Kevin Stein - Brothers Majere

None of them came back.

Several demons began to edge forward of their own volition, unwilling to wait when the promise of battle called to them, but the commander told them to stay, hissing the words between clenched fangs. "Hold your position!"

Fifteen men and women stepped out from the alleys and boulevards. They held no weapons. Blood dripped from their hands. Their eyes glistened with triumph. They made no sound of running, their movements smooth and fluid.

"Hah! Humans!" spat one demon.

It and its fellows released a barrage of red beams that surged through the air – deadly bolts reaching out for their targets, striking ground and building, sending up clouds of dust and dirt. But the attackers were upon them in an instant, closing the distance with incredible speed.

'These are not humans!" the leader yelled. "They are the enemy!"

Lions leaped toward their victims, bringing five down immediately under their great weight, killing five more within seconds. The demons fell back, battling with claw and fang and red-glowing wand, yellow eyes flaring. The demons lost half their number within the first minute; the lions, five.

Rallying his forces, the commander ordered, "Pull back and regroup! They cannot win!"

The demon troops immediately obeyed, fighting back-to-back until they reached their rapidly forming lines. They pushed forward again, the shock of impact sending the giant cats back to the gate. There were few left. They knew they could not hold.

"Destroy them! Now!"

But the demons hesitated. The city stood silent, waiting. Both sides ceased their battle, listening.

A sound of distant thunder filled the fields outside the great walls, thunder that moved closer and closer until it was upon the gates themselves. Suddenly, a thousand cats burst through the portcullis, their small bodies sliding easily between the great plates mounted on the bars, the barriers spaced together so closely that only their slim forms would fit. They ran past their larger brethren and attacked the demons, tiny claws and fangs digging into the twisted bodies, inflicting wounds that dark magic could not heal.

The demons at the gate were destroyed, their bodies lying torn on the perfect white stone, and more cats ran over and past them, advancing on silent paws to fulfill the prophecy.

"There it is, Caramon," Earwig said, pointing his hoopak toward the stone dais. 'The altar!"

"Yes, I think you're right," the fighter replied, standing in the cavern's entrance, his eyes attempting to pierce the dimness ahead.

The kender started to dart forward, but Caramon laid a restraining hand on the small shoulder. "Wait a minute. There might be guards. Can you see anything?"

Earwig stared with all his might. "No, nothing."

"I don't either. But I think I hear something."

"Caramon," said Earwig after a moment. "I can't hear anything because your heart's beating too loudly. Do you think you could make it stop?"

"What do you want me to do? Drop dead? Besides, that's not my heartbeat! It's the same noise I'm hearing, and it sounds like cogs grinding together."

"Are you sure?" said Earwig skeptically. "It sounds just like a heartbeat to me."

"Yes, I'm sure!" Caramon snapped. "Well, come on. We can't stand here all night."

The two moved forward. The cavern was much the same as the one Earwig had discovered in the city above. There were the same flickering torches, the same stone dais. But, reaching the entrance, they saw something on top of the dais – the altar used to create the gate between the Abyss and Krynn.

It appeared to be a large box, uneven on all sides, adorned with gold and silver and bronze. Strange, evil-looking figures had been engraved on its shining surface.

"Wow!" Earwig cried and, before Caramon could stop him, the kender dashed into the room.

"No! Wait!" the fighter yelled.

"What? What is it?" Earwig cried in excitement, spinning around. "What's wrong?"

Caramon's heart was in his throat. He had to cough to get it back down. "Just… don't ever… run into a… place like this… without looking first!"

"All right, Caramon."

The fighter winced, anticipating the next question.

"Why?" asked Earwig. , "I just thought you might like to live a little longer!" Caramon growled. The warrior stared into the room, blinking his eyes, raising his sword. "Earwig, behind you!" he shouted.

"Whu -?" The kender swung his hoopak around in a great arc. "What is it, Caramon?" he shouted, batting at nothing. "I can't see anything!"

"That – thing," Caramon cried, pointing. "It looks like a… a… hand!"

"Oh, yeah! Wow!"

A slender, sinuous, extraordinarily beautiful arm appeared out of the air, hand waving aimlessly, seemingly grasping for something it could not see.

Earwig reached up his own hand. "Hullo. My name's – "

"No!" shrieked Caramon, but the arm passed straight through Earwig's fingers.

Earwig stared. "Well, how rude!"

The kender tried to catch the hand again, but it always passed right through him. Growing bored, he skipped over to inspect the box.

Caramon held his bastard sword, ready to swing. He stepped slowly into the room, turning to regard the entrance, then turned back to the box.

"Don't touch it!" he reprimanded the kender sharply.

Earwig snatched his hand back.

"What are we supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Destroy it," the fighter replied, involuntarily ducking as a shadowy arm passed above him. Several mor§ arms appeared, hands reaching down out of the darkness. "That's what Raistlin told us to do."

"How?" Earwig eyed the sealed box with a professional air. "I don't suppose you could hack it to bits?"

Caramon gave the box a troubled glance. "I don't think so."

"Well, what are we doing down here, then?" demanded Earwig in exasperation.

"Don't ask me! I just… always figured that Raist'd be here to help us."

"Well, if we can't destroy it, then let's open it and see what's inside."

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Earwig jumped up on the dais. He inspected the box, running his hands along the artifact's sides, attempting to find a keyhole or a crack.

"Earwig, I'm not sure about this – " Caramon began, his attention divided between the kender and the flailing arms.

"Ah, ha!"

A loud click came from the box, and a crack opened in its center, running around it horizontally.

"Oops," said Earwig.

Caramon, having been with other kender on adventures, knew that dreaded word all too well. He immediately assumed a fighting stance.

"What is it? What did you do. Earwig?"

"Nothing!" said the kender with an air of offended innocence. "But I think you could pry this open now."

Caramon edged his way toward the dais, noticing, as he moved, that the weaving arms were becoming more real. There were now too many to duck, and the warrior

BRottjeRs MajeRe braced himself when the first touched him. But it passed right through his body as if he were as insubstantial as they.

"Hurry, Caramon!" said Earwig in excitement. "1 can't wait to see what's inside,"

"I can," muttered the warrior.

He stepped up to the box. Glancing around him one last time, he propped his sword on the side of the box, spat on his hands, and rubbed them together. He braced himself, grasped the top, and heaved.

There was a hissing sound. The lid opened so easily that he nearly fell on top of it. Gingerly, holding the heavy top open with both hands, he gazed into the box.

"Let me see! Let me see!" shouted Earwig, shoving his head beneath Caramon's big arm.

Jewels sparkled in the flickering torchlight. Earwig's small hand darted forward.

"Hey!" said Caramon, panting beneath the weight of the lid. "We're here to destroy those… not steal them."