“Wha — Why do you want to know?”
“One of the trees near the body of the murdered man had its bark shattered, as if someone had struck it.”
Caramon thought. “I suppose I could, if I were wearing a gauntlet to protect my fist.” He shuddered as the full implications occurred to the warrior. “Whoever did that terrible thing must be strong! Do you … do you think it was a … a big cat? There were all those claw marks — ”
“It was either a cat, or we are meant to think it was a cat,” said Raistlin absently, preoccupied with other thoughts. He dragged a chair over to sit directly across from Caramon. “What do you think of Lady Shavas?”
The question took Caramon by surprise.
“I think she’s . . . attractive.”
“You find her irresistible!”
“What do you mean?” the fighter asked defensively.
“I mean you have feelings for her.”
“How would you know what my feelings are?” Caramon demanded, rising to his feet and pacing about the room.
He and his twin had never before discussed women. It had always been one part of Caramon’s life in which Raistlin had taken no interest. But then, never before had any woman been attracted to the thin and sickly young
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man. Recalling this, Caramon began to feel a certain amount of remorse. He could have any woman he wanted. It might be good for Raistlin to . . .well. . .get to know the lady better. Perhaps that’s what was working this miraculous cure. Love had been known to perform miracles.
“Look, Raist,” said Caramon, sitting down again. “If you want her, I’ll back off—”
“Want her!” Raistlin’s golden eyes flared. He glared at his brother with such contempt that Caramon shrank away from him. “I don’t ‘want’ her, not in the vulgar sense you mean.”
Yet the mage lingered over the word. His fingers stroked the wood of the table, as if caressing smooth skin.
“Why did you bring her up, then?”
“I have been observing you. Ever since the first night we met her, you’ve been acting like a love-struck boy, staring at her with that stupid grin.”
‘The lady seems to like it,” retorted Caramon.
“Yes, she does.” Raistlin’s voice dropped.
Caramon cast him an uneasy glance. “What do you mean?”
“Her house contains very ancient, very powerful tomes of magic. I must look at them . . . alone.”
“I don’t like this, Raist.”
“Oh, but you will, my brother. I’m certain that you will.”
“What if she won’t go out with me?”
“I’ve seen her looking at you,” said Raistlin.
Caramon heard the bitterness in his brother’s voice. “I’ve seen her looking at you, too, Raist,” he said softly.
“Yes, well . . .” Raistlin let the comment pass.
Caramon could have sworn he saw a faint flush of blood beneath the golden skin. To his surprise, his twin suddenly clenched both fists, the golden eyes glinted.
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‘The books! The magic! That’s what’s important. All else is fleeting. All else is of the flesh!” A drop of sweat trickled down the mage’s brow. “You will do it?” he demanded hoarsely, not looking at his brother.
“Sure, Raist,” said Caramon. It was what he answered to every request his twin made of him.
“Thank you, my brother.” Raistlin’s tone was cold. “You must be tired. I suggest you go to bed.”
Caramon shrugged. “What about you?”
“I have work to do.”
Raistlin pulled the sextant out from under his robes, along with the datebook to which he had referred earlier. Opening the text, he laid it on the table next to a quill and inkwell. The mage walked to the window and gazed at the heavens through the brass navigation tool. He began to take notes, drawing odd lines and strange curves, parallels of ink and words on parchment.
Caramon, after watching a moment, went to bed.
The mage was working so intently that he didn’t hear the door open.
“Gosh, Raistlin, you’re up late. Feeling better?”
The kender’s voice startled the mage. He glanced up, irritated by the disturbance.
“That was quick,” he muttered, returning to his drawing.