Kevin Stein - Brother's Majere

“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.

“Hey! That burned me!”

“Cut it out, Caramon! We don’t have time for your nonsense!”

The kender tugged at the leather harness the fighter wore, attempting to drag his huge friend down the tunnel.

“All right, I’m coming! What’s the big hurry?”

“We have to get somewhere quickly. We … uh … we have to save the city! That’s it!”

“What do you mean, ‘save the city’? What’s going on?” the fighter demanded.

“Help me look for my amber meltings. On the floor,” Earwig said, dropping to his hands and knees, patting the ground with his palms. “Here they are! We go this way!” The kender ran down a corridor.

Caramon dashed after him, his concern over Earwig’s strange behavior now laced with fear. The kender’s little torch brought unnatural shadows to life, but the only sounds were the rapping of boot and shoe against the stone. Earwig outpaced his larger friend, running with ease through the maze of tunnels. The fighter, stumbling every once in a while when he caught his foot in a crack in the floor, was hard pressed to keep up. Suddenly, the kender’s light vanished altogether, and the warrior stopped, perplexed.

“Earwig! Where are you?”

“Over here, Caramon!” came the kender’s voice, strangely muffled, as if he were talking into his hand.

“Where?” The fighter turned in the darkness, trying to locate the other’s yell. “Is this one of your stupid games? Because-”

“Here I am!”

Using his sword’s hilt as a prod, Caramon walked with careful steps toward the direction of his companion’s voice. He bumped into walls several times, the metal of the blade clashing with loud, insensitive vibrations that made the warrior shudder nervously. He was completely blind. The darkness was impenetrable. Then, ahead, he saw a dim light. Torn between relief and the sincere desire to throttle the kender, Caramon stumbled forward and entered a room.

“Earwig. Are you in here?” the fighter called, staring with wonder at the dimly flickering torches.

He heard a puff of breath, then a metal dart struck him in the finger. Caramon fell forward, losing his grip on his sword.

He could see Earwig now, and he stared up at his friend, who was standing on a large stone dais, hoopak in hand. The top had been removed, turning it into a blowgun.

“That’s one of those poisoned darts, Caramon,” said the kender. “I found it on the floor the night the assassin came. You’ll be dead pretty soon.”

“Why?” Caramon managed weakly, feeling himself begin to grow lightheaded. Heat rushed up from his arm to engulf his face and neck.

“You must die, Majere!” the kender hissed, his face twisted into an expression of cruel triumph. “Our plans cannot be stopped!”

Caramon fell to his knees, leaning back against the smooth, unmarked wall. His head bent to one side, black and silver stars flickered before his eyes. His mouth was dry, and his lips could barely shape the words.

“Whose plans?”

“Whose plans?” Earwig mocked.

He raised his arm above his head, pulling down the sleeve on his brown tunic to reveal his hand. The gold band flashed in the torchlight.

Beware the ring! Raistlin’s voice echoed in Caramon’s mind.

The ceiling had darkened. Motes of light appeared, forming pictures and patterns the warrior found vaguely familiar. The poison dulled his mind like a stone against the edge of a sword.

Earwig laughed. “Yes! Look! Look up into your doom! Worship our Queen! Our Queen of Darkness! Takhisis! Takhisis! We celebrate your return to the world!”

Caramon didn’t understand. “Earwig,” he whispered, shivering. “Help me!”

The kender stared down at his friend, and his features softened. Suddenly, he cried, “Help me , Caramon! I can’t stop!”

Pulling a dagger from his belt, Earwig leaped off the stone and ran at the warrior.

The Lord of the Cats slid through the streets of the city, a blur of dark shadow in the moonlit night. He bypassed most of the town’s guard, avoiding Lord Cal’s command troops by traveling up side streets and over buildings, climbing with incredible agility, using nothing more than his hands and long, perfect nails.

At the edge of the city limits, he ascended to the rooftops to get a better view. He could see that most of the people were safely locked behind their doors, windows shut and barred. There were still a few roaming about the town, set on spilling the mage’s blood. But most of the mobs had dispersed, their members hurrying home to their wives and family before the coming of the Festival of the Eye. No children in Mereklar would be going out this night to beg for cookies.

Reaching the last building on Southgate Street, Bast leaped the great distance between the dwelling and the wall, jumping gracefully through the air to land without sound. He came to his feet instantly, prepared for danger. He paused, listening intently, then turned to face the lands outside the white barriers of Mereklar. Standing straight, he raised his arms above his head and called to his dominion, summoning them to the world’s end.

Waving the knife wildly, Earwig ran straight at Caramon. The big warrior managed to catch the kender and ward off the knife, both of them falling to the floor. Earwig struggled to free himself, the small body flailing on top of the fighter’s huge frame. Caramon, weakened by the poison, rolled over and pinioned the kender with a wrestling hold, his arm jammed under the small, pointed chin.