Brother's Majere p-3 Read online

  “I know, but”-the kender tugged, his face turning red-“it won’t come out!”

  Caramon risked a glance. “Give it a twist.” His arms were beginning to give beneath the lid’s weight. “Hurry! I don’t think I can hold this open much longer!”

  Earwig put both hands around the tube and tried to rotate it, but his fingers slipped on the smooth container.

  “Try the other way,” Caramon suggested.

  He was watching the hands closely and could have sworn that he saw the fingers twitch in alarm. We’re doing something that somebody doesn’t like, Caramon thought grimly. He only wished he knew what.

  The kender turned the tube to his left.

  “I’ve got it!” he shouted. “It’s giving way!” He twisted it harder.

  “Great! Keep going and-”

  A shadowy hand suddenly gripped Caramon around the neck. Two others caught him beneath his shoulders and began to tug at him. He exerted his strength against them, keeping a tight grip on the lid.

  “I don’t know … how long … I can keep this … raised!” he gasped. “Hurry!”

  “Hurry? Hurry and do what?” Earwig cried frantically, twisting faster.

  The tube was slowly coming out of its hole. Hands reached for him, but seemed unwilling to touch him, perhaps because he held the tube.

  “What am I supposed to do after I get it?”

  Caramon could only grunt in answer. His face was twisted in pain, turning red with the strain of trying to hang on to the lid and pulling against the hands.

  “I’ve got it!” Earwig yanked out the tube.

  He stared into it, shook it, and held it against his ear, listening for a sound. Fingers on the hands near him curled and twitched, as if in an agony of frustration.

  Caramon issued a smothered scream. More hands were descending, gripping him, endeavoring to haul him up into the air. He clung to the lid with all his strength.

  “Do something!”

  “I’m trying!” Earwig gasped.

  He turned the tube over and over. “Argh!” he finally cried in frustration and smashed the tube against the side of the box.

  A high-pitched keening noise cut through the air, piercing the head. Caramon had never heard anything so horrible, felt anything more painful. He dropped the lid, and it closed with a slam. Hands wrapped around his throat and began choking out his life.

  Shoulders hunched to try to block out the noise, Earwig bashed the dark cylinder against the side of the box again.

  Caramon felt himself losing consciousness. His neck was thick, but the hands were strong and were slowly cutting off his air.

  Earwig, looking at his friend, saw the warrior’s mouth gaping open, his eyes bulging from his head.

  “Break!” the kender commanded frantically, and hit the tube against the box once again. The bottom of the tube gave way, and a smaller tube slid out. Inside it was a band of gold.

  “Oh, no!” Earwig groaned.

  Kender aren’t afraid anything, but this one had definitely had his fill of rings.

  I have to do something, though. They’re killing Caramon. He shook the tube and the ring rolled out into his palm.

  What do you want of me? boomed a voice.

  “You again!” Earwig muttered.

  The hands near him curled into fists. One swung at him. Earwig ducked. The air whistling past from the force of the blow nearly knocked him down. He looked at Caramon. His friend had lost consciousness and was hanging limply in the grip of the hands that were slowly hauling the big man up into the air.

  Earwig looked back at the ring.

  “I want out of here!” he cried.

  Put the ring on your thumb, Your Dark Majesty, and the gate will open.

  “Well, I’m not a Dark Majesty, but there’s certainly no time to go and find someone who is. Here goes!” said Earwig and shoved the ring onto his thumb.

  “No!” shrieked a terrible-sounding voice, and it seemed to the kender that five voices were actually screaming at once. “It is not the time! I do not have the power of the Eye!”

  A blast of air hit the kender, knocking him flat on top of Caramon. The darkness rushed past him, and then the street rushed past him and then buildings and ugly creatures rushed past him, all seeming to be going somewhere in a tremendous hurry. Oddly enough, however, they all seemed to be going backward.

  And then the rushing ceased.

  Earwig, feeling tumbled and upsidedown, didn’t know for a minute if he was on his head or his feet. In actuality, he was on Caramon. And Caramon was lying on a white stone street.

  Earwig knelt down and put his small hand over Caramon’s heart. It was beating strongly. He could feel the warrior’s chest rise and fall, breathing in air. But the big man was unconscious. Earwig could hear sounds of fighting quite near him-horrible screams and shrieks.

  “Like a bunch of cats in barrel,” said the kender. Looking around, he saw the magical lights-dim but shining. He saw the arcade and the inn where Catherine had kissed him.

  “We’re back!” he said, slightly disappointed. “Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.”

  Settling down beside Caramon, waiting for the warrior to regain consciousness, Earwig admired his new ring.

  Chapter 27

  “And what if I were to tell you that I am not interested in an alliance with the Dark Queen?” Raistlin asked softly.

  Shavas raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You think you will gain that much power without Her Dark Majesty making some attempt to stop you?” The woman began to laugh. “This is one of the reasons you are so incredibly attractive to me, Raistlin. You fear nothing.”

  “ ‘Those who live in fear fall prey to their own disquiet.’ ”

  “Yes. Eyavel would be one of your favorite authors. ‘And you, gentle reader, must follow in my path, for I am the way you must know.’ Ali Azra, another of your favorites.” Shavas set her half-emptied brandy glass down on the sideboard. “The wizard knew where to turn, who to worship. Like him, you could find great power. And great pleasure.”

  The woman removed her gown, twisting open the buttons one at a time, twenty-three in all. She shrugged her shoulders with a slow, graceful movement. The silk gown fell to the floor. Firelight gleamed on her white skin, casting a ruddy glow that emphasized the shadowy curves of her body.

  She moved near him. Reaching up, Shavas touched Raistlin’s face with the tips of her fingers.

  The mage clasped her hands, feeling the coolness of her flesh against the burning warmth of his own. A shudder ran through his body, a shudder that the woman could sense.

  Shavas pulled away from him, staring at him uncertainly, suspiciously.

  Raistlin lifted his brandy glass, but his shaking hand nearly dropped it. He set it back down and turned abruptly to look at the game board, staring at the piece of his champion. As he watched, he saw it twist into a hideous, undead warrior. The mage sat down, afraid that his legs would not support him.

  “Your offer is tempting …”

  “Then you accept?”

  Shavas knelt beside the mage’s chair. Placing her hands on his, she gazed, smiling, up into the hourglass eyes. She seemed certain of victory.

  Raistlin shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “Why? I’ve offered you everything! The chance to rule with me. Power to forge your own destiny. Myself!”

  The mage said nothing. He did not look at her, but gazed at the board and his destroyed game piece.

  Shavas slowly and with dignity rose to her feet. “You desire me. You can’t deny it!”

  Without looking up, the mage replied, “That I desire you, lady, I cannot deny. But I can deny my desire.”

  “Then you are a fool!”

  “Perhaps,” Raistlin said in a subdued voice. “Perhaps. But I’ve won the game.”

  Reaching out his hand, he removed the Dark Queen from the board and tossed it contemptuously into the fire.

  He could feel the woman’s anger rise up around him, m
ore scorching than the flames.

  “You? You’ve won nothing!” Shavas cried. “Nothing but your own destruction!”

  She raised her arms into the air. Dark bolts of lightning formed at her fingertips, surrounding her naked body with a cold, enervating halo. Her long hair rose around her head like writhing snakes. Her eyes vanished, sinking into deep pools of blackness.

  Raistlin rose to his feet, leaning on the Staff of Magius.

  “That puny toy will not save you! You will die by-” The woman’s voice cracked, then rose in a terrified scream. “What is happening?”

  “The magics you summoned are growing beyond the confines of your ability to control them,” Raistlin answered.

  “Help me!” Shavas screamed. Black lightning streaked down from the sky, engulfing the woman’s naked body. She reached for Raistlin, but her hands were beginning to wither, the flesh melting from the bones.

  “I cannot,” said the mage. “I am the cause of your destruction!”

  Shavas writhed in agony. “One day you will fall! One day the Dark Queen will have you!”

  “No,” answered Raistlin. “No matter what happens, I will always be my own.”

  The woman’s body slowly disintegrated until all that was left was a pile of dust on the carpet of the library. In its center lay a necklace; the fire opal glistened with a mockery of life.

  Raistlin stood unmoving, watching the dust of Shavas stir, clutching for life. Walking over, he lifted the Staff of Magius and brought it down with crushing force on the necklace. The fire opal exploded.

  Reaching around, grabbing a book, Raistlin soaked it in brandy and hurled it into the fire. The binding began to blacken and curl as the flames consumed the golden words, Brothers Majere.

  Raistlin thrust the tip of his staff into the fire, holding it in the coals until the end burned brightly. Bringing out the flaming staff, the mage touched it to the curtains, the furniture, and, finally, the game board. Flames crackled. The air filled with smoke.

  Raistlin tapped the staff on the floor and its fire died, leaving the black wood smooth, cold, and unscarred.

  The mage turned and walked out of the burning house.

  Epilogue

  Raistlin and Caramon stood outside the south gate of Mereklar, beyond the city’s white confines.

  “-and the woman rushed back to her home, screaming and waving her arms.” Earwig waved his own arms to illustrate. “The next day, there was a knock at the door. Know who it was?”

  Catherine shook her head, “No. Who?”

  “Dizzy’s hoopak!” Earwig tumbled to the ground and rolled around in uncontrolled mirth.

  Catherine stood there, lips twitching.

  “Don’t you get it?” Earwig asked after a moment, sitting up.

  Catherine raised her eyes to the heavens, a gesture she would come to repeat often. The young woman was dressed in leather pants and a long, buckskin tunic. Soft, supple boots hugged her legs, and she carried a pack on her back. In her hand she held a small tangle of wire-the gift Earwig had given her. She tossed it in the air. The bead inside caught the sun, flashing brightly. Catching the wire as it fell, Catherine winked at the kender.

  Earwig, grinning, winked back. The two shared a wonderful secret, a secret that was about to lead them on what the kender hoped would be another wonderful adventure.

  Caramon shuffled his feet. “I wish you’d change your mind and travel with us. At least as far as the Black Cat.”

  “Can’t,” said Earwig, almost ready to explode with excitement. “We have a Very Important Mission. You see, it’s this wire-”

  Catherine prodded him in the back. “Hush up,” she said. “It’s also a Very Secret Mission.”

  “That’s right,” said Earwig, rubbing the ring on his thumb. “Well, good-bye, Caramon. Good-bye, Raistlin. It sure was fun!”

  Raistlin started to say something, then began to cough violently. Clutching his chest, he leaned on the staff to maintain his balance. Caramon looked at him in concern.

  “Are you sure you can make it?”

  “Are you sure you can?” Raistlin cast a scathing glance at his brother, who was bandaged and walking stiffly and painfully.

  Drawing a white cloth from his robes, the mage dabbed his lips. The cloth came away stained red with blood. “If you must know,” he whispered, “I have no desire to spend another night in this city.”

  Caramon glanced around. The gate was empty, unguarded. The streets were filled with people hurrying from door to door, each relating to another his own version of the terrifying wonders that had occurred during the night. The city was in chaos, its leaders dead. Rumor had it that they had perished, fighting alongside the Lord of the Cats to protect the city from some great evil. The walls of Mereklar knew better, but few in the city paid any attention to the new carvings.

  A cat carrying a newborn kitten in her mouth hurried past on light feet, moving her family from the wilderness into the city that was said to welcome felines. Several townsfolk, spotting the cat, knelt down to make overtures.

  “I still think we should say good-bye to Lady Shavas,” Caramon said.

  Raistlin glanced back to the center of Mereklar where a thin column of black smoke still lingered in the air.

  “No.” The mage spoke from the depths of his hood. When it seemed Caramon was going to persist, he gently laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Come. We must go.”

  “Oh, here, Raist.” Earwig drew the mage’s cure-the bag of pungent herbs-from his pouch. “You dropped it. You really did!” said the kender, eyes wide.

  “I didn’t drop it, Earwig,” said Raistlin. “I threw it a-” He paused, then said, “That is … you may keep it, if you want.”

  “I may! Gosh, thanks!”

  “Thank you, Earwig, for your help,” Raistlin said. He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the girl.

  Take care of him.

  The words formed in Catherine’s mind. Startled, she nodded her head. “I will,” she promised.

  “Well, be seein’ you, Earwig,” said Caramon. “Good luck with your adventuring.”

  The twins started down the road in one direction, Catherine and Earwig turned the other. They were walking past what had once been the blank walls of Mereklar when Earwig suddenly stopped and stared.

  “Wow!” he said in awe.

  Tears filled his eyes, and he ran his hand across the stone on which was carved a kender perched bravely on the back of a carriage in the Abyss. And there was another carving, of a kender hero slaying a demon. And a third, of a kender gallantly thrusting his hand into a deadly box.…

  “Hey, Caramon! Raistlin!” Earwig shouted in wild excitement.

  The twins-small figures in the distance-turned. The mage was leaning on his brother’s arm. Both looked sad and weary and in pain.

  “Never mind,” said Earwig softly.

  “ ’Bye!” shouted the kender, waving the pouch. “Say ‘hi’ to Cousin Tas for me!”

  The journey back to the Black Cat was long and tiring for both brothers. They had to stop often to rest. Near midday, Raistlin turned off the path and entered the forest. Caramon, as usual, stopped to wait for him, but this time Raistlin glanced back and gestured.

  “Come, Caramon.”

  “Sure. Is something wrong?” the warrior asked in concern.

  “We must speak.”

  Caramon felt himself grow cold. The warrior had awakened from a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep to find himself lying in a bed in Barnstoke Hall, his brother watching over him, guarding his rest. Raistlin had treated his brother’s wounds and told him that it was all over, it was time to leave Mereklar.

  “Then the city’s safe?” Caramon had asked.

  “I’ll tell you all later, my brother!” Raistlin had said. “When I feel the time is right.”

  That time, seemingly, was now.

  The twins left the road. Walking into a sparse forest, they picked their way carefully through the undergrowth. Raistlin moved slowly, his st
rength waning. Caramon grimaced with every step.

  “Does your shoulder hurt?” Raistlin asked.

  “Like fire,” Caramon admitted.

  “I will change the dressings.”

  The mage’s slender hands, which could be gentle when he wanted them to be, ministered to Caramon’s wound, washing it with cool water from the stream. Raistlin spread a salve of his own invention over the inflamed area. Caramon grunted, sighing in relief as the balm eased his pain.

  Raistlin settled himself on the bank of the stream and stared for long moments into the rippling water. Caramon waited in trepidation. He had never seen his brother so withdrawn, so silent and preoccupied.

  “Shavas is dead,” said Raistlin suddenly.

  “What?” Caramon gasped. “Dead! How-”

  “I killed her.”

  Caramon made a strangled sound. Raistlin glanced up at him. His twin was gazing at him in horror. The expression on his brother’s face was familiar. Raistlin had seen it once before-in the Tower of High Sorcery. The mage’s thin lips twisted in bitterness.

  “Perhaps I should explain-”

  “Yes, perhaps you should!” Caramon’s voice grated harshly.

  “I will start at the beginning. Since her banishment from the world, the Dark Queen has always sought a way to reenter. She lacks the strength to do so on her own, and so she decided to attempt to take advantage of the power unleashed by the Great Eye.

  “To this end, she sent her agents into Mereklar. The gods of neutrality were tricked by Takhisis and her cohorts into building the city, not knowing, at the time, that they were forging an entrance from the Abyss into the world.

  “The gods of good discovered the plot, however, and constructed the city’s three gates in such a way that they would close if the forces of evil tried to escape. In addition, to make amends for the part he played in the trickery, the Cat Lord offered his services and those of his kind to guard the city. But that, my brother, is another story and one which I have neither the breath nor the inclination to relate.”

  “Agents?” said Caramon, regarding his brother skeptically. “Who were the Dark Queen’s agents in Mereklar?”