Kevin Stein: Brothers Majere

"You look done in. Why don't you go back to your rooms?" suggested Yost pointedly.

'Thank you for your concern," returned Raistlin. "But we're not tired."

"Suit yourself." Yost shrugged and left.

Earwig was, in fact, fast asleep, his head pillowed on his arms. Caramon, probably as a result of the liquor, was glassy-eyed, staring rapturously at nothing. Reaching across the table, Raistlin grabbed him by the arm and shook him.

"Uh?" said the big man, blinking.

Bnotrjens Majene

"Sober up, you fool! I need you. I don't trust that man. Look, he's talking to someone in the corner. I want – "

Raistlin saw, out of the corner of his eye, the line. A faint, though definitive, illumination was rising from the floor – a stream of white light running the length of the room, flowing north. He felt power, power that was as old as the world, power that ran through Ansalon, over the oceans, and beyond, extending to unobserved, inconceivable realms. Only those who walked on shadowy planes could know of such realms. Or one who had made contact with another who walked there.

Shuddering, Raistlin closed his eyes. When he opened them and looked again, all he saw was the floor – solid, dark with age, wet with spilled ale.

"What is it, Raist?" said Caramon, his voice slightly slurred. "What's the matter? What's down there?"

Caramon hadn't seen it. Raistlin rubbed his eyes. Was it his sickness, playing tricks on him again? Wine on his fingers made his eyes sting and water. He peered through the doorway at the side of the room to the fireplace in the main hall. There was the line again, an eerie white light, about a handspan wide. He turned his head, looked at it directly.- The line disappeared.

"Raist, are you all right?"

"It must be a trick of my eyes," Raistlin muttered to himself, though he knew, since he had felt the power, that it wasn't.

But with the power came fear – horrible, debilitating fear. He didn't want to meet him again. He wasn't ready. The mage studied the ceiling, the beams, supports, and struts made from thick wooden bars that formed an archway overhead. Whenever he looked somewhere else, the line became visible – soft light rising from the floor. Sought directly, it vanished.

Raistlin grabbed his staff and quickly stood up, knocking over a bench.

"Barroom brawl?" Earwig's head jerked up. He blinked sleepily.

"Hush," said Caramon.

"What's Raistlin doing?" whispered the kender.

"I don't know," Caramon shot back. "But when he's like this, you better leave him alone."

What have I seen? What could it be? Do I even really see it? The mage moved to the south wall of the large eating hall. He looked out the back window and stared up into the sky. The glow appeared on the soft green grass lit silver and red in the light of the two moons. Raistlin kept his eyes open so long that they began to tear. The line grew brighter.

Returning to the table, Raistlin thrust his fingers into his glass of wine and wiped them across his eyes, the alcohol making them water again. The line became clear to his blurred vision – a band of power leading north. Raistlin faced the north window and saw that the stream flowed from the floor, through the wall, and out into the grass – a steady flowing river of white light. The mage sat down heavily on his bench.

"Hey, Raistlin," Earwig cried, jumping to his feet. "You're crying!"

"Raist – "

"Shut up, Caramon."

Sweeping the staff over the kender's head, causing Earwig to duck or be decapitated, the mage pointed downward.

"What do you see, kender?"

Earwig, startled by the question, followed the length of the staff with his large brown eyes. The pale blue orb at its top hovered inches from the floor.

"Uh, I see wood and a few dust bunnies. Isn't that a funny name? Dust bunnies? I guess it's because they look

Bnotrjens Majene like little rabbits – "

"Look at me," ordered the mage.

"Sure." The kender looked up obediently.

Raistlin put his fingers in his glass and flicked wine straight into Earwig's wide-open eyes.

"Ouch! Hey, what are you doing?" Earwig cried in pain. He rubbed his hands against his eyes, trying to clear them of the spirits.

"Now what do you see?" Raistlin asked again.

The kender, squinting, tears running down his cheeks, peered around blearily. "Oh, wow! The room's gone all blurry. Everyone's sort of swelled up! Thanks, Raistlin. This is fun!"

"I mean on the floor," said Raistlin, exasperated.

"I can't see the floor," the kender said. "It's nothing but a dark lump."

Raistlin smiled.

"What is it, Raist?" asked Caramon, tensing, knowing by the expression on his brother's face that something remarkable had occurred.

"Hey, Caramon, what do you see?" Earwig cried gleefully. Grabbing the glass, the kender tossed wine in the warrior's face.

"A dead kender!" Caramon shouted, spluttering. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, collaring Earwig.

"Peace, my brother," Raistlin said, holding up the palm of his right hand. Caramon let go of the kender, pushing him roughly into the seat.

"By the way," the mage continued mildly, "what do you see, Caramon?"

"Not a damn thing!" the warrior muttered, wiping his streaming eyes with the backs of his hands.

"Nothing on the floor?"

"What's this about the floor? You keep staring at it, Raist. It's just a floor, all right?"

"Yes, just a floor. Caramon, go find that bartender. What's His name… Yost."

"Sure, Raist." Caramon's eyes lit up. "Do you want me to bring him back?"

"No, just ask him a question. Which direction is Mereklar from here?"

"Oh." Caramon shrugged. "All right."

"I'll come with you," offered Earwig, growing bored now that the stinging and burning had faded from his eyes.

The two left. Raistlin fell limply back into his seal. He felt drained, suddenly completely bereft of energy. The line was magic, visible to his eyes only. But what did it mean? Why was it there? And why this tiny, icy sliver of fear?…

Caramon found Yost and the bottle of dwarven spirits. Earwig watched and listened to them for a while but soon grew restless. He didn't want to go back into the eating room. He'd been there already.

"I guess I'll go out for a walk," he said to Caramon.

"Uh, sure, Earwax. Go ahead." The big warrior nodded. His voice sounded fuzzy.

"Earwig! Oh, never mind!"

Hoopak in hand, the kender skipped through the inn's front door and ran smack into three men, standing in the moonlight.

"Excuse me," said Earwig politely.

The men were tall, muscular, and wore black leather clothing that reeked with age. Wide straps crossed their bodies, holding bags and glittering, bladed weapons.

"Hello, little one. Do you mind if we ask you a question?" the man standing in the middle of the three asked in a smooth, rich voice. The ruddy glow from the firelight illuminated his face, and the kender was fascinated to see that the man's skin was as black as the night around them.

"No, please do!" Earwig urged.

The man's blue eyes shone deep red in the firelight. Deftly, with a graceful and fluid movement, he caught hold of one of the kender's small hands that was sliding into one of the man's own pouches.

"I'd keep that hand to myself, if I were you," advised the black-skinned man.

"I'm sorry," said Earwig, staring at his hand as though it had leaped from his body and was now acting on its own. "I can't think how it came to be there."

"No harm done. My friends and I" – the man indicated the two other men standing next to him – "were wondering where you got that magnificent necklace?" He pointed to the silver cat's skull that hung around the kender's neck.

"What necklace?" Earwig said, confused. Truth to tell, he'd forgotten all about it. "Oh, this?" He glanced down, saw it, and held the charm out for the men to admire. "It's an heirloom, been in my family for days."