Kevin Stein: Brother's Majere

“Ugh! Who would wear that?”

“I would!” said Earwig, staring at the trinket longingly.

The charm was shaped into the likeness of a cat’s skull, with tiny rubies in the eye sockets.

“Which one was wearing this?” Raistlin asked.

Earwig thought. “None of them. I found it in the grass, over there.” He pointed near Raistlin’s neatly rolled-up blankets.

“The leader,” grunted Caramon.

“Yes,” Raistlin agreed, staring at the charm. A shudder passed through his body, his hand trembled. “It is evil, Caramon. A thing of darkness. And it is old. Its time stretches back before the Cataclysm.”

“Get rid of it!” said the warrior tersely.

“No, I-” Raistlin hesitated, then turned to Earwig. “Would you truly like to wear this?”

“Oh, yes!” sighed the kender. “Wow! A ‘thing of darkness’!”

“Raist-” began Caramon, but his brother shot him a swift, warning glance, and the big man hushed.

Threading the skull on a silver chain that was among the loot, the mage slipped it over the kender’s neck. Raistlin murmured soft words, touched the metal chain with his fingers. Earwig, his face bright with pleasure, stared at his new necklace in awe.

Raistlin rose and stretched his thin body, then began to cough in the chill morning air. Turning, he made his way back to the fire. Caramon followed.

“What do we do with that stuff?”

“Leave it. There is nothing of value.”

Glancing back, Caramon saw Earwig happily stuffing as much of the treasure as he could into his packs and pouches.

“You’ve made the kender a target, Raistlin,” said the big man.

The mage knelt by the fire, his thin body huddling near for warmth. “Not a target, brother,” he corrected coolly. “Bait.”

“Either way, he’s in danger. Whoever wore that might be looking for it. He’ll know the kender was a witness to his crime. What were those words you said over the necklace? Some sort of protective spell?”

Raistlin snorted. “Don’t be a fool, Caramon. It was a simple cantrip, one that will prevent the kender from removing the necklace. As for the danger, he’s in less danger than either you or I would be, wearing that charm. No one takes kender seriously. They’ll assume he found it and put it on for a lark. We must watch for those who might take an unusual interest in it.”

“I don’t like it, Raist,” persisted Caramon with unusual stubbornness.

“I didn’t like being nearly murdered in my sleep!” his twin snapped. He rose to his feet, leaning on the magical staff. “Come along. It’s time we were going. I want to get there before dark.”

“There? Where? Mereklar?” Caramon scattered the coals of the fire with his booted foot and tossed water on them.

“No. The Inn of the Black Cat.”

Caramon never ceased to be amazed by his brother. Ever since the infamous test required of every mage who aspired to enter the higher realms of magic-the test that could prove lethal-Raistlin’s health had been shattered. His body was thin, barely skin and bones. He coughed persistently. Sometimes Caramon wondered fearfully if his brother would be able to draw another breath. Plagued by terrible dreams, Raistlin tossed and turned and often screamed aloud in his sleep. Some mornings, he was barely able to crawl from his bed.

Yet this morning, the young mage seemed unusually well. He walked with a brisk step, barely leaning on his staff. He had eaten-for him-a good breakfast consisting of bread and fruit. He had not needed to drink the herbal tea that soothed his cough nor breathe the fumes of the bag. His eyes were bright, glittering in the morning light.

“It’s this mystery,” Caramon said to himself. “He thrives on intrigue. I’m glad Raist is handling it. Me-I’d rather face an army of goblins. I hate skulking about.”

The warrior heaved a sigh. He spent the day walking with his broadsword in hand, sending piercing, darting glances into the woods, expecting another ambush at any moment.

Caramon’s other companion was also enjoying himself. Earwig skipped down the path, twirling in the air the kender’s favorite weapon-the hoopak. A walking stick with a sling fitted to the yoke at the top, Earwig’s hoopak was unusual in that the top could be removed, turning the staff into a blowgun. It fired small, sharp, barbed darts that the kender carried in the inner right sleeve of his traveling outfit.

Earwig was, in fact, extremely fond of weapons of all sorts and prided himself on his collection. An unusual throwing knife with five blades curving out in separate directions was his pride and joy. He also carried another invention of his own-eggshells filled with special powders and liquids that could be released on impact. Besides these, he owned many other weapons, but usually forgot or absentmindedly exchanged them for other, more exciting, objects.

Earwig had been with the twins only a short time, but he was willing to follow them as they began new adventures. He was fascinated by the magician with the strange eyes and shining golden skin and was happy to be with someone so interesting and unique. The kender did feel sorry for Raistlin, however. The mage was so gloomy. Earwig took it upon himself, therefore, to regale the mage with tales of fantastic adventures in other parts of Krynn or stories he had heard from friends and relatives, trying to cheer Raistlin from the continual melancholy that surrounded him as heavily as his red robes.

The mage would simply ignore him or, if Raistlin was in a particularly bad mood, he would attempt to sweep Earwig out his way with his staff.

When this happened, Earwig would skip over to talk with Caramon, who was always interested in stories and had a few wild tales of his own that even the kender had difficulty believing.

Today, Earwig noted that Raistlin seemed unusually cheerful. The kender was determined to keep the conjurer in a good mood, so he began telling one of his favorite jokes.

“Hey, Raistlin,” he began, “have you ever heard of Dizzy Longtongue, the kender who could throw his hoopak with such skill and accuracy he could make it return to his hand? Well, one day a minotaur made a bet with the kender that he couldn’t throw his staff around the girth of a forest, and Dizzy said, ‘I’ll bet you the gold in my pocket against the ring in your nose that I can make my hoopak come back to me from around the forest.’ The minotaur accepted and said that if he didn’t make it, he would have Dizzy for dessert with dinner. Dizzy naturally agreed.”

Earwig paused, waiting for some reaction from Raistlin. But the mage, occasionally coughing, kept his hooded gaze on the road.

The kender, shrugging, continued. “Dizzy took a hundred pace running start before he let go of his hoopak with a mighty zing!” Earwig imitated Dizzy’s magnificent throw, arcing his hoopak over his head without letting go, the sling-thong making an appropriate buzz. “Dizzy and the minotaur waited for hours, listening for the sound of the returning hoopak. After a day had passed, the minotaur said, ‘Well, my lad, it looks like I’m having you for afters,’ and Dizzy said-”

“Look, Caramon.” Raistlin raised the staff and pointed. “An inn.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what Dizzy said.” Earwig scratched his head. “ ‘Look, Caramon, an inn,’ just doesn’t make sense, does it? Actually, what Dizzy said was-”

“I can’t see the sign.” Caramon peered through the trees.

“No, no, no!” Earwig cried, exasperated. “That wasn’t it, at all! And, if you must know, there’s a black cat on the sign. Now, if you’ll be quiet, I’ll tell you what Dizzy said to the minotaur who was about to eat him for dinner. He said-”

“Dinner,” said Raistlin softly. “I believe we should stop here for dinner and a night’s rest, my brother. Don’t you agree? It’s what you were wanting, after all.”