Caramon saw movement and sprang, attempting to
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grab his friend. But the kender dodged backward and threw an egg at the ground, breaking it open, creating billowing clouds of foul-smelling smoke.
Beware the ring!
If I can get hold of him, maybe I can get the cursed thing off his finger, Caramon thought desperately. The warrior peered through the smoke, blinking back tears that streamed down his cheeks.
“Earwig, are you here?”
“Of course, I’m here. I’m waiting to kill you!” The voice came from the opposite side of the chamber.
“No, I don’t want to talk to you!” Caramon shouted, having the strangest impression that there were two different kender in the room. “I want to talk to Earwig! I’m his friend.”
“Caramon, help — ” came a muffled voice, but it was cut off.
Good, if I can just keep him off-balance. . . . Caramon began to babble, talking about the first thing that came into his head. “Hey, Earwig, the cats really miss you, especially that black one that kept following you around. Remember him?”
“All the cats will die! I’ll kill them, too!”
“Why do you want to kill the cats, Earwig?”
“I don’t, Caramon,” came the kender’s voice. “You’ve got to believe — ” he faltered, then shouted, “The prophecy speaks. Hear its words. The cats alive are the turning stone, they decide the fate, darkness or light.’ Darkness will triumph!”
The kender had moved, and Caramon was no longer sure where, though the smoke was beginning to dissipate. He sat still, gathering his strength, hoping soon to be able to see.
“Oh, by the way. Earwig. Catherine says to tell you
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she’s sorry. She feels real bad about what she did.”
“Catherine? Catherine who?” It was Earwig who answered, sounding lost and frightened.
“Catherine. The girl at the tavern. The one who kissed you.”
“I remember! I … I … I need your help, Caramon. She’s trying to control me, and I can’t stop her!” Earwig cried.
“I’ll help you, Earwig, just tell me where you are,” the fighter called.
“I’m right here!”
The kender leaped on Caramon’s shoulders. Grabbing Caramon by the hair, the kender pulled the warripr’s head back and tried to slash his neck with a knife.
Caramon, roaring like a wounded bull, reached back over his head, caught Earwig, and jerked him forward. The kender slammed against the wall and lay motionless.
The warrior eyed him warily a moment to see if he was shamming. The kender was obviously out cold.
Caramon lifted the kender’s left arm and held it up to the dim light in the chamber. Grasping the gold ring, he tugged. As Raistlin had discovered, the band would not come off.
‘This is gonna hurt real bad. Earwig,” Caramon whispered.
He saw blood seeping from under the gold, as if the finger were being bitten. Shuddering, he tried again, but the flow of blood increased and the ring stayed where it was. Earwig moaned and thrashed about in pain.
“What am I going to do?” Caramon wracked his brain for an answer. The realm of magic was far beyond his comprehension. “What would you do, Raist?” he muttered. He could almost hear his brother’s voice: “Cut off the finger.”
Caramon slowly drew out his knife. “Well, if that’s
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what I have to do …” He took hold of the ring, now wet with blood, and gave it one last try. He thought he felt it wiggle slightly.
Wet with blood. Wet. Rub soap around a ring and it will slip off. No soap, but if I could get it slick enough . . . ‘That’s it!”
Caramon turned the dagger on himself, slashing a large cut in his thumb. He dripped his blood over the ring, pouring more and more of his life’s essence onto the gold until the kender’s hand was stained crimson.
“It’s not soap, but let’s see if this works!”
Caramon pinched the band between his thumb and forefinger and pulled. The ring slipped off easily—too easily/ It almost seemed as if was growing and expanding, pulsing in his grip. Caramon stared at it in fascination.