Brothers Majere by Weis, Margaret

Finally growing bored with watching the Eye, however. Earwig glanced down below. That was boring, too. Mereklar had completely disappeared. Darkness engulfed the towers and buildings and streets, removing it from the ground as if it had never been. But the darkness wasn’t doing anything. It was just sitting there, and the kender yawned.

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He thrust the tip of his hoopak down into the darkness, bringing it back out, checking it hopefully for a coating of horrible ooze or slime.

Nothing.

“I really don’t think this is being handled properly. I mean, if this is supposed to lead to the Abyss, it could at least look more . . . more . . . awful!”

Earwig paced the corner, searching for something entertaining, when a shimmer caught his eye—a shining staircase was slowly forming, sparkling motes of light spinning and coalescing into a solid object.

“Now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed and was about to hop down it when he heard a shout.

“Earwig! . . . Earwig!”

“Drat,” said the kender.

Caramon was yelling from his position on the other gate. The big man was jumping up and down to catch his friend’s attention, his distant figure distorted by the three moons.

“Hi!” Earwig yelled back, whirling his hoopak in the air, causing the leather thong to whistle loudly.

“Meet in the center!”

“What?”

“I said, meet me in the center!”

‘The center of what?”

“The center of the city, you—” The last words were, fortunately, swallowed up in the darkness.

“That’s where I was going, before you interrupted me!” The kender said indignantly. Turning, he headed again for the magical stairs. “Boy, this is the last time I take him on any of my adventures!”

Holding his breath and pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger, the kender skipped down the stairway; the last sight of him on Krynn—his topknot of hair.

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Glowering, not liking this in the least, Caramon stood at the top of the magical staircase that had appeared before him. He hesitated, gripping his sword tightly. He didn’t want to go down into the darkness. He knew that, if he did, he would meet his own death, and it would be a terrible one.

“But maybe Raist is down there. He’s alone. He needs me.”

Caramon put a foot on the stair. Then, deciding that— like bad-tasting medicine—it was best to drink it quickly and get it over with, the warrior ran full speed down the staircase.

“• Reaching the bottom, he stepped off and instantly red beams flared around him. One glanced off his arm, searing his flesh painfully. Caramon rolled on the ground and ducked into a nearby building, shutting the door behind him. Looking out a window, he could see three creatures, aiming red-glowing wands at him.

The creatures were bent and twisted, their bodies covered with fur. Their heads looked like the skulls of dead cats, teeth gleaming in a rictus grin. One of the demons, wearing a harness of some strange, glossy material with a silver medallion in the middle, shouted something in a strange language, pointing at the building where Caramon was hiding.

The demon’s voice, rough and hissing, reminded Caramon of a cat that could talk like a human. Moving slowly and as quietly as he could, the big man crept up the stairs.

Down below, he heard the door crash and saw a bolt of crimson flare in the room, scoring the back wall and setting furniture aflame.

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Footsteps, claws scraping against the floor, padded through the room, searching. Then they began to ascend the stairs. A head appeared in Caramon’s view. It saw him the same time he saw it.

“Das—” it began to shout the alarm.

Caramon’s sword bit into its neck, the keen metal driving so far into the flesh that the blade plunged through the demon into the wall. The warrior yanked his blade free and pounded up the stairs that led to the third floor.

The hallway exploded with red light, shattering chairs and tables, sending splinters flying through the air. Cara-mon kept running. Another demon, growling in anger at missing its target, dashed up the stairs in pursuit.

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