stand.

  “Forgive me, sirs, but there’s been a terrible accident in town! Lord Manion-”

  “We know,” snapped Raistlin, moving past the man. “And it was no accident.”

  Caramon noticed that his brother barely needed the assistance of the staff to walk anymore. Raistlin’s gait was strong, even after being up all hours of the night. He had not coughed once. The mage reminded Caramon so much of what he had been before the test that tears came to the warrior’s eyes. He blinked them back and prayed to whatever gods were listening that this change would last.

  The cat in his arms suddenly began to wriggle and squirm. Jumping out of Caramon’s grasp, it landed on the floor and sat there, staring at him for a moment. Then, tail stuck straight up in the air, the cat wandered off, heading for the kitchen.

  The proprietor began bolting the door, chained it securely. Raistlin climbed the stairs to their room. Caramon came after him, dragging Earwig, who was staring with professional interest at the numerous locks on the door.

  Arriving outside their room, Raistlin held up a warning hand. Caramon kept hold of Earwig, who would have charged heedlessly ahead.

  “Wait,” said the warrior.

  “Why?” Earwig asked, staring at Raistlin.

  “Shirak!” The mage held the beaming orb to the floor, stared intently underneath the door.

  “What’s he doing, checking for dust?” asked the kender.

  “Yeah, sort of,” said Caramon.

  “It’s all right,” said Raistlin, standing up. He held a rose petal in his hand. “This was where I left it. No one has passed.”

  “You better let me go first, just in case,” said Caramon, drawing his sword.

  The mage unlocked the door, and the warrior pushed it aside with his hand, both of them keeping well out of the way. Nothing happened. Carefully, Caramon entered the room. Raistlin came after him, holding the light of his staff high. Earwig bounded in, hoping the rose petal had been wrong and that there might be something interesting inside.

  There wasn’t.

  Raistlin sank down on the bed and gave way to a sudden fit of coughing. He fumbled for his pouch of herbs. “It’s gone!”

  “What? What’s gone?”

  “My herbal mixture! My pouch must have fallen off in the park.”

  “I’ll go-” Caramon began.

  “No, don’t leave me, brother!” Raistlin clutched his chest. “Besides, you’d never get out of the inn. Not the way it’s locked up!”

  “I’ll go!” said Earwig, jumping up and down with excitement. “I can get out!”

  “Yes!” Raistlin nodded, sinking down on the bed. “Send the kender.” He shut his eyes.

  “Hurry up!” Caramon admonished Earwig sternly. “No stops along the way!”

  “Not me!”

  Opening the door, the kender darted out. They could hear his light footsteps racing down the hall and clattering down the stairs. Then, sil
ence.

  Raistlin, drawing a deep breath, sat up briskly. Rising from the bed, he went to the window. Caramon stared at him.

  “Raist? What-”

  “Hush, my brother.” The mage drew back the curtain, being careful to keep himself behind it. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “There he goes. Now we may talk freely.”

  “You think Earwig’s a spy?” Caramon didn’t know whether to burst into laughter or tears.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Raistlin answered gravely. “Except that he wears a magic ring and has no idea how he came by it. Or, at least, so he says. You’ve seen how strangely he’s been acting.”

  Caramon sat down heavily in a chair. Leaning his elbows on the table, he let his head sink into his hands. “I don’t like this, any of it! A man murdered-his body ripped apart. No blood. Only a kind of brown dust. The kender wearing a magic ring …”

  “It’s going to get worse, my brother, before it gets better.” Reaching into his robes, Raistlin brought out the bag of herbs and regarded it thoughtfully. He was growing stronger. There was no doubt about it. Was it his cure? Or …

  “Could you break a tree, Caramon? One of the trees in the park?” he asked abruptly.

  “Wha- Why do you want to know?”

  “One of the trees near the body of the murdered man had its bark shattered, as if someone had struck it.”

  Caramon thought. “I suppose I could, if I were wearing a gauntlet to protect my fist.” He shuddered as the full implications occurred to the warrior. “Whoever did that terrible thing must be strong! Do you … do you think it was a … a big cat? There were all those claw marks-”

  “It was either a cat, or we are meant to think it was a cat,” said Raistlin absently, preoccupied with other thoughts. He dragged a chair over to sit directly across from Caramon. “What do you think of Lady Shavas?”

  The question took Caramon by surprise.

  “I think she’s … attractive.”

  “You find her irresistible!”

  “What do you mean?” the fighter asked defensively.

  “I mean you have feelings for her.”