“I kind of like this necklace,” the kender added, looking at it proudly. “I meet lots of entertaining people because of it. Another man at a tavern here in town tried to kill me to get it.”
“I may kill you!” gasped Raistlin when he could breathe again.
“When did this happen?” Caramon asked.
“Let’s see. It was the night before the morning that I got in trouble with the woman in the inn. I was walking around the town when I heard men laughing. I looked into a window to see what was so funny, and 1 saw this man hit one of the barmaids. They threw him out, and he stood in the doorway and saw my necklace and said it was his, and he came at me with a knife. So I popped him with my hoopak, and the barmaid kissed me.”
“Was it the same man who wanted your necklace the first time?”
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“Of course not! That man was nice. This man wasn’t.”
“A name?” Raistlin mouthed. “Did you hear a name?”
“No.” The kender frowned, looking back in time. “But I think the girl called him ‘my lord.’ ”
Raistlin drew a deep breath. Caramon started to go fetch hot water, but the mage shook his head. The spasm was over. Deep in thought, he stared at his gold-skinned hands. Caramon turned his head to see if they were still under observation.
“He’s gone,” Raistlin said.
Caramon shivered. “It was like he could see right through me. Maybe he’s a mage?”
“I don’t think so.” Raistlin shook his head. “There are certain . . . feelings . . . shared among wizards. It’s a feeling of”— he searched for a word— “power. Our watcher did not give me that feeling.”
“But he did give you some sort of feeling,” Caramon said, hearing doubt in his brother’s voice.
“Yes, that’s true. But whatever it was, I don’t think it was the feeling I would get if I met another wizard.”
Caramon would have liked to ask why Raistlin emphasized ‘think,’ but the mage’s cold expression cut off further conversation. The warrior was about to suggest that they get a full meal they all could enjoy.
“It is time to go back to Southgate Street.” Raistlin forestalled him. “I want to meet again with Councillor Shavas.”
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“We Have oec;0eo fo take We assiGNMCNt,” Raist-lin said.
The councillor looked at each of the companions with an expression of extreme pleasure. “Thank you,” she said. “Somehow, 1 knew you would.”
With a graceful movement, she seated herself in a chair in front of a suit of armor; one of its gauntleted hands held a flamberge that was taller than the kender. Gesturing, Shavas invited the others to join her. It seemed to Caramon that the woman gazed at him with a knowing expression.
She knows that I was in her room, he said to himself,
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flushing in embarrassment. She knows I … handled her shawl. To conceal his confusion, he turned to the bookshelves and grabbed up the first volume he found.
Raistlin was talking with the councillor, discussing the terms of their arrangement, asking questions about the carvings on the walls. Caramon didn’t pay any attention. He was thinking about the beautiful woman. Rich, educated, well-born — she was far above him, out of his reach, like the moon and the stars.
I’m making a fool of myself, Caramon thought. A woman like that could never love me. I’ll stick to women like Maggie . . . But he couldn’t keep his hungry gaze from her face.
“When the city was found,” Shavas was saying, “most of the walls were blank. We believe that the stone was sent by the first gods to the architects who built the city. It is unbreakable, though many tried. Some people noticed, however, that as time went on, carvings began to appear, as if somebody were engraving them into the stone by magic.” She glanced at the still form of the mage. “The engravings were of stories of some of the greatest events on Krynn, such as the fall of the King-priest of Istar; the Legend of Huma; the story of Lord Soth, Knight of the Black Rose. Apparently, some unknown force carves the tales of the world into the walls.”