Brother's Majere

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, more 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.