Kevin Stein - Brother's Majere

The room was very long, colored gray by stains and paints, and dominated by a single table that stretched its expanse. The only chair was the one the Director of Records occupied. Over a thousand books filled the hall-the legacy of the citizens and council members of Mereklar since the city was discovered.

The woman cocked her head suddenly and turned her gaze out the window to the city below. She’d heard something, or thought she had. It sounded like a scream.

Lady Masak placed the cup of tea onto its saucer and reached under the table, pulling out a triangular roll of cloth, black and worn with age. Unfolding the wrap, she lifted a wand from its coverings, balancing the object with a finger. One end of it bent down from the line of its construction and was covered with sigla burned into the dark wood. The other end was surrounded by a band of metal, seamless and perfect-a ring that left the tip exposed, revealing a deep, circular gouge. The lady looked down the object’s length and smiled.

A loud noise came from downstairs. She pushed the chair back from the table, then crossed in silence to the door. Lady Masak put her ear to the wood.

A hand smashed through, reaching for her throat. The woman brought the end of the wand down onto the clutching black fingers, cracking bone and ripping tendons. The hand withdrew, seemingly injured from the blow, pulling out of the hole it had created.

Lady Masak backed up, behind the chair. No sound came from the other side of the door. The woman raised the wand, pointed the metal-shod tip toward the portal, and concentrated. A bright red beam flashed out from the gouge, struck the door, and disintegrated the wood, sending smoke and dust through the air in a choking cloud.

Lady Masak remained standing where she was, listening intently for the intruder. Glass shattered behind her. Too late, she tried to turn. A blow sent her sprawling against the table, her back rent open by tearing claws. She twisted around, bringing the wand up. Another bolt of crimson arced out from the gouge, but the panther had leaped lightly to one side. The red flame hit the city’s records, setting them ablaze.

The lady concentrated, sweeping the beam across the library, the wand transforming her lust to kill into reality.

Another strike to her back sent her sprawling across the floor. The wand flew from her grasp. She reached out blindly for the weapon, hidden by a cloak of smoke and fire that filled the room. A booted foot smashed down on her arm, snapping it at the elbow.

Lady Masak grasped her assailant by the ankle and dragged his leg out from beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. She groped frantically for the wand.

An open palm came up and under her chin, snapped her head back, causing her to smash up against the bookshelves. She tried to stand. A black-skinned hand, its fingers bleeding, reached down and lifted the woman by the neck. Claws slashed out and tore open the woman’s throat.

Lady Masak rose on shaking legs and staggered to the window, feebly clutching her neck, around which hung a necklace bearing a silver cat’s skull, ruby eyes gleaming in the flames. Blood ran between her grasping fingers. She shook her head once and smiled-a hideous smile that remained on her face as she sank to the floor.

The fire consumed the room. A hand reached from the roiling clouds of smoke to pick up the wand from the floor. Clawed fingers snapped the rod in two, discarding the splintered wooden halves, leaving it to be destroyed by the blaze.

The door to the estate was unlocked, and Raistlin turned the handle without a sound, walking through the foyer and front room to the library. The councillor, wearing a white silk gown that clung about her flawless shoulders as if it possessed a life of its own, sat in a chair in front of the fire, arranging the varied pieces on the black and white gameboard on top of a small table.

“Very fitting,” said Raistlin softly, the door closing behind him.

“Welcome, Master Mage. Have you been successful in your mission?”

“It appears that you were expecting me,” he said.

“Please.” Shavas gestured to the chair opposite her. “Yes, I have.”

The mage nodded, taking the offered seat. His face was flushed with red light from the fireplace, giving his skin a sheen of bronze.

“A game?”

“We are much alike, Councillor,” Raistlin said.

“How do you mean?” Shavas asked, her graceful hands arranging her pieces for the first move.

“We both have the same desires.”

“Ah!” Shavas lifted her head. Her word held a volume of meaning, of promise. Her gaze was warm, her voice and body alluring. Her face was incomparably beautiful.

Raistlin, swallowing, began setting up his own pieces. He watched Shavas’s hands carefully, saw her fingers shake. She accidentally knocked over a foot soldier.

“Is there something wrong, my lady?”

She shook her head briskly, tightening her lips, her pale skin flushing in the heat of the fire. “Who shall go first?” she asked.

“I will,” Raistlin replied, pushing a yeoman forward. “I must admit that I am surprised to find you so calm, with your city in such chaos. What has happened?”

Shavas glanced up. “Don’t you know? Where have you been?” She pushed her own yeoman to counter her opponent’s. “Lord Brunswick was murdered last night. Lady Masak was killed just … just this afternoon.”

“You can’t move that piece yet.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t … thinking.”

“How did they die?” Raistlin brought out another yeoman.

“The same as Lord Manion. They were killed by a giant cat.”

The mage lifted one of his knights from the board, replacing it in front of his lines.

The councillor removed a small bar from the scales at the side of the table, shifting the balance very slightly in Raistlin’s favor. She placed a metal barrier, carved to resemble a hedgerow, in front of the knight.

“It is now my turn to ask questions. You have found the reason for the cats’ disappearances?”

Raistlin sent the knight around the hedge, pressing forward, evening the scales by removing one of his own ingots and placing it next to the figure.

“No, I have not. Do you have any information to add to the investigation?”

Shavas paused before answering, placing her fingers against her mouth in thought. She opened a drawer in the board and took out a footman, clad in heaviest armor, placing it two squares in front of Raistlin’s champion.

“It seems late to further a lost cause.”

Raistlin detected a note of relief in her voice.

“How, then, have you spent your time?” she questioned.

The mage left his knight where it was, placing another marker next to it. “In strange company.”

“Whose?”

Raistlin moved the piece forward, in front of Shavas’s footman. “You know him, I think. You keep his picture … there.” He pointed.

“Really? In a book?”

“Allow me to show you.”

The mage rose from his seat, aided by his staff, and went to the shelf where he had replaced the volume entitled, Mereklar and the Lord of Cats .

It was gone.

Raistlin glanced back at Shavas. “Ah, I see you’ve found it for yourself.”

The woman appeared uneasy. “I have no idea what you mean. But perhaps I have seen the man. What does he look like?”

“Tall, with dark skin and hair. Many would consider him handsome,” the mage replied, with a slight touch of bitterness. He returned to his seat, scanning the board with expert ability.

“And his eyes, are they … unusual in any way?”

“Unusual? How do you mean?”

“Did they … shine, reflect, in the light?”

“Perhaps. I didn’t notice. I didn’t spend time gazing into his eyes,” said Raistlin. He removed the opposing footman from the board and the yeoman behind it, setting it into its square.