Caramon scoffed. “Hey, don’t talk like that, Raist! You said it yourself. Coincidence. We’ll find the cats, and there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for their disappearance. Maybe it’ll be like that story about the guy with the flute who came into a town and played, and all of the rats followed him past the city limits.”
“But you forget the end of the story, my brother. In the end, the piper came back and stole away the children.”
Caramon kept silent. He didn’t think he’d helped matters any.
Looking at the game piece carefully one more time, Raistlin handed it back to the kender. Earwig looked at the piece as carefully as the mage had, but he didn’t find anything of interest. It was just another game piece.
‘Fate moves the free,’ ” Caramon said under his breath, repeating one of his current, favorite proverbs. “What do we do now?”
“It’s time we explored the city of Mereklar.”
“How about seeing this Councillor Shavas? Shouldn’t we go meet her?”
“I think, my brother, that I will let her come to me,” said Raistlin coolly.
“You’re strangers, so you don’t see it like we do.”
“I guess not, ma’am,” Caramon said. “To me, this place looks overrun.”
“No, sir, no. Where once there were thousands, there are now few. Too few,” said the old woman.
“That’s true,” added a man who was seated at another
128
Bnotrjeus Majene
table. “From morning to evening, the cats would roam the streets. White, gray, brown, striped, spotted, mottled. All sorts.”
“Except black,” the old woman interposed. “We never knew why, but there wasn’t a black cat among the lot of ’em.”
”Some think mages came and took the black ones,” said the man, glowering darkly at Raistlin.
Raistlin lifted an eyebrow and glanced at his brother. Caramon, looking uncomfortable, buried his head in a mug of ale. The three companions were wandering through the city, supposedly seeing the sights. But every time they came to any sort of a tavern, Raistlin insisted on going inside. He left most of the conversing to his brother, The handsome, good-natured fighter took to people easily, and they likewise warmed to him.
Caramon wondered, at first, how they were going to pay for what they drank, but all Raistlin had to do was to produce the scrollcase and, at the sight of it, no one ever asked them for money.
Raistlin listened and kept an eye on the kender, watching to note if anyone took an unusual interest in the skull necklace Earwig wore.
“We always left plates of food and small bowls of milk outside our house for the cats to eat and drink,” a middle-aged man told the warrior, “though sometimes we simply left the doors open and waited for the cats to come inside, where they could join us for breakfast.”
“They would always roam about on the street or in the parks, waiting to be petted,” a young barmaid explained, her eyes on Caramon. “No one would dream of harming them. After all, they’ll one day save the world!” The others in the tavern nodded in agreement.
“You haven’t seen a guy around here, playing a flute.
129
DRAQONLANCE PRGluOes
have you?” Caramon began, but his brother gave him such a vicious look that the big warrior lapsed into silence. They stood up to go.
“Damn all wizards to the Abyss,” one of the guests said as the magician left.
“Well, how rude!” exclaimed Earwig.
Caramon turned, fist clenched, but Raistlin put his hand on his brother’s knotted arm.
“Peace, Caramon.”
“How can you just let them say things like that?” the warrior demanded.
“Because I understand them,” said Raistlin in his whispering voice. “These people are in the grip of fear,” he added as they stepped out into the street. “They’ve lived in this city all of their lives, and now the one thing that they hold sacred is disappearing, without reason, without a clue. I’m an easy target because I’m someone to blame.”
He looked down at the street. The white line was there, leading him on. They had not deviated from its path since leaving the inn, although neither Caramon nor Earwig could see it.