The mage made no comment. He did not move.
Shavas, smiling and lowering her eyes, turned the wand around and handed it to him. Raistlin replaced it in the bag, then tucked the bag into his robes.
“Now, you can protect me,” Shavas said. “It is a powerful weapon. It can destroy even a demi-god.”
She leaned forward and her gown slipped, revealing her white bosom. The opal hung glittering from her soft neck. “And when this terrible nightdream is over, we will have time to ourselves.”
“You mean you and my brother will have time,” Raistlin said, sneering. Why did I say that? What is she doing to me? He snarled at himself inwardly. Remember! Remember what you have seen!
“I admit it,” said Shavas, her fingers caressing the mage’s hand. “I … met with Caramon”-she blushed like a schoolgirl-“but it was only to make you jealous. You’re the one I want!”
Her voice was low and husky. There was a ring of truth to her last statement that startled Raistlin. He stared at her, entranced.
“I am wealthy, powerful! I could give you … so much! Do this one thing for me! Destroy the Lord of the Cats!”
Raistlin slowly removed his arm from the woman’s grasp. She let him go, sitting back in her chair. The mage stared down at the board, at the warrior of the dead who stood before his champion.
“From the way you speak, you sound as if you know where he is.”
“Not where he is, where he might be. Lord Cal is very efficient. We think the Cat Lord may be trapped in Leman Square, east of the center of Southgate Street.”
“I have seen it,” the mage said, standing. “Shall I go there now, lady?”
“Yes!” she cried. “And if you succeed, come back to me … tonight.”
“Yes,” said Raistlin, gazing at her intently. “I will be back. Tonight.”
Chapter 22
Caramon made excellent time, running at a steady pace up Southgate Street. The road was, for the most part, empty. Lord Cal and his guards were busy dispersing the people, attempting to restore order. Still, the warrior thought it best to keep to the shadows of twilight. He didn’t have time to beat off an enraged mob.
When he reached Barnstoke Hall, the place appeared deserted. He put his hand on the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. The door was locked. He started to bang on it, demanding entrance, then realized the proprietor might not be exactly delighted to see him.
Well, I opened it once, he thought. I can do it again.
Taking a deep breath, Caramon stepped back, then threw his weight into the door. It gave a little. Gathering himself together, rubbing his shoulder, he started to try again when a voice shrilled behind him.
“Hey, Caramon. Can I help you?”
“Earwig!” the warrior exclaimed, whirling around. “Where have you been? We’ve looked all over! Are you sick or something?”
The kender seemed unusually pale, his face drawn and pinched. He stood with a slight stoop, leaning as heavily on his hoopak as Raistlin did on the Staff of Magius.
“I haven’t eaten in a few days, I think,” he said vaguely. “I was captured by … by that man.”
“Yeah, we went looking for you. In the cave … the cave of the dead wizard?”
Earwig appeared thoughtful, then shrugged. “I don’t remember. I’ve been through quite a lot recently, you know.”
“Where have you been? How did you escape? Wait till I bust this door down, and we’ll have a bite to eat and then talk.”
“No!” cried Earwig, clinging to Caramon. “There’s something I need to show you. We have to go now.”
“But what about you? You don’t look like you’re in any condition to-”
“Do not worry about me, Caramon. We have more pressing matters to attend to!”
The warrior’s eyes opened in surprise. “You’re sure talking funny. You sound kind of like Raist.”
“Don’t be a fool, Caramon!” the kender said sharply. “Come on!”
Caramon didn’t like this, and he wished his brother were around to advise him. Thinking of Raistlin made him recall the mage’s warning. Caramon looked at the kender’s ring finger. The flesh around the ring was swollen and fiery red. Blood trickled from beneath it.
Seeing the warrior’s stare, Earwig shoved his hand into his pocket. “Are you coming? Or do I have to go by myself?”
“All right, Earwig,” said Caramon, not wanting the kender to run around loose. “Lead the way.”
The kender headed at a run back toward the center of the city. Caramon had to work to catch up with him.
“Where are we going?” the warrior asked, searching the streets for signs of the mob.
“Uh, back to where I was, when I was captured, that is,” Earwig replied, apparently distracted by having to walk and think at the same time. “I mean, to the tunnels underneath the city.”
“Tunnels? What tunnels?”
“The tunnels where my jail cell was, dolt!” Earwig muttered beneath his breath.
“Did the tunnels have paintings all over them, like somebody was trying to tell a story or something?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so. It’s kind of hard to remember. I have this terrible headache,” the kender mumbled, rubbing his head with his right hand.
“Here, stop. Wait a minute. Let me see. Maybe you were-” The warrior reached out.
“Hey! What are you doing?!” the kender yelled. Spinning around, he clobbered the fighter on the hand with his hoopak.
“Ouch! Hey, yourself!” Caramon said in dismay, clutching his hand, staring at his friend. “I was only trying to help.”
Earwig glared at him, then a look of confusion crossed his face. “I–I’m sorry. I’m … nervous, that’s all.” The kender turned, moving back up the street.
“A nervous kender!” Caramon marveled. “Maybe I should have him stuffed for posterity.” Shrugging, massaging his bruise, the fighter followed.
After a few blocks, the street began to curve inward toward the center of the city, running parallel to several other boulevards going in the same direction. At the corner of a small park, empty of all life except for the grass and brush, Earwig went to the left, cutting across an open market till he reached a mansion, belonging to one of Mereklar’s ten councillors.
“Whose house is this?” Caramon asked, peering up to the second floor, then back down at the grounds.
“Lord Manion’s. But he’s dead now,” Earwig said sullenly. “Come on, will you! Don’t worry. Nobody’s home.”
“How do you know that?”
“Simple. Nobody lived in the house except for the lord, and he’s dead.” Earwig disappeared, starting to whistle in a weird, unnatural tone.
The warrior brought his parrying dagger up to his face, tapping himself lightly in the forehead with the pommel. “I can’t believe I’m actually listening to a kender,” he muttered. “Much less following one.”
A large pond surrounded by short hedgerows and dotted with flowerbeds reflected the light of the two visible moons, just beginning to rise.
Caramon, glancing at them, saw that they were very close together. “The Great Eye!” he recalled aloud. The deepest part of the night, his brother had said. That is when all three will converge … and great magical power will be unleashed!
Earwig was searching around in the bushes when Caramon found him. “What are you looking for?” the warrior asked, bending down to help.
“A door.”
“A door? In a bush? Boy, your head must have really gotten cracked hard!”
“There it is!” the kender exclaimed, pulling up on a clump of grass that was growing over a wooden cover. The kender scooted down. Caramon peered inside. The door led to a staircase carved into the stone walls.
“Well, aren’t you coming?” Earwig asked, staring up at Caramon from out of the hole.
Heaving a great sigh, Caramon followed, sheathing his main-gauche but leaving his broadsword out, ready for action.
Earwig lit a small torch, throwing flickering yellow light against the walls. The passage was similar to those in the sewer, except these contained different pictures, and strange lines of gold, white, and black ran as far as his eye could see. Caramon reached out and touched a white line. He snatched his hand back in astonishment, shaking it vigorously.