Brothers Majere by Weis, Margaret

The companions walked inside the open gate. Caramon gazed at the city’s defenses with a soldier’s eye. Earwig stared with wonder at the incredible size of the gate and wall. Raistlin saw only the line of power, shimmer-

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ing at his feet, extending into the city.

“Halt!” cried a voice. A soldier stepped out of a guardhouse, gesturing for five of his men to follow. They had been sitting out of sight, comfortably reclining in chairs in the cool evening air. Now they ran up to the party, holding their glaives in both hands, their bodies moving with exaggerated swings to the left and right, balancing with the weight of their heavy weapons.

The twins and the kender came to a standstill. Cara-mon stood with his arms folded across his chest, the hilt of his sword jutting up over his back, the main-gauche sitting at his hip. Raistlin leaned heavily on the staff, his back bent with fatigue. Earwig stepped forward, politely extending his small hand.

“Hi! I really love your walls!”

Caramon caught hold of him and pulled him back. “I’ll do the talking!”

The soldier who called for them to halt was a tall, thin man with large hands. Insignia on his simple blue uniform indicated that he was a sergeant.

“By law, we must question all strangers wanting to enter the city.”

“Certainly, we understand, Sarge,” Caramon said, smiling in a friendly manner.

“Your names?”

“Caramon Majere. Raistlin Majere,” Caramon said, gesturing to his twin with a hand. “And this” — patting the kender on the shoulder — “is Earwig.”

“Earwig. Surname?”

“Uh, just Earwig.”

“No, it’s not ‘just Earwig’!” said the kender indignantly, ignoring the warrior’s attempts to hush him. “My name is Earwig Lockpicker.”

Caramon groaned softly.

“Lockpicker?” The sergeant glowered. “And just what might that name mean, I wonder?”

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“Well, if you’re interested, I’ll tell you,” offered Earwig brightly. “You see, when the kender first lived in Kender-more, my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather … I think. I mean, I know it was my grandfather, but I’m not sure if I put enough ‘greats’ in there. Maybe it was my great-great-great-great-great-gre«f-grandfather who — ”

“It is simply a name, officer, and has no meaning outside of tribal identification,” Raistlin said, smoothly breaking into Earwig’s recitation of his family tree. “It’s quite common among kender.”

“Common? It’s not common — ” cried Earwig, but Caramon managed to muffle the kender with a large hand over his mouth.

“You seem to know a lot about them, sir. Do you have many kender friends?” The sergeant turned suspicious eyes on the mage, who stood perfectly motionless behind his brother.

“Exactly two more than I’d like,” answered Raistlin dryly. He suddenly began to cough and nearly fell.

Caramon sprang forward to assist him. “Look,” said the big man angrily, “we’ve answered your questions, Sergeant. Now let us pass. Can’t you see that my brother’s ill?”

“I can see it. And I don’t like it. We hear that there’s plague beyond our walls,” said the sergeant, his frown deepening. “I think you three had better just go back to wherever it is you came from.”

“I do not have the plague.” Raistlin was breathing easier. He stood up straight. “And we are going into the city.” The mage slid his left hand into voluminous robes, gliding between the simple hooks that held it closed in the front.

“Even if we have to go through you,” added Caramon grimly, standing to one side of his brother and drawing

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his sword.

“Stop them!” yelled the sergeant.

The soldiers halfheartedly lowered their weapons, threatening the companions with the broad blades of their glaives. None actually moved to stop the mage. None wanted to get that close.

“Come on!” cried Earwig, swinging his hoopak in the air until it whistled. “We’ll take you all on!”

“Wait, Sergeant!” called a voice.

A man motioned from the shadows where he must have been standing the entire time. The sergeant, glancing at the companions balefully, walked over. The two conversed briefly, then the sergeant nodded. He returned, looking relieved, and the man melted back into the shadows.

“Please excuse my suspicion, gentlemen,” said the sergeant, bowing. “These are troubled times. You are welcome in our city.”

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