“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.”