“To what end?”
Shavas drank the brandy. Emptying her glass, she filled it again from the decanter and wandered about the library, running her fingers across the suits of armor standing guard in the room. Going to a bookcase, she lifted out a volume. The title, Brothers Majere, was stamped in gold on the back.
“You wear the red robes, mage, but you will not wear them forever. You do not have the patience to stand in the middle. You must make a choice, or your passions will tear you asunder.”
“That may be, but all in my own time. I repeat, what do you want of me?”
“It is, rather, what you want of me,” said Shavas, coming close and putting her soft hand on his arm. “I am offering you the chance to control your own destiny. I am offering you an alliance with the Dark Queen!”
Chapter 26
“The carriage is gone. Now, I’ll have to walk,” said the kender, disgruntled.
He started down the street, thinking just between himself and the fish market that it would have been a lot more fun if he and Caramon had come down here together when one of the ugly, twisted creatures popped out of a side street and came to stand in front of him.
“Hullo,” said the kender brightly, extending a hand. “My name’s Earwig-”
The creature raised its hand. It was holding a most fascinating-looking device, a wand of some sort. It began to glow bright red. Thinking the creature was offering the wand to him-since it was pointing it at him-the kender reached out and took it. “Thank you,” he said.
The creature, with a snarl, tried to snatch the wand back.
“Hey!” said Earwig. “You gave it to me! Gully dwarf-giver!” he taunted.
The creature flew into a rage and came at Earwig, teeth bared, slavering.
“No! You’re not getting this back!”
The kender swung the hoopak. Thwack! It caught the creature on the side of its head. It tumbled to the street and lay there, unmoving.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” said Earwig, nudging it with the toe of his boot. “Well, let that be a lesson to you,” he added.
“Now, let’s see you turn red and glow!” He looked at the wand expectantly. Nothing happened. The kender shook it. Still nothing.
“Broken!” he said in disgust. “Here, you can have it back after all,” he said and tossed the wand onto the body of the creature, who was just beginning to stir and sit up groggily.
Thinking that Caramon might be wanting him, the kender continued on his way.
Arriving in the center of the city, Earwig discovered an army of the ugly creatures marching about in the street, shouting and singing in terrible-sounding voices. The kender was feeling disgruntled and out-of-sorts and didn’t particularly want to talk to anybody, so he ducked into a doorway to take a look around. Across from where he was standing was a tall, domed building.
“Say!” exclaimed Earwig. “That’s where Lady Shavas is supposed to have her house. Drat! Maybe I’ve come the wrong way.”
But he looked at the streets and recognized them. Yes, he was definitely in the center of town.
“I should go tell her,” said the thoughtful kender, completely forgetting what Raistlin had told him about the Dark Queen’s temple. “Lady Shavas might not know her house is gone.”
Earwig stepped out from the doorway and was about to cross the street (eyeing with interest some of the pouches the creatures were carrying), when he heard a smothered cry, almost right behind him.
“Earwig. Over here!”
“Caramon?” The kender squinted into the shadows and saw a glint of metal.
“Caramon?” he called loudly. “Is that you?”
An arm reached out, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him into an alleyway.
“Hey! Don’t! You’ll wrinkle my-”
“Shut up!” Caramon clapped his hand over the kender’s mouth.
The warrior, holding the wriggling kender tightly, peered out into the street. The marching demons were making a great deal of noise and didn’t appear to have heard anything.
“Shhhh!” he whispered, letting go of Earwig slowly.
The kender stared at him, face flushing in anger. “You’ve been fighting again!” Earwig cried, stamping his foot. “Without me!”
“I’m sorry,” Caramon growled. “Keep your voice down! Have you seen the Cat Lord?”
“Sure,” said Earwig.
Caramon brightened. “You have? Where?”
“Right there.” The kender pointed.
Caramon turned, hand on his sword. Bast stood in the shadows, a graceful form, his skin a deeper shade of black against the darkness.
Leaning back against the wall, Caramon drew a deep breath. His shoulder burned, but his fear was stronger than the pain, driving it somewhere deep inside of him. He hated this place. He would have traded this army of demons for six armies of goblins, with a regiment of hobgoblins thrown in.
“Where is the whatever-it-is that we’re supposed to break? In that building?”
“No. The temple is used as a tunnel between the worlds. The Dark Queen’s altar is beneath the city.”
“In the same place that big stone disk was in,” Earwig stated helpfully.
“Correct,” said the Cat Lord. “I will show you how to go there, but I cannot assist you in more than that.”
Seeing Caramon scowl, Bast added, “My forces and I will be fighting in the city above. Already, the demon army marches down the streets of Mereklar, headed for the gates that, if they should open, would let them out onto an unsuspecting world. Time grows short, the Great Eye burns in the heavens. Follow me!”
Caramon, groaning, heaved himself from the wall on which he’d been leaning.
“You really look bad, Caramon,” said Earwig in concern. “Are you sure you can make it? Here, you can lean on my hoopak.”
Caramon glanced at the frail wooden stick and, smiling, shook his head. “I’ll make it. I have to.”
“Now! This way,” urged Bast.
He slid around the corner and the companions followed, keeping to the shadows. The Cat Lord moved like part of the night, and even the kender’s light footfalls sounded loud compared to Bast’s. Caramon rattled and jangled, his breath came in grunting gasps, and he gritted his teeth against the pain that every move jarred through his body. After traversing several blocks, they either left the creatures behind or the demons were moving up into the city of Mereklar.
“I know this street,” said Caramon suddenly.
“You should.” The man in black bent down. Lifting a metal grating from the stone, he pointed down into a black hole. Caramon could hear the sound of running water.
“This tunnel will lead you where you must go,” said the Cat Lord. “You must destroy the altar as quickly as possible. It will detect any tampering and alert its mistress.”
“You mean it’s alive?” the kender questioned with interest.
“In a manner of speaking. Good-bye, warrior and kender. I will not see you again. Your own gods be with you.”
“Wait!” Caramon yelled, reaching out his hand. But he grasped hold of air. The Lord of Cats was gone, vanishing as silently as the night into day.
“What did you want with him?” asked Earwig, preparing to jump into the sewer.
“I wanted to ask him how to get back home,” said Caramon softly.
Demons dropped from their world through the gate to the real city of Mereklar, landing on their feet with perfect agility. They gazed about with yellow eyes, finally freed from their other-world prison. Mereklar was theirs. They would soon take the rest of Krynn.
They moved forward in small packs, heading toward the city gates, prepared to break out and flood the world with darkness. They had no fear. Their enemy, the cats that once guarded the city, were now dead.
But the gates were closed and would not open, guarded by magic built into them by the gods of good.
Forming into ranks, demon attack groups knelt and pointed their wands at the heavy portcullises enclosing the city, firing red streams at the thick metal plates in an attempt to burn them down. Their power, however, had no effect, though they tried for a long time. Sheathing their weapons, they attempted to force the gates with their great strength, but the might of the city’s builders kept them safe.