Kevin Stein - Brother's Majere

She raised her arms into the air. Dark bolts of lightning formed at her fingertips, surrounding her naked body with a cold, enervating halo. Her long hair rose around her head like writhing snakes. Her eyes vanished, sinking into deep pools of blackness.

Raistlin rose to his feet, leaning on the Staff of Magius.

“That puny toy will not save you! You will die by-” The woman’s voice cracked, then rose in a terrified scream. “What is happening?”

“The magics you summoned are growing beyond the confines of your ability to control them,” Raistlin answered.

“Help me!” Shavas screamed. Black lightning streaked down from the sky, engulfing the woman’s naked body. She reached for Raistlin, but her hands were beginning to wither, the flesh melting from the bones.

“I cannot,” said the mage. “I am the cause of your destruction!”

Shavas writhed in agony. “One day you will fall! One day the Dark Queen will have you!”

“No,” answered Raistlin. “No matter what happens, I will always be my own.”

The woman’s body slowly disintegrated until all that was left was a pile of dust on the carpet of the library. In its center lay a necklace; the fire opal glistened with a mockery of life.

Raistlin stood unmoving, watching the dust of Shavas stir, clutching for life. Walking over, he lifted the Staff of Magius and brought it down with crushing force on the necklace. The fire opal exploded.

Reaching around, grabbing a book, Raistlin soaked it in brandy and hurled it into the fire. The binding began to blacken and curl as the flames consumed the golden words, Brothers Majere .

Raistlin thrust the tip of his staff into the fire, holding it in the coals until the end burned brightly. Bringing out the flaming staff, the mage touched it to the curtains, the furniture, and, finally, the game board. Flames crackled. The air filled with smoke.

Raistlin tapped the staff on the floor and its fire died, leaving the black wood smooth, cold, and unscarred.

The mage turned and walked out of the burning house.

Raistlin and Caramon stood outside the south gate of Mereklar, beyond the city’s white confines.

“-and the woman rushed back to her home, screaming and waving her arms.” Earwig waved his own arms to illustrate. “The next day, there was a knock at the door. Know who it was?”

Catherine shook her head, “No. Who?”

“Dizzy’s hoopak!” Earwig tumbled to the ground and rolled around in uncontrolled mirth.

Catherine stood there, lips twitching.

“Don’t you get it?” Earwig asked after a moment, sitting up.

Catherine raised her eyes to the heavens, a gesture she would come to repeat often. The young woman was dressed in leather pants and a long, buckskin tunic. Soft, supple boots hugged her legs, and she carried a pack on her back. In her hand she held a small tangle of wire-the gift Earwig had given her. She tossed it in the air. The bead inside caught the sun, flashing brightly. Catching the wire as it fell, Catherine winked at the kender.

Earwig, grinning, winked back. The two shared a wonderful secret, a secret that was about to lead them on what the kender hoped would be another wonderful adventure.

Caramon shuffled his feet. “I wish you’d change your mind and travel with us. At least as far as the Black Cat.”

“Can’t,” said Earwig, almost ready to explode with excitement. “We have a Very Important Mission. You see, it’s this wire-”

Catherine prodded him in the back. “Hush up,” she said. “It’s also a Very Secret Mission.”

“That’s right,” said Earwig, rubbing the ring on his thumb. “Well, good-bye, Caramon. Good-bye, Raistlin. It sure was fun!”

Raistlin started to say something, then began to cough violently. Clutching his chest, he leaned on the staff to maintain his balance. Caramon looked at him in concern.

“Are you sure you can make it?”

“Are you sure you can?” Raistlin cast a scathing glance at his brother, who was bandaged and walking stiffly and painfully.

Drawing a white cloth from his robes, the mage dabbed his lips. The cloth came away stained red with blood. “If you must know,” he whispered, “I have no desire to spend another night in this city.”

Caramon glanced around. The gate was empty, unguarded. The streets were filled with people hurrying from door to door, each relating to another his own version of the terrifying wonders that had occurred during the night. The city was in chaos, its leaders dead. Rumor had it that they had perished, fighting alongside the Lord of the Cats to protect the city from some great evil. The walls of Mereklar knew better, but few in the city paid any attention to the new carvings.

A cat carrying a newborn kitten in her mouth hurried past on light feet, moving her family from the wilderness into the city that was said to welcome felines. Several townsfolk, spotting the cat, knelt down to make overtures.

“I still think we should say good-bye to Lady Shavas,” Caramon said.

Raistlin glanced back to the center of Mereklar where a thin column of black smoke still lingered in the air.

“No.” The mage spoke from the depths of his hood. When it seemed Caramon was going to persist, he gently laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Come. We must go.”

“Oh, here, Raist.” Earwig drew the mage’s cure-the bag of pungent herbs-from his pouch. “You dropped it. You really did!” said the kender, eyes wide.

“I didn’t drop it, Earwig,” said Raistlin. “I threw it a-” He paused, then said, “That is … you may keep it, if you want.”

“I may! Gosh, thanks!”

“Thank you, Earwig, for your help,” Raistlin said. He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the girl.

Take care of him .

The words formed in Catherine’s mind. Startled, she nodded her head. “I will,” she promised.

“Well, be seein’ you, Earwig,” said Caramon. “Good luck with your adventuring.”

The twins started down the road in one direction, Catherine and Earwig turned the other. They were walking past what had once been the blank walls of Mereklar when Earwig suddenly stopped and stared.

“Wow!” he said in awe.

Tears filled his eyes, and he ran his hand across the stone on which was carved a kender perched bravely on the back of a carriage in the Abyss. And there was another carving, of a kender hero slaying a demon. And a third, of a kender gallantly thrusting his hand into a deadly box.…

“Hey, Caramon! Raistlin!” Earwig shouted in wild excitement.

The twins-small figures in the distance-turned. The mage was leaning on his brother’s arm. Both looked sad and weary and in pain.

“Never mind,” said Earwig softly.

“ ’Bye!” shouted the kender, waving the pouch. “Say ‘hi’ to Cousin Tas for me!”

The journey back to the Black Cat was long and tiring for both brothers. They had to stop often to rest. Near midday, Raistlin turned off the path and entered the forest. Caramon, as usual, stopped to wait for him, but this time Raistlin glanced back and gestured.

“Come, Caramon.”

“Sure. Is something wrong?” the warrior asked in concern.

“We must speak.”

Caramon felt himself grow cold. The warrior had awakened from a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep to find himself lying in a bed in Barnstoke Hall, his brother watching over him, guarding his rest. Raistlin had treated his brother’s wounds and told him that it was all over, it was time to leave Mereklar.

“Then the city’s safe?” Caramon had asked.

“I’ll tell you all later, my brother!” Raistlin had said. “When I feel the time is right.”

That time, seemingly, was now.