Brother's Majere

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, silence.

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.”

“How would you know what my feelings are?” Caramon demanded, rising to his feet and pacing about the room.

He and his twin had never before discussed women. It had always been one part of Caramon’s life in which Raistlin had taken no interest. But then, never before had any woman been attracted to the thin and sickly young man. Recalling this, Caramon began to feel a certain amount of remorse. He could have any woman he wanted. It might be good for Raistlin to … well … get to know the lady better. Perhaps that’s what was working this miraculous cure. Love had been known to perform miracles.

“Look, Raist,” said Caramon, sitting down again. “If you want her, I’ll back off-”

“Want her!” Raistlin’s golden eyes flared. He glared at his brother with such contempt that Caramon shrank away from him. “I don’t ‘want’ her, not in the vulgar sense you mean.”

Yet the mage lingered over the word. His fingers stroked the wood of the table, as if caressing smooth skin.

“Why did you bring her up, then?”

“I have been observing you. Ever since the first night we met her, you’ve been acting like a love-struck boy, staring at her with that stupid grin.”

“The lady seems to like it,” retorted Caramon.

“Yes, she does.” Raistlin’s voice dropped.

Caramon cast him an uneasy glance. “What do you mean?”

“Her house contains very ancient, very powerful tomes of magic. I must look at them … alone.”

“I don’t like this, Raist.”

“Oh, but you will, my brother. I’m certain that you will.”

“What if she won’t go out with me?”

“I’ve seen her looking at you,” said Raistlin.

Caramon heard the bitterness in his brother’s voice. “I’ve seen her looking at you, too, Raist,” he said softly.

“Yes, well …” Raistlin let the comment pass.

Caramon could have sworn he saw a faint flush of blood beneath the golden skin. To his surprise, his twin suddenly clenched both fists, the golden eyes glinted.

“The books! The magic! That’s what’s important. All else is fleeting. All else is of the flesh!” A drop of sweat trickled down the mage’s brow. “You will do it?” he demanded hoarsely, not looking at his brother.

“Sure, Raist,” said Caramon. It was what he answered to every request his twin made of him.

“Thank you, my brother.” Raistlin’s tone was cold. “You must be tired. I suggest you go to bed.”

Caramon shrugged. “What about you?”

“I have work to do.”

Raistlin pulled the sextant out from under his robes, along with the datebook to which he had referred earlier. Opening the text, he laid it on the table next to a quill and inkwell. The mage walked to the window and gazed at the heavens through the brass navigation tool. He began to take notes, drawing odd lines and strange curves, parallels of ink and words on parchment.

Caramon, after watching a moment, went to bed.

The mage was working so intently that he didn’t hear the door open.

“Gosh, Raistlin, you’re up late. Feeling better?”

The kender’s voice startled the mage. He glanced up, irritated by the disturbance.

“That was quick,” he muttered, returning to his drawing.

“Oh, the soldier gave me a ride. He didn’t know he gave me a ride, but I guessed he must be going back to the park, so I just jumped on behind the carriage and off we went. It’s a lot more fun than riding inside. When I got to the park there was a big meeting going on. All the ministers were still there and Councillor Shavas-”

“Shavas?” Raistlin looked up again.

“Yes.” Earwig gave a yawn that nearly split his head in two. “I told her you dropped the pouch. She helped look for it, but we couldn’t find it. I did find some others, in case you’re interested.” The kender pulled numerous purses-mostly filled with money-out of his pockets and dumped them on the table. Along with them came a tiny scroll, wrapped tightly in red ribbon.

“What is this?” Raistlin asked, lifting it.

“Oh, that’s from Lady Shavas. She said I was to give it to Caramon.”

Raistlin glanced at the bed where his brother lay sleeping. The mage untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll.

Dinner. Tomorrow evening. A private place, known only to myself, where we can be alone. I will send my carriage for you at dusk.

It was signed, Shavas.

Raistlin dropped the note, as if it had burned him.

Earwig was unrolling his sleeping mat. “Oh, I found out something else,” he said, yawning again. “The soldier was talking about it with one of his buddies. That man who was murdered. He didn’t have a heart!”

Raistlin sat, staring at the note.

“How fortunate for him,” said the mage.

Caramon awoke to find that his brother had fallen asleep at the table, his head lying on the books, his hand resting protectively over the sextant.

“Raist?” said Caramon, shaking him.

The mage started and sat up swiftly. “Not yet! Now is not the time! I must be stronger.…”

“Raist!” said Caramon.

The mage blinked and stared around, wondering where he was. Then, recognizing the room and his twin, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Are you all right? Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not much,” Raistlin conceded. “But that is not important. I now know the exact time.”

“Time for what?”

“For when the three moons converge.” Raistlin spoke in hollow tones. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. “We have exactly one day, one night, and another day. Tomorrow night, when the darkness is deepest, it will be lit by the Great Eye.”

“What do we do now?”

“Now we look for the cats. I can’t believe they have simply vanished off the face of Krynn. Once we find them, we will hold the key to the mystery.”

“And tonight …”

Caramon spoke reluctantly, hoping Raistlin had either forgotten his instructions of the previous evening or had changed his mind. The big warrior just couldn’t envision himself asking that lovely, regal woman to accompany him on an evening’s romantic tryst. He had no doubt she would laugh at him.

His twin pointed to a scroll rolled up and wrapped with red ribbon. “The kender brought that for you last night after you were asleep. It is from Lady Shavas.”

Caramon felt the blood rush to his face. He reached for the scroll, opened it, and glanced at it. There was no need to read it to his twin. He knew Raistlin would have looked at it last night.

The warrior cleared his throat. He should feel elated, but he didn’t. He felt cold all over. “It’s like … she’s reading our minds.”

“Isn’t it?” said Raistlin, rising to his feet. “Wake Earwig. I need him.”

“You do?” Caramon stared, astonished.

“Yes.” Raistlin gave his brother a shrewd look. “Or, let us say, I need to know where he is … and where he is not.”

Caramon, not understanding, shrugged, and went to wake the kender.

The warrior had absolutely no idea how to begin searching for missing cats, other than by dragging a string around and shouting, “Here, puss! Here, puss!” He had other, more important worries. The streets, previously so empty, were today crowded with people, talking about last night’s murder. Their voices stopped whenever the red-robed mage came into view. Soon they started up again, this time finding a focus for their fear.

“It was magic killed our lord.… No one ever died until a wizard came to town! … Likely killed our cats, too!”

Caramon stalked the streets, hand on the hilt of his sword, glaring balefully at any who might have the nerve to speak too loudly or take a step toward Raistlin. Whether it was the aura of mystery and power surrounding the magic-user or the threat of the strong arm and sharp blade of the warrior beside him, nobody came close. The people melted away, sidling into alleys or ducking into dark doorways. But Caramon heard the muttered threats and saw the hatred on the faces as he, his twin, and the kender passed.

They’d walked about half a mile from Barnstoke Hall, traveling on one of the three main thoroughfares of Mereklar, when Raistlin came to a stop.

“Now, instructions. Earwig, I have a spell that will lead us to the cats, but in order to cast it, I need a bagful of a certain herb-nepeta cataria. When you find it, meet us back at Barnstoke Hall.”

Earwig leaped at Raistlin, clutching at him, nearly knocking him over. “No! Please don’t make me leave you. I really want to stay with you! I feel … afraid if I’m not with you.”

“Hey, let go!” Caramon said, dragging the kender off his brother. “What’s got into you? Kender aren’t afraid of anything!”

“Don’t make me leave you, Caramon!” Earwig was clinging to the big man’s arm, despite all Caramon’s efforts to shake him loose. “Please! I’ll behave …”

Raistlin’s hand slipped into his pouch. He drew out a handful of rose petals and slowly sifted them over the kender’s head.

“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” he murmured.

Earwig suddenly yawned and began to rub his eyes.

“I’ll be goooo.…” The kender’s fingers slipped off Caramon’s arm. Earwig crumpled over in a heap on the sidewalk.

“What happened?” Caramon knelt down beside his little friend.

“He’s all right, my brother,” said Raistlin. “He’s asleep.”

Earwig had begun to snore softly.

“Lift him up onto that bench so that no one steps on him,” Raistlin instructed. “Now, you and I can proceed with our search alone.” The mage’s gaze went to the ring on the kender’s hand.

Caramon did as he was told. They left Earwig, blissfully snoring, in a hyava shop.

“What was that stuff you wanted him to get? Some kind of herb?”

“Nepeta cataria.” The mage smiled slightly. “Catnip.”

The brothers continued up the street, appearing to do nothing more than look in shop and store windows. But all the stores were empty, the houses had their windows shuttered. People roamed the streets, sharing their own fear and panic.

“It’s like a town under siege,” Caramon remarked.

“Precisely. And for much the same reason. Fear. Terror. And notice,” added Raistlin. “No cats. Anywhere.”

Caramon glanced around. “You’re right! I haven’t seen one! Have they all disappeared?”

“I don’t think so. I think they’re in hiding. They, too, are afraid.”

Caramon wondered at their destination. Raistlin seemed to have an exact idea of where he was going and walked without hesitation. The warrior thought he understood when he saw the park, the same park Lord Manion had been killed in the night before. No one was around, the townspeople avoiding the place as if it were infected with the plague.

“What are we doing here?” Caramon asked uncomfortably, having much the same impression himself.

His brother did not answer. The mage stopped near a bench. Leaning on his staff, he stared at the trampled grass.

Caramon, growing increasingly nervous, pulled out the yellow ball Maggie had given him and began to play with it, trying to distract his gloomy thoughts. But thinking of Maggie made him think of Shavas. He knew he should be looking forward to tonight-what man wouldn’t, being alone with a beautiful, desirable woman? But there was the knowledge in the back of Caramon’s mind that he was using the woman, deceiving her. He was a diversion, nothing more. He didn’t like it and he had about decided to tell Raistlin he wasn’t going when he felt a light tugging at his hand.

Caramon looked down. The black cat, sitting on its hind legs, was batting at the ball.

“Hello,” Caramon said, bending over to pick up the cat.

The feline bounded sideways, ears and tail twitching. The warrior shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the bench, shutting his eyes against the morning glare. The cat brushed up against his legs.

“All right, I’ll pet you,” he said, leaning down.

The cat turned and walked away, craning its head back to regard the fighter with reflecting eyes. Caramon shook his head. “What a strange animal.”

Raistlin seemed to wake from a dream. He stared at the cat intently.

“Isn’t that the same cat who came with us last night, the one you had on your shoulder?”

“I guess so. It’s the only black cat I’ve seen in town.”

Raistlin watched it. “He wanted us to follow.”

“How can you tell?”

The cat dashed off, then dashed up to Caramon again. The warrior took a step after it and it ran off again.

“Let’s see where it takes us,” said Raistlin.

The cat raced ahead of them about twenty feet, heading around the park to the western portion of the city. Just when it seemed that they would lose the animal, it stopped, waiting for them, sitting on the ground patiently. When the twins were within arm’s reach, the cat darted off again, moving in the same direction.

“Where do you think he’s leading us?” Caramon asked.

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be following it!” Raistlin snapped.

The brothers went up street after street, until even the mage became lost in the flow of alleys, avenues, and paths. Every time the twins came within a few feet of the black cat, it would dart off, staying always ahead, always within sight. It never uttered a sound, but gazed back with eyes that held the sunlight as brilliantly as the blue orb on Raistlin’s staff.

Caramon craned his head back, staring into the sky as he walked. “It’s almost noon,” he said. “I hope we arrive at wherever we’re going soon.”

“I think we must be getting closer,” Raistlin said. “The animal has increased its speed.”

“Do you recognize this part of the city?”

“No. I take it you don’t either.”

Caramon shook his head. They were on a boulevard surrounded by buildings, shops, and houses that looked abandoned or unused. Trash filled several alleys that cut through the blocks like great wounds, darkened and dirty. Even the white stones of the city appeared gray, worn, and old.

“This is very odd.” Raistlin pulled his cowl back, staring at the black windows.

“Yeah. This place feels dead.” Caramon spoke softly, uneasily, though it seemed there was no one around.

“A part of the city that died and was never buried. Look, our friend has evidently found what it wanted us to see.”

The black cat was scratching at a sewer cover near the sidewalk on the right. The twins walked warily up to the feline. It did not run away as it had before, but continued scratching, voicing a harsh “meow!”

“It wants us to go down there,” Raistlin realized. Pointing with a long, thin finger, he commanded, “Lift the grating, Caramon.”

The warrior glanced at his brother. “Into a sewer? Are you sure, Raist?”

The cat screeched loudly.

“Do as I say!” Raistlin hissed.

The huge warrior bent down, grasping the metal cover with both hands, and began to lift, his muscles straining. His face turned red with effort, and his expression distorted into one of concentration and exertion. After a few moments, the plate grated and he dragged it aside.

The cat stared at the brothers intently, cocking its head sideways, flicking its eyes toward the street and back up at them. Without warning, the animal leaped down into the hole, disappearing in the darkness.

Caramon wiped sweat from his forehead. He stared down into the impenetrable hole. It was like looking into the Abyss. He fancied he could feel icy talons reach out, grasping to drag him down to the realm of death. He shuddered, standing back.

“Do we really have to go down there?”

Raistlin nodded in confirmation. The mage’s face was rigid. It seemed he was subject to the same impressions as his brother. But he started forward.

“Better let me go first,” said Caramon.

The warrior forced himself to approach the lip of the pit. Kneeling, he took several deep breaths and then lowered himself into the hole. His legs were swallowed by shadow that slowly engulfed his arms and, finally, his head.

Gathering his robes around him, Raistlin prepared to descend beneath Mereklar.

“Hey, you! Either drink or move on.”

Earwig opened his eyes to see the irate face of a tavern owner glaring down at him.

“No loitering.”

“I wasn’t loitering,” said the kender indignantly. “I was napping. Although,” he added, brushing rose petals out of his hair, “I don’t remember having taken a nap since I was a very small kender. But I was up late last night, so maybe that explains it. Now, I wonder where Raistlin and Caramon have got to?”

At first Earwig was terribly worried that he couldn’t find his friends, but then the uncomfortable feeling went away, leaving him more cheerful than he’d felt in days. The small, irritating voice inside of him quit nagging him to do this, do that. And there was no longer the threat that if he didn’t do what the voice said, he’d be dragged off to someplace where there were no locks to pick, no pouches to find, no people to meet. Someplace eternally boring.

Now that he was away from Raistlin and Caramon, Earwig felt carefree and happy again, and he began doing what all kender do best: explore.

Earwig walked up the street, gazing about with interest. Some of the people, associating him with the mage, whispered to each other that the little man with the pointed ears might be a demon. They drew away from him, pushing their children into their houses, closing and barring doors in his face.

“How rude,” said Earwig. Shrugging his shoulders, he walked on, tapping the wooden hoopak on the ground with a steady, hollow rhythm.

“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” he asked himself aloud. He had come to an intersection and saw a narrow alley that led to an arcade.

“I remember! This is where I went the first night I was here! That’s the inn where the man tried to kill me and the girl kissed me.”

Earwig walked into the market. None of the shops were open, and only a few nervous people walked through the alley, anxious to finish their business and return to the safety of their homes. “Hello, there,” a bright young voice said.

Earwig glanced around.

“Do you remember me? You helped me the other night. I didn’t get a chance to ask your name. Mine’s Catherine. What’s yours?”

“Earwig. Earwig Lockpicker,” the kender said, holding out his small hand. Is this how Caramon greets a girl? he wondered, trying to remember.

“I never got a chance to thank you, either. You ran away before I could say anything. May I buy you a drink? I work right over there,” Catherine said, pointing to the inn. “Our house speciality is Stonewash Surprise.”

“Stonewash Surprise? I’ve never heard of it,” Earwig replied.

“Oh, only the hardiest of adventurers have ever tried it. And lived,” Catherine added, giggling.

The tavern was as large and dirty as the kender remembered; beer and other unmentionable stains darkened the floor. The walls were constructed from ill-fitting planks of wood that were knotted and rotting with age. Catherine walked behind the bar and began to pour liquors into a glass, filling the cup from decanters of red, green, and blue. The drink complete, she pushed it in front of Earwig, who sat at one of the many mismatched stools.

He took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Celebration Punch!” he exclaimed in recognition. “Kind of.”

“Celebration Punch. What’s that?” Catherine asked.

“It’s what kender use to celebrate with, of course.” Earwig looked around. “You’re not doing much business today.”

The bar was, in fact, empty except for the kender and the young woman.

“It’s the murder,” Catherine said matter-of-factly. “Everyone’s scared to death. I say good riddance.”

“Yes, I remember. He was the man who hit you.” Earwig sipped his drink.

“You know, it’s funny. Lord Manion came in here a lot and he generally got drunk, but he was always a gentleman. Many nights I’ve made certain he reached his home safely. But then, just the past few weeks, he changed. He turned”-the girl frowned, thinking-“ugly, cruel. It was when he started wearing that necklace, like the one you’re wearing.”

“What necklace? Oh, this?” said Earwig, glancing down at the silver cat’s skull with the ruby eyes.

“You’re not going to turn mean, are you?”

“Gee, do you think there’s a chance I might?” Earwig asked eagerly.

Catherine began to laugh. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” Earwig sighed. The kender ran through a list of things to say to women as he tugged at the gold ring on his finger. He chose one he thought appropriate and asked, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Catherine giggled. “It’s just my job. One of them.”

“How many do you have?”

“Two or three, depending on business. I work at Hyava Tavern, on Westgate Street.”

“I hope it’s not as rough as this place.”

“Pooh! I can take care of myself. I’ll bet you’ve been to a lot of places,” Catherine said wistfully.

“Oh, my, yes. All around Krynn. Southern Ergoth, Northern Ergoth, Solamnia-”

“I’ve never been anywhere but here.”

Earwig looked intently at the woman across the bar from him. She stood straight and strong, her arms well-muscled. He believed that she could handle herself in almost any situation.

“You remind me a little of someone I know. Her name’s Kitiara.”

“Really? What’s she like?”

“She’s a fierce and cunning warrior,” said the kender.

Catherine looked a little shocked. “Wh-why thank you, Earwig. I think.…”

“You sound like you want to leave this place.” The kender took several gulps of his drink. “Why don’t you just pick up and go?”

“I don’t have the steel yet.”

“You don’t need money to travel! All you need is a hoopak and a good walking tune.” Earwig laughed, swinging his hoopak into the air. He was feeling really good. He couldn’t remember ever having felt this good before.

Catherine shrugged and frowned. She leaned back from her guest, propping her elbows against a shelf.

“I’m sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.” Earwig rummaged through his pockets, pulling out the first thing he came to-the tangle of wire with the bead in it. “Here. I want you to have this.”

The barmaid, smiling in spite of herself, reached over to take the gift. Holding the wire up to the light, she stared at it in fascination. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I got it when I was on some adventure with my friends. We go adventuring a lot together, my friends and I. One of them is a magic-user,” the kender added importantly.

“This is really amazing, Earwig.” Catherine was still staring at the wire. “If you look closely, it appears that the bead has writing on it!”

Earwig heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He was trying to remember how Caramon got girls to kiss him. Catherine glanced up and hurriedly tucked the wire away in a pocket. She nodded once, and then leaned over the bar, her face close to the kender’s.

“Tell me about your friends,” she said. “Tell me about the mage. I’d love to meet him.”

“Raistlin and Caramon? They were born in a place called Solace, to the east of here. Caramon is a great and powerful warrior. His muscles are as big as … as that,” Earwig said pointing to a beer barrel in the corner. “I’ve seen him cut twenty men in two with one stroke!”

“No! Really?” Catherine appeared nervous. She seemed to have to force her eyes to remain on the kender.

Earwig blinked. Leaning over, he said confidentially, “Don’t look now, Cather … Cather … whatever. But your walls are spinning around and around.”

“You need another drink. That’s all. Tell me about your other friend.”

“My other friend’s name is … Raishlin. He has shkin that shines like gold, and eyes the shape of hourglasses. He sees death,” the kender said solemnly, sticking his nose in his drink. “But, as frightening as that shounds, even more frightening are the spells he casts and powers he can call down to deshtroy an enemy.”

“There used to be a wizard who lived in the hills to the east,” Catherine said, darting a swift glance behind the kender.

“Whatsh his name?”

“Nobody knows, but it’s rumored that his cave is still there. It’s built around a series of stones that look like an animal’s paw.”

The walls were spinning more rapidly, and now the ceiling had joined in, much to Earwig’s fascination. He sat on the stool, watching them revolve around and around and then the stool joined the wild dance, spinning the kender around and around until Earwig suddenly discovered that he was lying on the floor.

A man dressed in black leather armor loomed over him, knelt beside him. Strong hands lifted the kender and flung him over a massive shoulder.

“You won’t hurt him?” Catherine’s voice floated around the kender like a lovely cloud.

“No,” said a harsh voice in reply. “Like our lord told you. The little fellow’s in danger, wearing that necklace around in the open. We want to protect him, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”

Earwig, bobbing up and down against the man’s back, started to feel incredibly dizzy. He stared, bleary-eyed, at Catherine, who seemed to be growing smaller and smaller and smaller.

“One Celebration Punch … for the … road!” cried the kender, and passed out.

“Ack! Ugh!”

“What is it, Caramon?”

“There’s a stream running through here! It’s as cold as ice. You better let me carry you.”

Raistlin climbed down the stairs and plunged into the water. “Nonsense! Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Caramon peered into the darkness, trying to locate his twin.

“Are you sure. I mean, I know how much you hate getting wet and cold.”

“As I said, I am fine,” the mage snapped irritably. “If the cold bothers you so much, perhaps you would like me to carry you?”

“No, of course not!” Caramon felt foolish.

“Shirak.”

The soft white light of the Staff of Magius filled the tunnel. A long, dark, passage extended ahead of them, far beyond the summoned field of magical light. The walls glistened wetly.

“It smells bad,” said Caramon. “But not quite what I expected from a sewer. It smells like … iron.” He sounded disbelieving.

“Or blood,” said Raistlin softly.

“Yeah.”

There was no room to swing a sword. Caramon drew a dagger from its sheath. Its blade gleamed in the light of the staff.

“We must therefore assume that this is not a sewer, but a connection to a waterway,” Raistlin added.

The cat meowed impatiently, and the mage walked forward, moving past his brother. Caramon started to protest-he always took the point when the two walked into danger together. But he remembered, then, that Raistlin carried the light. He kept close behind him.

The cat moved slowly, ensuring that his followers would not become lost in what Caramon soon discovered was a maze of tunnels. The feline didn’t appear to like the water any better than the warrior, for it shook its paw with each step and seemed to grimace at setting a foot back into the stream.

They walked for what seemed like miles, though something in the back of Caramon’s mind insisted that they had not gone any great distance at all.

“What are you saying, Caramon?”

“I said we could use a dwarf now,” the warrior replied. “I wish I could see better! Anything could jump out at us.”

“I don’t sense any threat to ourselves down here. The only feeling I get from this place is that it is old … very, very old.”

“Old and forgotten.”

“I agree, my brother. It is most unusual.”

They walked and walked. The chill water seeped through Caramon’s boots. He was shivering and he worried about his twin, knowing that Raistlin’s robes must be soaked through. The warrior knew better, however, than to ask. The cat made a sudden turn, darting down another passage that angled off from the first. The new passage was equally as black as the old. Caramon hesitated, but the cat meowed, urging them to come forward.

Without hesitation, Raistlin walked on, holding the staff at eye-level, able to raise it no higher because of the low roof.

“Come, Caramon. Don’t fall behind!”

They came to an intersection, and the black cat skipped on, moving to the left, beginning to run, splashing through the water. The brothers increased their pace, both prompted by curiosity.

“-which killed the cat,” Caramon said, but under his breath.

The tunnels became a dizzying maze, a labyrinth created for some unknown purpose. Raistlin held the Staff of Magius forward, a lance of light piercing the dark. Caramon sloshed along behind. He noticed that the walls were beginning to change, becoming drier.

“Look at that!” Raistlin breathed, holding up the staff.

The wall was covered with paintings and engravings, showing sights neither brother could identify. They moved swiftly on, left and right, straight and back, a curving tunnel leading to a crooked passage leading to a sloping floor.

The cat moved faster. The twins rounded a corner behind it and stopped suddenly, staring wide-eyed.

“Name of the Abyss!” Caramon cried aloud, steadying himself against the cavern entrance with his hand.

Raistlin said nothing, but simply stared in the staff’s soft radiance. The black cat turned to face them, eyes red in the staff’s light.

The chamber in which they stood was huge-hundreds of feet long. Numerous passages led in and out, black gashes in the rock. Small rivers collected in ponds that glittered with an oily reflection. And everywhere they looked they saw the cats of Mereklar. Thousands of cats lay resting on their sides without sound, without motion. Raistlin knelt down, holding the staff close.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

From every mouth and nose poured a small stream of blood.

“They’re all … dead!” Caramon gasped.

Raistlin examined one of the small bodies. Putting a thin, golden hand on tiger-striped fur, he stroked it gently. He moved to another body, then another, lifting heads and peering into shining eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Caramon said softly, “What could have killed them all? Poison?”

“They’re not dead.”

“They sure look dead to me.”

“I assure you they are quite alive. However, their minds are gone.”

Caramon went to the nearest cat and touched its fur. He felt warmth under his hand, a tiny heart still beating, breath barely entering and leaving.

The black cat leaped in front of him, hunching down on its forepaws. It spat at him.

“All right.” Caramon rose to his feet and backed away. “I’m not going to hurt them. You’re right, Raist. They are alive!”

“In answer to your first question, they were not poisoned. There is no poison I know of that could do this.”

“What do you think it was?”

“The only answer I have is magic, though a spell that could cause this kind of destruction is beyond my means.”

Caramon paused, considering the implications. “Then you think this is the work of a wizard?”

“A wizard of extraordinary power, perhaps greater than Par-Salian.”

Caramon shivered, recalling the powerful master of the Tower of High Sorcery.

The black cat watched and listened intently to the brothers talk, never taking its bright, reflecting eyes from them.

Raistlin raised his arms and began to speak the strange, spidery language of magic. The room glowed-a dull, purple aura that covered everything, including the corridor through which they had walked.

“There,” the mage said in satisfaction. “We can return here whenever we wish.” He turned to go.

“But-”

“There is nothing more we can do. I cannot save these cats. I must go back to my room and think. And you, if you will remember, have an engagement tonight.” Raistlin headed down the corridor.

Caramon stood, looking back, a sadness in his heart. Removing the yellow sequined ball from his pocket, he laid it down gently on the blood-wet floor.

“I’m sorry,” he started to say to the black cat, but it was gone.