Brother's Majere

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 never 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.

Manion’s dwelling was similar to the other houses owned by the officials of Mereklar-a large rectangular building of white stone with panes of glass in every wall. It had, however, a run-down look. The Minister of Internal Affairs was not a wealthy man. Some said he squandered his money on women and in the taverns. He didn’t own his own carriage, but Lord Brunswick’s estate was close enough for him to walk to.

Lord Manion set off down the street toward the middle of the city. The way led him through part of the town, then into a park. As he walked, he peered up into the sky to observe the stars and moons, smiling at the nearly full circles of Solinari and Lunitari.

Soon, he thought. Very soon.

Manion’s heavy black boots clicked along the white stone sidewalks. The night was silent. The city’s inhabitants had shut themselves in, barring their doors against a vague and unknown terror.

The lord was smiling, shaking his head at their folly when, turning a corner, he suddenly heard a throaty growl.

Manion looked back up the street. The sidewalk was brightly lit by the magical lights. He saw nothing and continued on his way, peering back over his shoulder from time to time.

Lord Manion heard the growl again, closer, and now a soft padding of footsteps. Instead of turning around and stopping to see what it was, the lord increased his pace. His boots sounded loudly on the pavement until he reached the park. He breathed easier. The soft ground muffled his steps, the tall trees hid his form. He couldn’t hear his pursuer anymore.

And then it was there again, following him, undeterred by darkness. The growl sounded closer and more menacing.

The lord began to sweat, drawing his breath in shallow, short gasps. Ducking behind a tree, pressing his back into the hard bark, he pulled a dagger from a sheath-a long jeweled blade, curved near the narrow tip-and held it, point-down, in his hand. He waited, as still as the night, for as many heartbeats as he dared, listening intently, extending his sense of sight and hearing as far as they would go.

He heard nothing, saw nothing. Lord Manion breathed a small sigh of relief.

An arm slammed his head back against the tree. A hand grabbed his dagger and threw it into a nearby hedge, disabling and disarming the man in one, efficient action. “How did you get here?” the attacker whispered. He was dressed in black, a shadow against shadows.

Manion stared into the eyes of his assailant-eyes that were red in the lambent light of the moons. The lord spit with loathing and hatred.

“Answer me!” the man in black hissed, driving his arm farther into the minister’s throat.

The lord lifted a leg and kicked his attacker in the stomach, sending the assailant flying backward. Manion leaped at the man he had just thrown, landing on top of him, grasping for his throat.

The man in black brought his right arm across in a horizontal arc, sweeping his hand against Manion’s chest. Claws ripped opened a great gash of black against the white, silk shirt. The lord screamed in agony. The attacker drove his other hand into the minister’s throat, lifting him off the ground, sending him sprawling.

Manion, shaking his head to clear it, renewed the battle in a frenzy, fighting with his bare hands. The claws slashed again, tearing flesh. The lord fell to his knees. The assailant brought his right leg up in a kick that snapped Manion’s head backward, causing him to land with his arms and legs spread out, completely vulnerable. Bending over the minister, the man in black reached down with an arm, attempting to drag the lord to his feet.

Manion slammed his head into the attacker’s chest. Grabbing the dark-clothed limbs, he rushed forward, dashing the man full-force into a tree.

Air whooshed from the attacker’s lungs, and he fell to his knees and hands, as the minister had done moments before. Manion lifted the man up by the collar and struck him in the face, causing his head to rebound back against the wood. The assailant ducked the next blow sluggishly, though just quickly enough. The lord’s fist slammed against the tree, cracking the bark, throwing rough chips into the air. Manion, still holding onto the attacker with his other hand, threw him to the ground and kicked him with such force that the front of his boot ripped off.

The other man collapsed, and the lord stood over him. A look of cruelty and hatred twisted his features. He lifted his leg, preparing to smash his foot down directly on the man’s head. The slight hesitation was all the attacker needed. He grabbed Manion’s leg, wrenching it around, breaking it at the hip. Manion collapsed with a terrifying cry.

The attacker stood. Lifting the Minister of Affairs off the ground by the throat with one arm, he snarled, exposing unusually long and pointed teeth. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“You will be destroyed, as will all your kind!” Manion cried hoarsely.

“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.

“Not 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.”