Kevin Stein: Brothers Majere

It is written, the Lord of Cats will come, aiding his dominion, leading only for them, following no other, the agents for one and three.

The cats alive are the turning stone, they decide the fate, darkness or light, in the city that stands before the first gods.

" The city that stands before the first gods.' " Raistlin repeated, taking the plate from Caramon and reading it again and again. He was always interested in stories and rumors of the first gods, the gods he truly believed still existed. "In all our travels, my brother, we've never come across anything like this! Perhaps here I'll find the answers I seek!"

"Uh, Raist!" Caramon said warningly.

The other patrons had fallen deathly silent and were staring at the brothers and the kender with dark and angry expressions. A few were rising to their feet.

"What do you strangers think you're doing? Mocking the prophecy?" demanded one, his hand clenched into a fist.

"We're just reading it, that's all," began Caramon, face flushing. "Is that a crime?"

"It could be. And you won't like the punishment."

Caramon rose to his feet. He was one against twenty, but the big warrior was undaunted by the odds. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, his brother's hand glide swiftly to the pouch Raistlin carried at his side – a pouch whose contents were as magical and mysterious as the man who used them.

"A fight?" asked Earwig, jumping up and down. The kender grabbed his hoopak. "Is there going to be a barroom brawl? I've never been in a barroom brawl before! Boy, Cousin Tas was right about you guys!"

"There's no fighting in my establishment," cried a stern voice. "Come now, Hamish and you, too, Bartoc, settle down."

The innkeeper placed himself between Caramon and the crowd, making placating gestures with his hands. The men calmed down, resuming their seats and their gloomy conversation. Caramon, slowly and warily, returned to the table.

"I'm sorry, sirs," Yost said to the twins. "We're not usually this unfriendly, but there are some bad things happening in Mereklar."

Bnotrjens Majene

"What happened to the barroom brawl?" Earwig demanded.

"Shut up." Caramon grabbed the kender and stuffed him into his seat.

"Bad things – such as the cats disappearing?" asked Raistlin.

Yost stared at the mage in awe. "How did you know, sir?"

Raistlin shrugged.

"But then, you're a wizard, after all," continued the innkeeper with a sidelong glance. "I guess you know a lot of things the rest of us don't."

"And that's why everyone's ready to leap down our throats?" asked Caramon, pointing over his shoulder with his right thumb at the others in the inn.

"It's just that our cats mean as much to us as his word of honor means to a Knight of Solomnia."

Thinking back to his friend Sturm, Caramon was impressed. The Knights of Solomnia would willingly die to uphold their honor.

"Sit down, sir – "

"Yost. Everyone just calls me Yost."

"Sit down… um, Yost," said Raistlin in his soft voice, "and tell us about the cats."

Nervously, glancing back again at the other patrons, Yost took a seat opposite Earwig.

Caramon reached for his ale, only to discover that the kender had finished it.

"I'll have the girl bring you something else to drink," Yost said.

Caramon looked at his brother, who shook his head, reminding the warrior of the depleted state of their funds. The warrior heaved a sigh, "No, thanks. I'm not thirsty."

Smiling, the innkeeper gestured at the barmaid. "On the house," he said. "Maggie, bring us glasses and my own private stock."

The barmaid returned, bearing a dust-covered brown bottle that Caramon recognized as distilled spirits. Yost poured a glass for himself and one for the warrior. Raist-lin declined.

"You want some?" Yost asked the kender. "It'll curl your hair."

"It will?" Earwig asked, gazing at the mixture in wonder. The kender ran a hand over his topknot of hair, his pride and joy. "Uh, I guess not, then. I like my hair the way it is."

Yost continued, "In Mereklar and the area around the city, we believe that our cats will one day save the world."

Caramon sniffed at the drink he had just been offered and gingerly took a small sip. He grimaced at the taste, then his eyes widened with delight at the pleasant burning sensation warming his insides. He belched and took a larger gulp.

"How?" asked Raistlin, glancing at his brother and frowning.

"Nobody knows for sure, but we all believe it will happen. Our heritage is based on it." Yost rolled the liquor on his tongue and swallowed. "That's why cats are always welcome in any home in Mereklar. It's against the law to harm a cat, punishable by death. Not that anyone would." The innkeeper gazed around sadly. "I used to have thirty or so here, myself. They'd be walking around, jumping on your shoulder, curling up in your lap. The choicest bits on everyone's plates were theirs. The sound of their purring was so soothing-like. And now" – he shook his head – "they're gone."

"And you've no idea where?" Raistlin persisted.

"No, sir. We've looked. And there's not a trace of 'em.

Bnotrjens Majene

Another drink, friend?" Yost held up the bottle. "I can see you enjoy this."

"I do!" said Caramon, tears in his eyes and a huskiness in his throat. "What's it called?"

"Dwarf spirits. Hard to come by these days, since the dwarfs have closed up Thorbardin." Yost turned to Raistlin. "You seem unusually interested in our business, wizard. May I ask why?"

"Show him the paper, Caramon."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Fumbling beneath his leather harness, the warrior brought out the parchment they'd found at the crossroads and exhibited it to Yost.

"Ah, yes! The council voted to offer a reward to anyone who could find our cats – "

"It doesn't say so," Caramon pointed out.

"No, well." Yost flushed, embarrassed. "We know that to the world outside, our love for our cats seems kind of strange. We didn't figure outsiders would understand until they got here."

"If they got here," murmured Raistlin, with an unpleasant smile.

Yost glanced at the mage sharply. Not certain if he had heard him correctly or not, he decided to ignore the statement.

"The idea of the reward came from the city's Councillor, Lady Shavas. If you're interested in the job, she's the one you should talk to."

"We intend to do so," said Raistlin, glaring at Caramon, who was helping himself to another drink of the potent brew.

Earwig yawned. "Are you going to tell us any more stories? What about this Lord of the Cats? Do you know him?"

"Ah, that." Yost stared into his drink. He appeared highly uncomfortable. "The Lord of Cats is the king of the cats, the deity who tells them what to do." Pausing, taking a small swallow, he went on, "The only thing is, though, the stories aren't clear as to whether he'll help the world or destroy it."

"So you believe in the Lord of the Cats?" Caramon asked.

"We believe in his existence," Yost said, glancing around nervously as if he feared he was being watched. "We just don't know what motivates him."

Caramon reached for the bottle. Raistlin's hand shot out and closed over his brother's wrist.

"Where's the gate of which the prophecy speaks?" the mage asked.

"We don't know much about the prophecy, I'm afraid," said Yost. "It was found long ago, right after the Cataclysm. Maybe if we did, we'd know what was going on. Still, if you're interested, I've heard that Lady Shavas has books that tell about the Lord of the Cats and the prophecy and some of these other things. They're written in the your language – the language of magic, though there hasn't been a mage in these parts for over a hundred years. One was never wanted, if you get my meaning."

The bartender stood up and prepared to leave, taking his bottle with him, much to Caramon's disappointment.