“Peace, Caramon.”
“How can you just let them say things like that?” the warrior demanded.
“Because I understand them,” said Raistlin in his whispering voice. “These people are in the grip of fear,” he added as they stepped out into the street. “They’ve lived in this city all of their lives, and now the one thing that they hold sacred is disappearing, without reason, without a clue. I’m an easy target because I’m someone to blame.”
He looked down at the street. The white line was there, leading him on. They had not deviated from its path since leaving the inn, although neither Caramon nor Earwig could see it.
“The councillor’s home? Just keep walking straight up the street,” said a man to Caramon in response to his question.
“Thank you,” the warrior replied, returning to his brother and the kender, who were seated at an outdoor table at another tavern.
They had seen a few cats since their arrival in Mereklar. Occasionally one would stroll past the companions as they were walking. Caramon had the strangest feeling that he was being scrutinized, examined by unblinking green eyes. Then, more and more started coming around, and now Earwig was surrounded by cats. The felines jumped on his shoulders, batted at his topknot of brown hair, and rubbed themselves around his neck. The kender was overjoyed at the attention and more than willing to play with his new friends.
Raistlin, on the other hand, sat silent and alone. None of the cats would come near him.
“Look at that,” Caramon heard a woman whisper, and saw her pointing at the mage.
“I know,” said her companion. “I’ve never seen our cats act so unfriendly to anybody.”
“Maybe they know something we don’t!”
A third woman hissed, “I bet the wizard has something to do with the missing cats! After all, there were no problems until he got here!”
“Your problems started before we arrived,” Caramon began hotly, but, once again, his brother flashed him a warning look and the fighter swallowed his words.
“I’ve heard some people say that their kind are responsible for everything bad in the world!”
The mage ignored the words. He sat at his ease in a chair, sipping occasionally at a tiny porcelain cup containing a local speciality called hyava. The heat from the drink filled his body with welcome warmth, though the day was not particularly cold and he wore the red robes that covered him from head to foot.
Caramon sat down and tried to talk to his brother over Earwig’s giggling. “Like the guard told us, all we have to do is follow Southgate Street to the center of the city, where we’ll find the councillor’s house. ‘All roads lead there,’ the man said. ‘You can’t get lost.’ ”
“Don’t you think that’s a little unusual?” Raistlin asked. “A house in the exact center of the city?”
“Yeah, I thought it was odd, but then again, this whole damn place is pretty odd,” the fighter muttered.
“I think I would like to see this house.” Raistlin reached over to touch Earwig’s shoulder. The cats ceased playing with the kender and turned to stare at the mage, freezing in place as if they were statues. “Earwig,” said Raistlin, staring back at the cats, “it’s time to leave.”
“All right,” said the kender, always glad to be going somewhere other than where he was. “Come on, cats,” he said, shoving at those perched on his lap. “I’ve got to go. Move.”
When the cats didn’t budge, he stood up slowly from the wicker chair. The cats leaped off him but kept their eyes on Raistlin.
The mage drew the hood up over his face, covering his thin, golden features from the light of day, finding refuge in the shadows of the robes. Taking the Staff of Magius in hand, he started walking up the street, Caramon and Earwig following back.
The cats stood for a moment, then they, too, began to walk slowly after the companions, staying about ten feet back.
“Look at that!” said Earwig in delight.
Raistlin paused, glanced around. The felines came to a halt. Raistlin moved again, and the animals started after him again. More cats came to join their fellows and soon the companions were being followed by a pack of fur and tails and shining eyes that moved without the slightest sound.
“Why are they acting like that?” somebody asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe he’s got them under a spell or something!”
“I doubt it. He knows what we’d do to him if he used any magic on our cats.”
Suddenly Raistlin turned around and jerked the hood from his head. The cats scattered, fleeing, leaving the streets to the mage.
Caramon had been to many cities and towns in his life, but none like Mereklar. There were more places to eat and drink on the little stretch of Southgate Street than the fighter could remember seeing in most villages, and there were actually places that specialized in one type of meal instead of serving the same thing night after night.
“And windows,” the warrior said to himself in near disbelief. “Where do people get the money for glass?”
There was every type of shop imaginable, selling wondrous things. They passed by a book shop that had the name “Oxford” painted in the window. Displayed in front on a wooden pedestal was a huge dictionary, open in the middle. Raistlin looked at the tome and sighed in longing. The price displayed was an almost unbelievable amount, more than Raistlin imagine earning in a lifetime.
As the mage walked down the avenue, more and more people began to stop what they were doing and stare at the red robes that hid the man of power. Some of the children ran up to Raistlin, reaching out to touch the strange black wood staff with the golden claw and pale blue orb of crystal. The mage did not move the staff from their reach. It seemed, when they drew too near, as if the black rod itself warded them away.
Caramon attracted attention as well. Men gazed at him, envying his youth and strength. Women watched him from out the corners of their eyes, admiring his strong arms and broad chest, his curly brown hair and handsome face.
“Hey, Caramon, why do all the girls stare at you?” Earwig asked wistfully.
When the warrior looked their direction, the women turned red and buried their faces in their hands, giggling at Caramon’s leer and his broad grin.
“Probably never seen a sword this big,” said the fighter, winking.
Raistlin snorted in contempt.
Another hour passed, and the travelers could see Shavas’s house. Earwig, with his sharper eyes, could make out some detail. “It looks like it’s covered with plants. And its windows are made of colored glass!”
Raistlin listened to the kender’s description of the councillor’s house with interest, though he didn’t say anything. If what the kender said was accurate, the house was vastly different from every other house in the city. The mage stared ahead, leaning on his staff for comfort rather than any actual need. He felt unusually refreshed, even invigorated since his trial of the night before. The white line gleamed at his feet, shining brighter and more clearly with every step he took.
Soon all the companions could clearly see the house, raised up on a hill of dirt-a perfect circle of earth that ended where the white stone of the streets and sidewalks began. The mound rose above the level of the city, and a stone path wound up to the councillor’s house and around to the small groves that covered the hill of dirt. The top of the hill was large enough and flat enough to support a small pond, and streams ran out from it to water the colorful gardens along the sides of the estate.
Raistlin came to a halt, his gaze studying the stained-glass windows. Fascinated, he watched the sunlight glance off the tinted panes, reflecting a variety of colors that shone in his eyes-red, blue, green, white, and black. Five colors. It reminded him of his dream. Five colors …
The mage blinked his eyes and saw that the glass was nothing more than glass, held together by lead strips, bent into odd shapes that seemed somehow familiar. When he attempted to grasp where he had seen them before, his mind refused.