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  The sound came again—another scream of pain and rage. The mage removed the leather bag from his belt and opened the flap to reveal the wand Shavas had given him, the wand covered in strange, angled runes. Slowly, he drew it out and bolted from the alley, running as swiftly as he dared up Southgate Street, heading for Leman Square.

  There he knew he would find him—Bast, the Lord of Cats.

  Raistlin turned left down a dark sidestreet, going to the right when he reached the end of the block. He noticed that the lights hovering above the sidewalk appeared to be growing dim, as if their fuel were slowly running out. He went left again, down the main street. Reaching the open area leading to the square, he rounded the final corner and came to a sudden halt.

  Wounded and panting, the man in black stood at bay beneath a tree, surrounded by the remaining ministers of Mereklar. Lord Cal advanced on him, a red-glowing wand in his hand.

  “Hear me, Lord of the Cats. Our Lady does not want you for her enemy. She bids you and those you rule to join us and find power in the darkness you know so well.”

  “Your ‘lady’ cares nothing for us!” Bast spat the words. “She wants only to use us as she uses all who come under her sway.” The Lord of the Cats lifted his head proudly. “We are free. We serve ourselves. So it has been, and so shall it be.”

  “Die free, then!” snarled Lord Cal, and raised the wand.

  We are free. We serve ourselves.

  “Shirak,” called Raistlin, his voice clear and strong.

  The Staff of Magius burst into light, shining more brightly than the two converging moons. Bast’s eyes, staring at the mage, shone with red flame. The ministers half-turned, blinking against the brilliance.

  “Who-”

  “The mage,” said Lord Cal, his lip curling.

  “I’ll handle this,” said Lord Alvin in an undertone. “Raistlin Majere, we accused you falsely and we apologize. As you can see, we have the murderous beast cornered. Serve us in our fight, and you will be richly rewarded! Lady Shavas will see to that!”

  Raistlin thought of the sickness, the pain, the terrifying moments when he feared he would never be able to draw the next breath. He thought of being always dependent on his brother. He thought of women, gazing at him with expressions of horror or pity. Never expressions of love.

  Raistlin thought of the magic, burning in his blood.

  “The choice is made,” he murmured.

  Yes, said the other. Long ago. Here, then, is your reward.

  Raistlin stood before great falls of light, the bands of magic traveling inside the Staff of Magius in the infinite spaces between the runes of the cantrips, a place where ancient knowledge waited for the touch of his summoning gold fingers. He embraced a silver strand with his will, a pass to the past that showed him surmounting a mountain with three other wizards—pictures of another time that he felt with all his senses.

  White robe, red robe, and black walked slowly, braving storm and gale and lightning, moving up a path cut into the rock by natural forces to a high plateau. They looked over the whole of the world standing at the edge.

  “It is time,” the white robe said.

  “To lose our lives for a greater cause,” the red robe said.

  “To give our gods greater power than any one of us could command,” the black robe said.

  They cast their spell and died, wrenched apart by the powers they summoned, trapped in the three heavenly spheres.

  Raistlin watched their actions, the motions they made with their hands, the words uttered above the winds that whipped their clothes with violence, and knew that the might of the Great Eye could be his to command.

  He lifted the wand. It began to glow red in his hand.

  “He’s ours!” said Lord Cal, laughing, and turned back to face the Lord of the Cats.

  A bolt of red shot from Raistlin’s wand and struck Lord Cal in the back. The man screamed in rage and pain, the searing beam melting clothes and flesh. He whirled to face his enemy, but his strength gave out. Writhing in agony, he crumpled to the ground.

  Bast lashed out with his right hand, stabbing his fingers into Lord Alvin’s throat, tearing a great wound that severed the man’s head. Alvin fell, dead.

  The other minsters, yelling in rage, attacked the Lord of Cats. Raistlin dared not help, fearing that any spell he would cast would harm the man in black.

  Bast needed no help, it seemed. He took one of his enemies by the chest with a sweeping kick and killed the other with an open-palmed strike to the forehead, snapping the head back, skull crushed and neck broken.

  The night was silent once again.

  Raistlin came forward, leaning on the staff.

  The bodies of the ministers lay on the ground, reddish liquid appeared black in the moonlight. Around each neck he could see, shining, silver cats’ skulls.

  “What are they?” asked the mage.

  “See them in their true form,” answered Bast.

  The corpses began to undergo a horrible change. Their bodies twisted and contorted, black fur grew from their skin, hands and feet changed to paws—an evil, demented dream of cats.

  “Demons,” said Raistlin.

  “Agents from the Abyss,” replied Bast.

  “The ‘lady’ of whom they spoke—”

  “Takhisis, Queen of Darkness.” The Lord of the Cats answered quietly, in awe and reverence.

  Raistlin felt a shudder run through his body, a shivering premonition. “Not yet!” he whispered. “Not yet! I am not strong enough.” He drew a deep breath. “And now?”

  “That is your decision, mage. Krynn is in peril. The land will know five ages, but the last shall not come if darkness succeeds, coming through the gate.’ The Queen is trying to enter the world. Her way must be stopped.”

  Raistlin looked at the Lord of Cats—a demi-god—torn by the demons’ claws. “If you could not withstand them, how can I?”

  “The nine sent were the most powerful among their kind. They murdered the true lords and ladies of Mereklar and took their places on the council. They would have opened the gate without hindrance, but for you.”

  “But there are ten on the council.”

  “Shavas is something you must discover for yourself. Now I must leave.” As Raistlin watched, the Cat Lord’s wounds began to heal. “However, I am compelled to ask you this directly, though I think I know your answer. Will you help us stop the Dark Queen?”

  Raistlin looked down at the councillor’s wand, faintly glowing red in his hand.

  The choice is made.

  He tossed the wand to the ground, brought the metal-shod tip of the staff down hard upon it. The wand splintered, and its red glow faded and died.

  “Keep near,” said Bast, and Raistlin found himself in a large chamber. Flickering torches filled the room with a stifling gray light. Men wearing black leather armor stood near a huge stone dais.

  Caramon, injured and bleeding, sat on the floor, cradling Earwig in his arms.

  Raistlin knelt down swiftly beside his twin.

  “Caramon,” he said softly.

  The big man lifted his head, too dazed and grief-stricken to be surprised at the sight of his brother.

  “It’s Earwig, Raist! You were right about the ring. He was possessed. When I took the ring off, he began to scream. He shot me with that poisoned dart there, but it didn’t kill me.”

  Raistlin listened to Caramon’s slightly incoherent account, then reached down on the floor to examine both the poisoned dart and the ring.

  Looking at the dart closely, he saw scratch marks on the metal tip. “Much of the poison was worn off before the dart hit you. It appears”—Raistlin glanced at the kender and almost smiled—“that it has been used to pick a lock.”

  Caramon wasn’t paying attention. The big man was vainly trying to sooth the babbling kender.

  Raistlin lifted the ring warily, holding it in the palm of his hand. Almost immediately, he heard the silken whisper: Put me on. Put me on.

 
He stared at it, thinking he had seen the ring somewhere before.

  No, he realized. I haven’t seen it! I’ve seen where it is supposed to be!

  Shavas’s necklace—the opal she wore around her neck. Closing his eyes, he pictured the golden band fitting around the top of the jewel where it attached to the chain. Swiftly, he thrust the ring into one of his pouches.

  The kender began to writhe and thrash about, screaming, “In my head! In my head! In my head!”

  “I can’t help him, Raistlin!” said Caramon, looking up at his brother with pleading eyes. “Can’t you do something?”

  “No, my brother,” said Raistlin softly. “But there is one here who can.”

  Bast bent down, touched Earwig’s forehead. The kender blinked and rubbed his eyes.

  “Hi, Caramon! Why are you holding me— Hey! You’ve been in a fight!” Earwig cried accusingly, pointing at the blood on the warrior’s sleeve. He sprang to his feet. “You’ve been in a fight, and you let me sleep through it again!”

  “Earwig,” said the confused warrior. “I— Wait!”

  The kender lashed out with his small foot and kicked Caramon in the shins.

  “Ouch! Drat it, Earwig. Let me explain—”

  “What must we do?” Raistlin asked the Cat Lord.

  Bast’s long, white teeth flashed. “You must decide. I cannot intervene.”

  “It seems to me, my lord,” said Raistlin dryly, “that you have already intervened!”

  “I have done nothing. The choices have always been yours.”

  Yes, thought Raistlin. You are right. The choices have always been mine. Now it is up to me to put together what I have learned.

  “Mereklar itself is the gate spoken of in the prophecy. Tonight, when the Great Eye forms, the Dark Queen will try to use its magic to open the gate.”

  “How do you know that?” Caramon asked, looking at his brother dubiously.

  “From the model in the dead wizard’s cave. You saw the lines glowing then. I have seen the lines glowing ever since I was in the Black Cat Inn. I didn’t know what they were until the wizard touched me. He gave me his knowledge, to avenge himself on the one who had destroyed him.”

  Caramon struggled to his feet. His shoulder wound had reopened. A trickle of blood poured down his arm. “So how do we keep the gate from opening?”

  “When the gate opens, it will act as a door for any to enter or leave. However, only one side of the door allows access to a place, and the other only allows access from a place.”

  “That is correct,” the Lord of Cats said. “The manner in which this gate is created allows only one person to enter at a given point.”

  “And that point would be the corners of the city walls, where the portal will be formed, giving us three from which to enter,” said Raistlin. “I need to know how the portal was formed, my lord. You said you cannot choose for us, but apparently you can aid us in some way. Tell me what I need to know.”

  “There is an altar that will be used by the Dark Queen when the Great Eye forms. Destroy it, and the gate closes.”

  Caramon shook his head. “But how do we destroy this thing? I mean, we don’t even know what it looks like!”

  “Yes, you do,” said Bast. “I will enter by the southeast corner.”

  “Enter where?” Caramon demanded. “Would someone tell me what’s going on!”

  “Enter the city of Mereklar that lies beneath the city of Mereklar, my brother,” said Raistlin. “The city shown in the wizard’s model. The city where Lady Shavas’s house does not stand.”

  “What’s in its place?” Caramon asked, almost positive he didn’t want to know.

  “A temple to the Dark Queen,” answered the Cat Lord. “We must hurry. Time grows short.”

  “What about them?” Caramon demanded, pointing at the men standing around the dais.

  Bast made a motion with his hand. Caramon, watching, caught his breath. He was no longer staring at men but at cats—all shapes and sizes. They curled around the legs of the Cat Lord, rubbing against him, awaiting his orders.

  “They will fulfill the prophecy. The Great Eye begins to form.” Bast started to leave. At the entrance to the chamber, he turned. “Use only that sword, Caramon Majere.” The Cat Lord pointed to the hand-and-a-half sword strapped to the warrior’s broad back. “I have enchanted it to slay the demons.”

  “I thought you couldn’t aid us,” said Raistlin with some asperity.

  Bast raised dark eyebrows. “A gift, in return for one he gave the fallen.” The Cat Lord held a ball in his hand. Round and yellow, its sequins sparkled in the light.

  “What about me?” Earwig cried, disappointed. “Don’t I get an enchanted weapon?”

  “You are a kender,” said the Lord of the Cats. “That is enchantment enough.” With that, Bast disappeared into the darkness, the cats following him.

  “Wow!” said Earwig, eyes wide. “Did you hear that?”

  Caramon drew his sword, staring at it suspiciously. He tested the balance with a rotating swing.

  “I don’t like anyone messing with my weapons,” he muttered. “Not even gods.”

  “Oh, boy! A fight! And this time no one’s going to cheat me out of being in it!” Earwig spun his hoopak in the air.

  “Do you know what you have to do, my brother?” Raistlin asked.

  “No,” said Caramon bluntly. “I don’t understand a damn thing!”

  “You must each find a place atop the city walls, over the gates. Caramon, you go over Eastgate. Earwig …” Raistlin paused to consider entrusting the fate of the world to a kender. He sighed. There was no help for it. “Earwig, you go above Westgate. When you’re inside, head for the center of the city, to the place in which we’re standing.”

  Caramon’s face wrinkled in perplexity. “But, Raist! We’re already in the gates! We’re already standing in the center of the city.”

  “You are standing in this city,” Raistlin corrected. “You must enter the one below. The one that resides in the Abyss!”

  Earwig’s eyes opened wide in joy.

  Caramon’s eyes opened wide.

  “Once you are in this room, you must destroy whatever you find on top of that.” Raistlin pointed at the stone dais.

  “How?”

  “That you must discover for yourself, my brother!” the mage answered testily, turning. “Time grows short, and I have much to do.”

  “But … you’re not coming with us?” Caramon reached to stop him. “I can’t let you go off by yourself!”

  “You must, my brother,” said Raistlin.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Into an abyss of my own.”

  The night sky was filled with stars, constellations of great powers watching in anticipation. The three moons moved slowly together. Solinari and Lunitari embraced each other first. The black sphere of Nuitari began to slide over their combined light, heading for the center of their unity, three flawless orbs starting to form the most wonderful and fearsome sight in the world: the Great Eye.

  The power from three wizards long dead began to flood the land—water released to drown the world with magic. A canopy formed over the white walls of the city of Mereklar, a pointed cover whose apex rose in the middle, held above the hill in the center of Mereklar where a temple lay beneath earth and stone, buried for hundreds of years. Darkness choked the light from the stars, and even the sight of the Eye was dimmed, as if it were closing.

  Recognizing what was happening, the gods of good acted as they had foreseen they must. The three gates of the city slammed closed and sealed shut, trapping everything within. When next they opened to the world—if they opened—they would do so at the command of the Dark Queen.

  Chapter 24

  Earwig stood atop Mereklar’s wall at the Westgate. All around him it was dark but directly above him, the sky was clear and bright. He stood fascinated, watching the Great Eye glare down upon the land, casting shadows that flickered and moved like red and silver phant
oms.

  Finally growing bored with watching the Eye, however, Earwig glanced down below. That was boring, too. Mereklar had completely disappeared. Darkness engulfed the towers and buildings and streets, removing it from the ground as if it had never been. But the darkness wasn’t doing anything. It was just sitting there, and the kender yawned.

  He thrust the tip of his hoopak down into the darkness, bringing it back out, checking it hopefully for a coating of horrible ooze or slime.

  Nothing.

  “I really don’t think this is being handled properly. I mean, if this is supposed to lead to the Abyss, it could at least look more … more … awful!”

  Earwig paced the corner, searching for something entertaining, when a shimmer caught his eye—a shining staircase was slowly forming, sparkling motes of light spinning and coalescing into a solid object.

  “Now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed and was about to hop down it when he heard a shout.

  “Earwig! … Earwig!”

  “Drat,” said the kender.

  Caramon was yelling from his position on the other gate. The big man was jumping up and down to catch his friend’s attention, his distant figure distorted by the three moons.

  “Hi!” Earwig yelled back, whirling his hoopak in the air, causing the leather thong to whistle loudly.

  “Meet in the center!”

  “What?”

  “I said, meet me in the center!”

  “The center of what?”

  “The center of the city, you—” The last words were, fortunately, swallowed up in the darkness.

  “That’s where I was going, before you interrupted me!” The kender said indignantly. Turning, he headed again for the magical stairs. “Boy, this is the last time I take him on any of my adventures!”

  Holding his breath and pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger, the kender skipped down the stairway; the last sight of him on Krynn—his topknot of hair.