Brother's Majere Page 15

  “I have to get my own table next time, or I’ll starve,” the warrior muttered.

  Caramon glanced into a shop across the way—a store displaying a variety of marvelous swords—and saw a dark-skinned man staring out the window, directly at them.

  Boldly meeting the gaze of the mysterious watcher, Caramon shivered with cold, though the sun shone gently on his shoulders. There was something very strange about the man. Strange, yet familiar.

  The fighter turned to his brother, who was attempting to feed one of the cats a piece of his own scone. Caramon had never seen Raistlin show any affection toward animals. One of the cats nibbled at the offered crumb and bumped up against the golden, outstretched hand, but soon backed away.

  The mage sighed, leaning on the Staff of Magius, gripping it tightly, an expression of enraged bafflement on his face.

  Caramon hated to disrupt his brother’s thoughts, but this was important. “Raistlin, we’re being watched.”

  The mage barely glanced at him. “The man across the street in the weapons shop? Yes, I know. He’s been there the past ten minutes.”

  Caramon half-rose. “You knew? He might be the one who tried to kill us—”

  “Sit, brother. Assassins do not watch their prey so openly. This man wants us to know that he is watching us.”

  Caramon, confused, reluctantly sat back down.

  Earwig turned to look. “Hey! That’s the man who wanted my necklace!”

  “What? When?” Raistlin pounced on the startled kender.

  “Wh-why …” Earwig stammered, “it was … let me see … I remember. Back at the Black Cat Inn.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to me then?” Raistlin practically frothed at the mouth. He began to cough, clutching at his chest.

  “Hey, Raist. Calm down,” said Caramon.

  “Gosh, I forgot, I guess,” Earwig said, shrugging. “It wasn’t anything important. He just asked me where I got the necklace, and I said it had been in my family. He seemed to want it pretty badly, and I didn’t need it so I tried to give it to him, but it wouldn’t come off. Then a man who was with him said something about ‘dragging out my guts,’ but they decided not to.” Earwig sounded slightly disappointed. “Then they left.

  “I kind of like this necklace,” the kender added, looking at it proudly. “I meet lots of entertaining people because of it. Another man at a tavern here in town tried to kill me to get it.”

  “I may kill you!” gasped Raistlin when he could breathe again.

  “When did this happen?” Caramon asked.

  “Let’s see. It was the night before the morning that I got in trouble with the woman in the inn. I was walking around the town when I heard men laughing. I looked into a window to see what was so funny, and I saw this man hit one of the barmaids. They threw him out, and he stood in the doorway and saw my necklace and said it was his, and he came at me with a knife. So I popped him with my hoopak, and the barmaid kissed me.”

  “Was it the same man who wanted your necklace the first time?”

  “Of course not! That man was nice. This man wasn’t.”

  “A name?” Raistlin mouthed. “Did you hear a name?”

  “No.” The kender frowned, looking back in time. “But I think the girl called him ‘my lord.’ ”

  Raistlin drew a deep breath. Caramon started to go fetch hot water, but the mage shook his head. The spasm was over. Deep in thought, he stared at his gold-skinned hands. Caramon turned his head to see if they were still under observation.

  “He’s gone,” Raistlin said.

  Caramon shivered. “It was like he could see right through me. Maybe he’s a mage?”

  “I don’t think so.” Raistlin shook his head. “There are certain … feelings … shared among wizards. It’s a feeling of”—he searched for a word—“power. Our watcher did not give me that feeling.”

  “But he did give you some sort of feeling,” Caramon said, hearing doubt in his brother’s voice.

  “Yes, that’s true. But whatever it was, I don’t think it was the feeling I would get if I met another wizard.”

  Caramon would have liked to ask why Raistlin emphasized ‘think,’ but the mage’s cold expression cut off further conversation. The warrior was about to suggest that they get a full meal they all could enjoy.

  “It is time to go back to Southgate Street.” Raistlin forestalled him. “I want to meet again with Councillor Shavas.”

  Chapter 14

  “We have decided to take the assignment,” Raistlin said.

  The councillor looked at each of the companions with an expression of extreme pleasure. “Thank you,” she said. “Somehow, I knew you would.”

  With a graceful movement, she seated herself in a chair in front of a suit of armor; one of its gauntleted hands held a flamberge that was taller than the kender. Gesturing, Shavas invited the others to join her. It seemed to Caramon that the woman gazed at him with a knowing expression.

  She knows that I was in her room, he said to himself, flushing in embarrassment. She knows I … handled her shawl. To conceal his confusion, he turned to the bookshelves and grabbed up the first volume he found.

  Raistlin was talking with the councillor, discussing the terms of their arrangement, asking questions about the carvings on the walls. Caramon didn’t pay any attention. He was thinking about the beautiful woman. Rich, educated, well-born—she was far above him, out of his reach, like the moon and the stars.

  I’m making a fool of myself, Caramon thought. A woman like that could never love me. I’ll stick to women like Maggie … But he couldn’t keep his hungry gaze from her face.

  “When the city was found,” Shavas was saying, “most of the walls were blank. We believe that the stone was sent by the first gods to the architects who built the city. It is unbreakable, though many tried. Some people noticed, however, that as time went on, carvings began to appear, as if somebody were engraving them into the stone by magic.” She glanced at the still form of the mage. “The engravings were of stories of some of the greatest events on Krynn, such as the fall of the King-priest of Istar; the Legend of Huma; the story of Lord Soth, Knight of the Black Rose. Apparently, some unknown force carves the tales of the world into the walls.”

  Lord Soth. What a dumb name. Caramon tore his gaze away. Opening the book, he glanced through it. And what a dumb book, he decided, leafing from one sheet to the next till he reached the back cover. There were no pictures or writing or anything.

  Shrugging, he put the book back on the shelf where he had found it. Looking around, he saw Shavas staring at him. The warrior flushed beneath her penetrating gaze.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” she asked.

  “I doubt it,” Raistlin answered for his brother. “Caramon is not particularly fond of reading. I, on the other, would be quite pleased if I could spend some time in your library.”

  “Of course, you may have free reign of my house and all its facilities. You all may,” she added, looking at Caramon.

  The big warrior grinned at her, feeling more at ease. She might be rich and educated but when it came right down to it, she was a woman, after all. And he was a man.

  “Well need to meet with the other city council members, as well,” Raistlin said sharply.

  Caramon glanced at his brother. If it hadn’t seemed too impossible, he would have sworn his twin was jealous!

  “I have already planned a meeting for tonight.” Shavas smiled coyly. “As I said, I knew you’d accept.”

  The meeting was held on Lord Brunswick’s estate near the northern tip of the triangular walls of Mereklar. The lord had sent his family out for the evening for the sake of privacy.

  The city’s officials met in the library, where the lord kept the model of the city. Chairs and tables filled the already crowded room, making it seem much smaller than it really was. Caramon felt slightly claustrophobic and more than a little nervous at the prospect of being questioned by people as important as the Ministers
of Mereklar.

  “Don’t worry, brother,” Raistlin said from the dark, engulfing cowl, “you need not become involved. I will do the talking.”

  The warrior relaxed. “Sure, Raist. Whatever you say.”

  Earwig seemed to have shaken off his fit of grouchiness, for he kept Caramon half-distracted by poking into everything. The kender nearly upset the model. He was caught trying to stuff a large book into his pouch. Eventually Caramon collared him and plunked Earwig down on the couch between him and Raistlin, threatening to tie him up if he moved. The kender took the twist of metal out of his pocket and began shaking the bead, trying to make it fall out.

  The first to enter the room was Shavas, who took her place opposite the companions, the model of the city between them. Her white gown clung to her full figure, a pleasing contrast to her dark, braided hair.

  Next to enter was Lord Brunswick, owner of the house. He moved slowly around the room to sit near Shavas. The minister’s expression was blank and officiatious. Another man entered, Lord Alvin. He sat opposite Brunswick, casting a baleful glance at Raistlin.

  Other lords and ladies entered the room through the large double doors. A short man with dark hair and a moustache sat next to Lord Brunswick. To the left of Alvin sat another man, tall and lanky.

  Another woman walked into the room. Her hair was drawn back tightly from her face—a skullcap of wiry strands held by a short silver spike. With her came a stolid-looking man wearing a gray vest and slightly darker pants and shirt. He had a small scar under his right eye, and his black hair was swept back to one side.

  Three other officials entered the room. Two were men. One was enveloped by a flowing brown robe—a cleric of some religious sect. The other wore a ceremonial breastplate of steel and greaves of leather. The third was a woman, dressed in a full, blue robe. She wore an amulet whose symbol could not be seen.

  Shavas rose from her chair. “Raistlin Majere. Caramon Majere. Earwig Lockpicker. May I present to you the Council of the City of Mereklar.

  “Lord Brunswick, Minister of Agriculture, and our gracious host. Lord Alvin, Minister of Property. Lord Young, Minister of Internal Affairs. Lord Creole, Minister of Labor. Lady Masak, Director of Records. Lord Wrightwood, Minister of Finance. Lord Cal, Captain of the Guard. Lady Volia, Director of Welfare. Lord Manion—” Shavas stopped. “Where is Lord Manion?”

  The other officials glanced around.

  “I don’t know,” said Lord Alvin in a sour voice. “He knew the time. I told him myself.”

  “He’s never late. I don’t like this.” Shavas bit her lower lip. A line marred the marble smoothness of her forehead. Raistlin noticed that the fingers of one hand curled in on themselves, clenching into a fist.

  “Perhaps we should wait,” suggested the mage, rising to his feet.

  “No … no.” Shavas’s face cleared, though with an obvious effort. “He will be here shortly, I’m certain.”

  “Very well, Councillor.”

  “Excuse us a moment, Councillor,” said Lord Cal. “A word with you and the other members. In private.” The ministers gathered around, talking in low voices.

  Raistlin, studying the people who had been studying him, decided he couldn’t trust any of them. His experiences with officials in the past had taught him that alliances among rulers of state were both invisible and dangerous.

  “ ‘The person caught in the webs of intrigue soon finds himself fed to the spider,’ ” he quoted to himself, recalling a proverb of the great political revolutionary, Eyavel.

  He wondered what they were discussing and was considering gliding forward to overhear, when a shrill giggle made him recall something important he’d meant to do. Leaning over Caramon’s back, Raistlin grabbed Earwig by the collar and drew him near with a golden, skeletal hand.

  “Earwig, do you recognize any of these men? Was one of them the one who tried to kill you?”

  The kender shook his head almost immediately. “No, Raist. But I could ask if they know who he—”

  Raistlin glared, gripping the kender more tightly. “If you dare say as much as one word, I’ll turn you into glass and drop you from a mountaintop.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?” Earwig, touched, reached over to clasp in appreciation the thin fingers that held him.

  “Ouch! Ah!” The mage snatched his hand back quickly. “What did you do? You burned me!”

  “Nothing! I didn’t do anything, Raistlin!” Earwig protested, staring at his hand in bewilderment.

  Raistlin grabbed the kender’s wrist. Holding it up to observe it better in the lamplight, he saw a plain golden ring on the fourth finger.

  The mage glanced around quickly to see if anyone was watching. The ministers were still involved in their private concerns. “Earwig!” he whispered. “Where did you get this ring?”

  “Ring? Oh, this! I found it somewhere,” the kender replied glibly. “I think someone dropped it.”

  Raistlin took hold of the ring finger and muttered a simple spell. The ring began to glow, as if a light were shining on it from an unseen source. “Magic.” He tried to pull the ring from the kender’s finger.

  “Ouch! Stop that! It hurts! Hey, did you say my ring was magic?” Earwig inquired eagerly. Raistlin let go of the ring, and the kender rubbed his hand.

  “No, Earwig. I said ‘tragic.’ It’s tragic that someone lost such a valuable ring.”

  “Please, no more arguments!” Shavas’s voice, sharper than normal, broke in on the mage’s. “Let us start.” When everyone in the room had resumed their seats and quieted down, she continued. “This meeting of the Mereklar Council is different from any other gathering to date. Our city is in peril, and the fate of the world is in question. We have asked these men”—gesturing to the companions—“to aid us in our time of need. The floor is now open to questions.”

  “It’s a strange coincidence that a mage shows up now. Who’s to say that he’s not the cause of our problems?” Lord Alvin sneered, pointing at Raistlin. “All know wizards have always conspired to rule the world!”

  “I tell you, Councillor, that we don’t need them!” Lord Cal added, “The city guard will take care of the matter. We just need more time!”

  “Please, Lord Alvin, contain yourself. You have no evidence to support your accusation. And you, Lord Cal, show respect for our guests,” Shavas commanded. “I’m sure that if Lord Manion were here, he would agree with the steps I have taken.”

  “I am sorry, Majere, if I have slighted you,” Lord Alvin apologized, though he said it between clenched teeth.

  Lord Cal said nothing. It seemed, for a moment, as if he might storm out of the room, but he finally subsided beneath Shavas’s icy stare.

  “The mage is here only because of the ten thousand pieces of steel,” stated Lord Brunswick.

  “On the contrary,” said Shavas aloofly. “Raistlin Majere has refused to accept any payment at all.”

  Obviously caught by surprise, the ministers glanced at each other. Caramon, just as shocked as they were, stared at Raistlin incredulously.

  “He must be after something else, then,” Alvin said under his breath.

  “I must remind you, Lord Alvin,” Raistlin said from the depths of his cowl, “that, according to tradition, the services of all wizards are free during the Festival of the Eye.”

  “And may I remind you, Master Mage, that the festival is nothing more than a child’s holiday, and legends or stories will never make it more than that!” Alvin snorted. “Tell us why you’re really here—if you dare!”

  “Lord Alvin!” Councillor Shavas cried, shocked. “Since Lord Manion is not here to keep you silent, I shall be forced to have you removed from these proceedings if you do not cease your outbursts!”

  “Thank you, Councillor, for your intervention,” Raistlin said, standing slowly, gripping the Staff of Magius in his right hand. “But Lord Alvin’s question is a legitimate one. My reason for remaining in your city is that I find it of interest. I have n
ever seen a place of such beauty and wonder, and I will do whatever I can to help you. We of the red robes do not practice the dark arts of our black-robed brethren. We seek only to enlighten ourselves and grow in knowledge.”

  “Then you want simply to profit by the experience?” Lady Volia asked, her chin propped up on a fist, staring intently at the mage.

  “That is very astute, my lady. My companions and I believe that it is a virtue to help those in need without thought of worldly profit,” Raistlin said modestly.

  Caramon knew that his brother was lying. Raistlin had never turned down an offer of money. Why’s he telling them this? What’s he really after? the fighter wondered. Looking at Councillor Shavas, who was regarding his brother with admiration, Caramon thought jealously that he knew the answer.

  Silence fell, the mage’s remark having caught all of them off guard. Caramon could see, however, that Lord Alvin and Lord Cal remained unconvinced, even as the other ministers were slowly changing their opinions.

  “How do you intend to begin the investigation?” Lady Masak asked.

  Raistlin bowed slightly. “Forgive me, my lady, but my methods are not open to discussion.”

  This caused an outburst, the ministers all talking—or shouting—at once. Caramon, groaning slightly from having to sit in one place too long, shifted his position restlessly.

  Earwig scratched his hand; the area around the ring was turning red and raw from his constant rubbing.

  Shavas beckoned to Lord Cal. “This is impossible! Go find Manion!”

  The captain left the room.

  Lord Manion threw his dress cloak over his black cloak of office, locking the clasps held at the throat, a gold chain braided like rope. Turning back to regard the front hall once more, satisfied that everything was in order, he extinguished the lamp, closed the door, and locked it with a large bronze key.