The people they met walking on the avenue shied away, crossing over to the other sidewalk to avoid meeting the mage. The brothers entered a carriage. Raistlin commanded, “Westgate Street.” The driver nodded confirmation, snapping the reins.
The coach moved from along Southwall Street at a steady pace. Questions burned Caramon’s tongue, but he kept quiet. Raistlin had not looked at him directly since he’d wakened him. The mage stared intently into the shops along the roads, pointedly ignoring his twin.
Caramon, remembering with a rush of blood how he had spent the night, thought he knew the reason for his Brother’s ill-humor. Why’s he blaming me? the warrior demanded silently, feeling guilty and not liking it. He made his choice. He got what he wanted, and so did I.
The coach turned right onto Westgate Street, and Caramon saw his brother tense, both hands gripping the black staff until the skin over the knuckles turned white. The fighter could see nothing, could sense no element of danger, but he drew his dagger.
Raistlin saw his action and snorted in derision. “Put your knife away, Caramon. You are in no danger.”
“Are you in danger?” the warrior asked.
Raistlin glanced at his brother. Pain twisted the golden face, then the mage looked swiftly away. His hands gripped the Staff of Magius with such intensity that his fingers seemed likely to crack and bleed.
“Stop,” Raistlin commanded the driver.
The carriage rolled to a halt. The mage jumped out and began walking at a rapid pace down Westgate Street. Caramon followed his brother’s quick footsteps as best he could.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To get a cup of hyava,” Raistlin replied, without turning.
Caramon stared at him in amazement. He was about to risk drawing down his brother’s wrath by asking another stupid question when he saw a sight that stole the words from his mouth. The street was suddenly infested with a huge wave of cats and in the middle of the tide, in front of a tavern, sat a single figure-a black-skinned man, dressed in black.
“Raist! That’s the man who-”
“Caramon, shut up,” said his twin.
At the brothers’ approach, the cats scattered, running up and over walls and down the street. Raistlin came to stand in front of the man. Caramon joined his brother, the warrior’s hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Please, join me,” the man in black said. His voice had a faint hissing quality to it that made Caramon shiver. He glanced at Raistlin, who nodded. The fighter pulled a chair out and sat. The mage did likewise.
Caramon stared at the man. He was incredibly handsome, with dark black hair that curled down the back of his neck. His eyes were blue, a startling contrast to his shining black skin, and they were slightly slanted. He stared at them intently, without blinking.
“My name is Bast,” he said suddenly. Jewels sewn onto his black clothing in a band around his neck glowed softly in the sunlight. “May I offer you a drink?”
Without waiting for a reply, Bast lifted his hand, motioning for a barmaid. “Please, Catherine. Two cups of hyava for my guests.” Catherine stared a moment, then spun on her heel and ran back into the restaurant. She came back almost immediately with two small cups.
“Thank you,” Caramon said. The girl mumbled something and backed away, but lingered near, watching.
Raistlin sat as still and motionless as the city, his mouth set in grim, dark lines.
“Yes. Questions,” the man in black said, staring at the mage with intense blue eyes.
“Who are you?” Raistlin asked.
“You know who I am.”
“Why have you been following us?”
“You know why.”
Raistlin flushed, growing angered. The man in black appeared amused. Caramon took a large gulp of his drink and burned the roof of his mouth. Apparently, his brother had finally met his match.
“Then what is your part in all this?” Raistlin demanded. “Why are you here?”
“You know why,” answered Bast, sharp white teeth flashing in a slow smile.
Caramon cringed, waiting for the outburst. His brother seemed to literally swell with suppressed rage and frustration. The man in black watched him calmly, and the anger seeped from Raistlin like blood from a wound.
“Do I? How do I know what to believe?”
“Believe what you want. It makes little difference to me.”
“No, I don’t believe that!” Raistlin said softly. “If so, why are you here, meeting with me?”
“I came here not to prove myself to you, but to prove you to myself.”
The man in black, who called himself Bast, rose slowly and lazily to his feet. Stretching luxuriously, muscles rippling in his slender arms, he gave them a graceful nod of his head and moved off down the street.
“Do you want me to stop him?” Caramon half rose.
“No!” said his brother sharply, gripping the warrior’s wrist. “He’s a foe beyond your strength, beyond your comprehension. You would be dead within moments.”
Caramon sat back down, somewhat relieved. He felt the truth of his brother’s statement, though he couldn’t quite say why. The big warrior only knew that, for one of the few times in his life, he’d actually been afraid.
Raistlin was regarding his brother coldly, his eyes narrowing to thin lines. “One night with a woman makes you very bold this morning, brother. She must have been something … special.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Caramon quietly.
“Why not? You’ve never minded flaunting your conquests before!”
“Maybe I did, but that’s because I can still have those kind of feelings! I can know what it is to love someone!”
Caramon tossed his barbed words without aim, goaded into fighting by his brother’s bitter sarcasm. But when he saw them hit their target, he would have given his soul to take them back.
Raistlin’s shoulders jerked, as if pierced to the heart. The thin frame seemed to collapse in on itself. His head bent, his body trembled. He gathered his robes around him.
“I’m sorry, Raist-” Caramon began.
“No, Caramon.” His twin raised a feeble hand. “I am the one who should apologize. Your comments were most … perceptive.”
“What happened to you last night?” asked Caramon, with the intuitive knowledge of a twin.
The mage said nothing for a minute. He stared down into his hyava, watching the brew swirl in the cup. “I was nearly destroyed last night.”
“An ambush?” Caramon started to stand again. “It was that man, wasn’t it? That Bast fellow! I’ll-”
“No, my brother. It was a trap-a magical trap. It was set for me in one of the books.”
“Trap? Where? In Lady Shavas’s house?” Caramon stared, incredulous.
“Yes, in Lady Shavas’s house.”
“You think she set it, don’t you?” Caramon demanded, growing angry.
“I found three books of magic in her library, my brother, and one of them contained a rune-spiral that nearly captured my soul and dragged me into the Abyss! What would you think?”
“It was an accident. She couldn’t know she had something like that in her house!”
“How could she not know? Ah, I remember now. There are no magicians in Mereklar’ ” The mage mimicked the woman’s voice. “A perfect excuse.”
“You don’t suspect … You do think she did it on purpose!”
His twin’s silence spurred Caramon further.
“Why would she want to do that?” he yelled. “She’s the one who hired us! She defended us to the ministers!”
“Exactly. Why would she want me …?” Raistlin paused, eyes narrowing.
“Look, Raist!” said Caramon, breathing heavily, trying to control his anger. “You’re smarter than I am. I admit that. You seem to know a lot more about what’s going on here than I do. Someone tried to kill both of us in the woods. Then someone tried to kill me. Someone’s tried to trap you. Earwig’s disappeared. Now you come here on purpose to meet that man who’s been following us. How did you know he’d be here? Who is he? I think you should me tell what’s going on.”