Brothers Majere by Weis, Margaret

‘That may be, but all in my own time. I repeat, what do you want of me?”

“It is, rather, what you want of me,” said Shavas, coming close and putting her soft hand on his arm. “I am offering you the chance to control your own destiny. I am offering you an alliance with the Dark Queen!”

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cartR/aqe is gone. Now, /’// nave to walk.” said the kender, disgruntled.

He started down the street, thinking just between himself and the fish market that it would have been a lot more fun if he and Caramon had come down here together when one of the ugly, twisted creatures popped out of a side street and came to stand in front of him.

“Hullo,” said the kender brightly, extending a hand. “My name’s Earwig—”

The creature raised its hand. It was holding a most fascinating-looking device, a wand of some sort. It began to glow bright red. Thinking the creature was offer-

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ing the wand to him—since it was pointing it at him—the kender reached out and took it.

“Thank you,” he said.

The creature, with a snarl, tried to snatch the wand back.

“Hey!” said Earwig. “You gave it to me! Gully dwarf-giver!” he taunted.

The creature flew into a rage and came at Earwig, teeth bared, slavering.

“No! You’re not getting this back!”

The kender swung the hoopak. Thwack! It caught the creature on the side of its head. It tumbled to the street and lay there, unmoving.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” said Earwig, nudging it with the toe of his boot, “Well, let that be a lesson to you,” he added.

“Now, let’s see you turn red and glow!” He looked at the wand expectantly. Nothing happened. The kender shook it. Still nothing.

“Broken!” he said in disgust. “Here, you can have it back after all,” he said and tossed the wand onto the body of the creature, who was just beginning to stir and sit up groggily.

Thinking that Caramon might be wanting him, the kender continued on his way.

Arriving in the center of the city. Earwig discovered an army of the ugly creatures marching about in the street, shouting and singing in terrible-sounding voices. The kender was feeling disgruntled and out-of-sorts and didn’t particularly want to talk to anybody, so he ducked into a doorway to take a look around. Across from where he was standing was a tall, domed building.

“Say!” exclaimed Earwig. “That’s where Lady Shavas is supposed to have her house. Drat! Maybe I’ve come the wrong way.”

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But he looked at the streets and recognized them. Yes, he was definitely in the center of town.

“I should go tell her,” said the thoughtful kender, completely forgetting what Raistlin had told him about the Dark Queen’s temple. “Lady Shavas might not know her house is gone.”

Earwig stepped out from the doorway and was about to cross the street (eyeing with interest some of the pouches the creatures were carrying), when he heard a smothered cry, almost right behind him.

“Earwig. Over here!”

“Caramon?” The kender squinted into the shadows and saw a glint of metal.

“Caramon?” he called loudly. “Is that you?”

An arm reached out, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him into an alleyway.

“Hey! Don’t! You’ll wrinkle my—”

“Shut up!” Caramon clapped his hand over the ken-der’s mouth.

The warrior, holding the wriggling kender tightly, peered out into the street. The marching demons were making a great deal of noise and didn’t appear to have heard anything.

“Shhhh!” he whispered, letting go of Earwig slowly.

The kender stared at him, face flushing in anger. “You’ve been fighting again!” Earwig cried, stamping his foot. “Without me!”

“I’m sorry,” Caramon growled. “Keep your voice down! Have you seen the Cat Lord?”

“Sure,” said Earwig.

Caramon brightened. “You have? Where?”

“Right there.” The kender pointed.

Caramon turned, hand on his sword. Bast stood in the shadows, a graceful form, his skin a deeper shade of black against the darkness.

Leaning back against the wall, Caramon drew a deep

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breath. His shoulder burned, but his fear was stronger than the pain, driving it somewhere deep inside of him. He hated this place. He would have traded this army of demons for six armies of goblins, with a regiment of hobgoblins thrown in.

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