Raistlin suddenly felt weak and was unable to continue walking. “Caramon!” he called out, his voice reaching the ears of his brother, who was a slight distance ahead. “I must rest.”
The mage slumped down in a chair that belonged to another hyava shop. He leaned against the staff. His breath shortened, and he turned around with his back to the estate, lifting the cowl up over his head as Caramon hurried to his side.
A nervous serving-girl came out of the shop, bringing out two cups of the strong, dark brew. “No,” the fighter said, “he needs hot water.”
“This will be fine, my brother.” Raistlin snatched the drinks from the girl’s hands. When his brother gave a questioning glance, the mage said, “I’m just a little tired from the walk.”
Raistlin took his time, holding the ridiculously small handle between two fingers, swallowing slowly. Earwig sat down happily and began rummaging through his pouches.
“See this?” the kender said, pulling out a crystal quill shot through with veins of gold. “I found it lying in the street. I figured, ‘If it’s in the street, nobody wants it.’ And I found this.” Earwig held up a sequined ball with a piece of yellow ribbon sewn on it.
“Give that back!” Caramon yelled, leaning across the table, his fingers groping for the kender.
“It’s mine! I found it!”
“It was mine first! That girl at the inn gave it to me, and it means a lot.”
“Then you shouldn’t have dropped it,” the kender scolded, handing the ball back to its rightful owner. It spun around, catching the sunlight, reflecting a myriad colors. “I swear, Caramon! You are so careless. Besides, it’s a really good cat toy. They love it! See, look at that black cat watching it.”
Raistlin bent forward in his chair. “What black cat?”
“That black cat,” Earwig replied, pointing behind the mage.
Raistlin turned around to face the animal. The cat, not particularly large and very, very black, sat calmly, regarding the mage with wide, staring blue eyes.
“Here, puss, puss, puss.” Caramon bobbed the toy on its string.
The cat stood a moment longer, staring at the mage in a contest of wills-azure orbs against black hourglasses. Then the feline rose up from its place on the white stone street and calmly walked past Raistlin. The animal batted the ball three times and sat down again, watching Caramon as it had watched his brother.
Earwig, unwilling to be left out of the cat’s attentions, reached down and petted its black fur. The cat showed no sign of pleasure or annoyance. It glanced at the kender briefly before resuming its observation of the fighter.
Caramon coaxed it to play with the ball. Raistlin, watching, rubbed his fingers against the staff’s wood. This was the first black cat he had seen in the entire city of Mereklar, and he was about to cast a spell that would tell him if the animal was possessed by a spirit-making it a magician’s familiar-when an open carriage, drawn by two white horses, turned a corner and rumbled up the street. The coat of arms on the carriage door was the same as that on the scrollcase.
“The councillor,” said Raistlin, nudging his brother.
Caramon glanced around. Earwig leaped to his feet in excitement. The black cat crouched behind the kender’s legs, hidden from view.
“Stop here,” came a clear voice. The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the hyava shop. A woman stood from her seat. She was dressed in rippling white silk, her skin nearly as pale as the cloth she wore. Dark brown hair was bound tightly around her head in a thick braid. Around her neck, suspended by a golden chain, hung a red fire opal.
The woman gazed at the three imperiously. “I am Councillor Shavas. Please join me for dinner.” Then she was gone, her horses bearing the carriage forward to the estate on the hill, her deep, sensual voice echoing in the companions’ thoughts.
Chapter 11
“My family has lived in Mereklar for hundreds of years,” Councillor Shavas said, sitting in front of the fire in the main library of her estate after a sumptuous dinner, a large, untouched glass of brandy in her fine hands.
The flames played behind her, casting flickering lights and shadows, framing her poised, fluid form. She talked comfortably with the brothers, as if she had known them all their lives. Her beauty was matchless. Her voice was like sweet flowing amber.
Small wonder, then, that neither Caramon nor Raistlin noticed the absence of the kender.
“And you say your ancestors lived in the surrounding countryside?” Raistlin huddled near the fire. He held a glass of brandy in his golden hand, and it also remained untouched, the mage unwilling to sacrifice his self-control for physical pleasures. His hood was cast back, and the fire flared in his eyes, filling their darkness with flame.
“Yes, that is correct. I am, however, unsure of the exact location,” the councillor replied.
Raistlin saw that although the woman spoke to both him and his brother, she kept her gaze fixed on him. And he did not see in her eyes the loathing or fear he was accustomed to seeing in the eyes of women. In the eyes of this woman he saw fascination, admiration. It made his blood tingle.
“Perhaps their origin could be found in this library?” Raistlin suggested, sweeping an arm to indicate the thousands of volumes of books lining the walls. He remembered what he’d been told, that some of them were magical. “If you would like, I could help you search.”
“Yes, I think I would like that very much,” the councillor said. A slight flush suffused her pale skin. She glanced into her drink, then lifted her large eyes to stare again at the mage.
Raistlin studied the woman in front of him. Something was wrong, something was bothering him, nagging at him, demanding his attention. But, dazzled by her beauty, he couldn’t think what. Perhaps it was Shavas herself. She had told them much … and nothing. He’d learned more talking with people in the street. He felt she was hiding something, something she would reveal to him alone. The mage cast a sharp, meaningful glance at his brother.
Caramon pretended not to notice. He had witnessed his brother’s dealings with others before. He knew of Raistlin’s constant manipulations and maneuverings, the way he let a subtle hint fall on interested ears, alluding to things he only guessed at, coercing his prey into letting slip information that was best kept from the knowledge of others. The fighter was always ashamed by the mage’s need to display cognitive superiority over others. Besides, Caramon didn’t want to leave the presence of this beautiful woman. Caramon had noted that, though she talked to Raistlin, she seemed to be constantly looking at the big warrior.
“Well, Master Wizard,” said Shavas, breaking what had become an uncomfortable silence, “will you and your brother help our city in its hour of grave need?”
“It says here,” the mage stated, pulling a rolled piece of parchment from under his robes, “that the fee for the job is ‘negotiable.’ Exactly how much room for negotiation exists?”
“The fee quoted by the Minister of Finance is ten thousand steel pieces,” Shavas said.
Caramon’s mouth dropped open. Ten thousand steel was more money than he had made in his life, let alone at once. Thoughts of what such a large sum of money could buy raced through his head: An inn! No, a huge tavern, with a fireplace in the middle and a dozen rooms and stables out in back. He imagined a house perched high in the vallenwoods of Solace and grew so excited that he stood up and began to roam around the room, bumping into things, overturning a small chair.
“Caramon,” said Raistlin irritably. “Where is Earwig?”
“I don’t know,” Caramon answered. “It’s not my day to watch him.”
The councillor looked alarmed, her face filling with sudden apprehension.
“I don’t want him wandering around my house! There are too many precious things that shouldn’t be touched! Would you go and search for him, sir?”