“Come, Caramon! We don’t have time for another one of your Httle conquests!” Raistlin hissed.
He enjoyed watching them both jump, enjoyed seeing the girl flush red with shame, his brother red with embarrassment.
The mage turned around, digging the staff deep into the ground, and walked back to the front of the inn.
“I’ve got to go now,” Caramon said, swallowing his passion.
“Sure,” Maggie whispered, brushing her disheveled hair from her face. “Here. I want you to have this.” She thrust something into the bosom of his shirt. “Just a charm. To remember me and to bring you good luck in your journeying.”
“I’ll never forget you!” Caramon vowed, as he had
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vowed a hundred times before to a hundred women before, each time meaning it with all his heart and soul.
“Oh, get along with you!” said Maggie, giving him a playful shove. Sighing, she sank back against a tree, her eyes half-closed, watching the warrior run after the mage.
The companions started on their way, walking for a time in silence—the mage working off his ire, the warrior letting his twin cool down. Earwig, mercifully, had dashed up ahead “to check things out.”
The road was empty, though there was evidence that a horse had galloped over it not many hours before. Its hooves had dug deep into the damp earth.
Raistlin studied the horse’s hoofprints and wondered what urgency had driven a rider to press his animal so. There could be any number of reasons, but the mage felt suddenly, intuitively, that it had something to do with them. An uneasiness was growing in Raistlin. He had the distinct impression that, instead of walking toward Mereklar, they should be hastening away from it. He came to a stop.
“Caramon. What is that?” Raistlin pointed with the staff toward a spot in the mudddy road.
Caramon came back to look. ‘That track?” The warrior knelt down, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m not sure, Raist,” he said, rising to his feet, his face carefully expressionless. “I’m not a very good tracker. You’d have to get one of those Que-shu barbarians—”
“Caramon, what kind of animal made that track?”
The warrior looked uncomfortable. “Well, if I had to say—”
“You do.”
“I guess … a cat.”
“A cat?” Raistlin’s eyes narrowed.
“A … big . . . cat.” Caramon gulped.
“Thank you, my brother.” Raistlin continued walking.
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Caramon, falling in next to him, sighed in relief that his twin’s ill humor was apparently over. The warrior drew a small ball of cloth out of his pocket. He put it to his nose, sniffing at it and smiled at the sweet, spicy smeH. The ball was decorated with sequins that had been sewn onto it by loving hands. A long yellow ribbon— a hair ribbon— fluttered gaily from the top.
“What’s that?” Raistlin asked coldly.
“A gift. It’s supposed to bring good fortune!” Caramon held it up by the ribbon, spinning it in the morning’s light, watching the sequins reflect a rainbow of fascinating colors.
The mage thrust his hand into his pouch, his fingers touching his own gift of the morning.
“You’re a superstitious fool, brother!” Raistlin said with a sneer.
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city’s white walls glowed eerily in the silver moonlight. The bas-reliefs on the walls— raised patterns of the history of Krynn expanded into huge shapes, actors forever frozen— threw strange, shifting shadows over the surrounding grounds.
Earwig was fascinated. He’d never, in all his travels, seen anything so marvelous. He loved stories, and this was like having every one he’d ever heard come real before his eyes. The kender ran his hands along the walls, walking slowly, gazing in wonder.
‘There’s Huma and the Silver Dragon,” he said, point-
BROtrjens Majerce
ing to the hero and his tragic love, each perfectly inscribed, every line, curve, and angle in exact proportions, “I don’t recognize that one, though. Or that one either. That guy’s a wizard, isn’t he, Raistlin? Like you. Why, he is you! Look, Raistlin, you’re fighting another wizard—a real, real old wizard. And that warrior there looks sort of like you, Caramon. The one in the arena, battling a minotaur. And”—Earwig’s mouth dropped— “I’ll swear that’s Cousin Tas! There! Talking to a five-headed dragon! Look, Raistlin, look!”