Kevin Stein - Brother's Majere

“The Eye forms tonight, and I still don’t know what is happening! Who will use its power? How can I use its power!”

He gripped the black staff harder than before, feeling strength in his hand, arm, and limbs. The sickness had drained from his body since his first encounter with the growing force of the Great Eye, his frame infused by magics. The idea of having his shattered health restored permanently stirred him to action, bringing hope he once thought impossible to have. Could I truly break free of him ?

Yes , whispered Shavas’s rich and sensuous voice in his mind. Ally yourself with me, and together we will fight him. Powerful forces will soon be mine to command. After this nights work, I will be richly rewarded and you shall share!

Raistlin heard an answering echo in his mind, the echo of a dream.

Where is my reward?

Forthcoming.

With that word Raistlin understood where to find the knowledge he sought. But only at great cost. Snap the golden thread, and magic would be lost to him forever. But he would have Shavas. He would have wealth, power. Would it matter so much that he didn’t have the magic? Raistlin pressed his hand against his head. The blood throbbed in his brain.

The Staff of Magius rapped in frustration against the ground, the metal tip ringing, its vibrations bringing the mage back to the present. The moons were rising higher, the two he could see casting imperfect shadows onto the streets as mystic lights began to collect in their eternal parade-stars of illumination that leaped to their positions above the sidewalk and atop the highest buildings. Raistlin stopped and watched their creation, staring as a pool of white collected at his feet then shot away, speeding to a nearby park. It was as if Mereklar itself were coming alive.

The scream of a wounded animal cut through the quiet, causing Raistlin to start from his meditative observations. The noise had come from a few blocks away, forward and to the left, from an area where he was already headed.

It appears I will have to make my decision much sooner than I expected, he thought, and felt a pang of fear.

The mage increased his pace, searching the alleys and sidestreets. Another block farther and Raistlin was forced to duck into a doorway. An organized unit of men came around a corner, marching in regular lines, holding short spears or swords. Another group followed, carrying the same equipment, moving with a listless gait. Raistlin wondered where they were going. The town seemed deserted.

The sound came again-another scream of pain and rage. The mage removed the leather bag from his belt and opened the flap to reveal the wand Shavas had given him, the wand covered in strange, angled runes. Slowly, he drew it out and bolted from the alley, running as swiftly as he dared up Southgate Street, heading for Leman Square.

There he knew he would find him-Bast, the Lord of Cats.

Raistlin turned left down a dark sidestreet, going to the right when he reached the end of the block. He noticed that the lights hovering above the sidewalk appeared to be growing dim, as if their fuel were slowly running out. He went left again, down the main street. Reaching the open area leading to the square, he rounded the final corner and came to a sudden halt.

Wounded and panting, the man in black stood at bay beneath a tree, surrounded by the remaining ministers of Mereklar. Lord Cal advanced on him, a red-glowing wand in his hand.

“Hear me, Lord of the Cats. Our Lady does not want you for her enemy. She bids you and those you rule to join us and find power in the darkness you know so well.”

“Your ‘lady’ cares nothing for us!” Bast spat the words. “She wants only to use us as she uses all who come under her sway.” The Lord of the Cats lifted his head proudly. “We are free. We serve ourselves. So it has been, and so shall it be.”

“Die free, then!” snarled Lord Cal, and raised the wand.

We are free. We serve ourselves .

“Shirak,” called Raistlin, his voice clear and strong.

The Staff of Magius burst into light, shining more brightly than the two converging moons. Bast’s eyes, staring at the mage, shone with red flame. The ministers half-turned, blinking against the brilliance.

“Who-”

“The mage,” said Lord Cal, his lip curling.

“I’ll handle this,” said Lord Alvin in an undertone. “Raistlin Majere, we accused you falsely and we apologize. As you can see, we have the murderous beast cornered. Serve us in our fight, and you will be richly rewarded! Lady Shavas will see to that!”

Raistlin thought of the sickness, the pain, the terrifying moments when he feared he would never be able to draw the next breath. He thought of being always dependent on his brother. He thought of women, gazing at him with expressions of horror or pity. Never expressions of love.

Raistlin thought of the magic, burning in his blood.

“The choice is made,” he murmured.

Yes , said the other. Long ago. Here, then, is your reward .

Raistlin stood before great falls of light, the bands of magic traveling inside the Staff of Magius in the infinite spaces between the runes of the cantrips, a place where ancient knowledge waited for the touch of his summoning gold fingers. He embraced a silver strand with his will, a pass to the past that showed him surmounting a mountain with three other wizards-pictures of another time that he felt with all his senses.

White robe, red robe, and black walked slowly, braving storm and gale and lightning, moving up a path cut into the rock by natural forces to a high plateau. They looked over the whole of the world standing at the edge.

“It is time,” the white robe said.

“To lose our lives for a greater cause,” the red robe said.

“To give our gods greater power than any one of us could command,” the black robe said.

They cast their spell and died, wrenched apart by the powers they summoned, trapped in the three heavenly spheres.

Raistlin watched their actions, the motions they made with their hands, the words uttered above the winds that whipped their clothes with violence, and knew that the might of the Great Eye could be his to command.

He lifted the wand. It began to glow red in his hand.

“He’s ours!” said Lord Cal, laughing, and turned back to face the Lord of the Cats.

A bolt of red shot from Raistlin’s wand and struck Lord Cal in the back. The man screamed in rage and pain, the searing beam melting clothes and flesh. He whirled to face his enemy, but his strength gave out. Writhing in agony, he crumpled to the ground.

Bast lashed out with his right hand, stabbing his fingers into Lord Alvin’s throat, tearing a great wound that severed the man’s head. Alvin fell, dead.

The other minsters, yelling in rage, attacked the Lord of Cats. Raistlin dared not help, fearing that any spell he would cast would harm the man in black.

Bast needed no help, it seemed. He took one of his enemies by the chest with a sweeping kick and killed the other with an open-palmed strike to the forehead, snapping the head back, skull crushed and neck broken.

The night was silent once again.

Raistlin came forward, leaning on the staff.

The bodies of the ministers lay on the ground, reddish liquid appeared black in the moonlight. Around each neck he could see, shining, silver cats’ skulls.

“What are they?” asked the mage.

“See them in their true form,” answered Bast.

The corpses began to undergo a horrible change. Their bodies twisted and contorted, black fur grew from their skin, hands and feet changed to paws-an evil, demented dream of cats.

“Demons,” said Raistlin.

“Agents from the Abyss,” replied Bast.