“See this?” the kender said, pulling out a crystal quill shot through with veins of gold. “I found it lying in the street. I figured, ‘If it’s in the street, nobody wants it.’ And I found this.” Earwig held up a sequined ball with a piece of yellow ribbon sewn on it.
“Give that back!” Caramon yelled, leaning across the table, his fingers groping for the kender.
“It’s mine! I found it!”
“It was mine first! That girl at the inn gave it to me, and it means a lot.”
“Then you shouldn’t have dropped it,” the kender
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scolded, handing the ball back to its rightful owner. It spun around, catching the sunlight, reflecting a myriad colors. “I swear, Caramon! You are so careless. Besides, it’s a really good cat toy. They love it! See, look at that black cat watching it.”
Raistlin bent forward in his chair. “What black cat?”
“That black cat,” Earwig replied, pointing behind the mage.
Raistlin turned around to face the animal. The cat, not particularly large and very, very black, sat calmly, regarding the mage with wide, staring blue eyes.
“Here, puss, puss, puss.” Caramon bobbed the toy on its string.
The cat stood a moment longer, staring at the mage in a contest of wills—azure orbs against black hourglasses. Then the feline rose up from its place on the white stone street and calmly walked past Raistlin. The animal batted the ball three times and sat down again, watching Caramon as it had watched his brother.
Earwig, unwilling to be left out of the cat’s attentions, reached down and petted its black fur. The cat showed no sign of pleasure or annoyance. It glanced at the ken-der briefly before resuming its observation of the fighter.
Caramon coaxed it to play with the ball. Raistlin, watching, rubbed his fingers against the staff’s wood. This was the first black cat he had seen in the entire city of Mereklar, and he was about to cast a spell that would tell him if the animal was possessed by a spirit—making it a magician’s familiar—when an open carriage, drawn by two white horses, turned a corner and rumbled up the street. The coat of arms on the carriage door was the same as that on the scrollcase.
“The councillor,” said Raistlin, nudging his brother.
Caramon glanced around. Earwig leaped to his feet in excitement. The black cat crouched behind the kender’s legs, hidden from view.
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“Stop here,” came a cleftr voice. The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the hyava shop. A woman stood from her seat. She was dressed in rippling white silk, her skin nearly as pale as the cloth she wore. Dark brown hair was bound tightly around her head in a thick braid. Around her neck, suspended by a golden chain, hung a red fire opal.
The woman gazed at the three imperiously. “I am Councillor Shavas. Please join me for dinner.” Then she was gone, her horses bearing the carriage forward to the estate on the hill, her deep, sensual voice echoing in the companions’ thoughts.
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“My faMily ijas //vel> /N Menekian fon of years,” Councillor Shavas said, sitting in front of the fire in the main library of her estate after a sumptuous dinner, a large, untouched glass of brandy in her fine hands.
The flames played behind her, casting flickering lights and shadows, framing her poised, fluid form. She talked comfortably with the brothers, as if she had known them all their lives. Her beauty was matchless. Her voice was like sweet flowing amber.
Small wonder, then, that neither Caramon nor Raist-lin noticed the absence of the kender.
BnotheRS Majene
“And you say your ancestors lived in the surrounding countryside?” Raistlin huddled near the fire. He held a glass of brandy in his golden hand, and it also remained untouched, the mage unwilling to sacrifice his self-control for physical pleasures. His hood was cast back, and the fire flared in his eyes, filling their darkness with flame.
“Yes, that is correct. 1 am, however, unsure of the exact location,” the councillor replied,
Raistlin saw that although the woman spoke to both him and his brother, she kept her gaze fixed on him. And he did not see in her eyes the loathing or fear he was accustomed to seeing in the eyes of women. In the eyes of this woman he saw fascination, admiration. It made his blood tingle.