Brothers Majere by Weis, Margaret

“My other friend’s name is … Raishlin. He has shkin that shines like gold, and eyes the shape of hourglasses. He sees death,” the kender said solemnly, sticking his nose in his drink. “But, as frightening as that shounds, even more frightening are the spells he casts and powers he can call down to deshtroy an enemy,”

“There used to be a wizard who lived in the hills to the east,” Catherine said, darting a swift glance behind the kender.

“Whatsh his name?”

“Nobody knows, but it’s rumored that his cave is still there. It’s built around a series of stones that look like an animal’s paw.”

The walls were spinning more rapidly, and now the ceiling had joined in, much to Earwig’s fascination. He sat on the stool, watching them revolve around and around and then the stool joined the wild dance, spinning the kender around and around until Earwig suddenly discovered that he was lying on the floor.

A man dressed in black leather armor loomed over him, knelt beside him. Strong hands lifted the kender and flung him over a massive shoulder.

“You won’t hurt him?” Catherine’s voice floated around the kender like a lovely cloud.

“No,” said a harsh voice in reply. “Like our lord told you. The little fellow’s in danger, wearing that necklace

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around in the open. We want to protect him, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”

Earwig, bobbing up and down against the man’s back, started to feel incredibly dizzy. He stared, bleary-eyed, at Catherine, who seemed to be growing smaller and smaller and smaller.

“One Celebration Punch. . . for the . . . road!” cried the kender, and passed out.

“Ack! Ugh!”

“What is it, Caramon?”

“There’s a stream running through here! It’s as cold as ice. You better let me carry you.”

Ratstlin climbed down the stairs and plunged into the water. “Nonsense! Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Caramon peered into the darkness, trying to locate his twin.

“Are you sure. I mean, I know how much you hate getting wet and cold.”

“As I said, I am fine,” the mage snapped irritably. “If the cold bothers you so much, perhaps you would like me to carry you?”

“No, of course not!” Caramon felt foolish.

“Shirak”

The soft white light of the Staff of Magius filled the tunnel. A long, dark, passage extended ahead of them, far beyond the summoned field of magical light. The walls glistened wetly.

“It smells bad,” said Caramon. “But not quite what I expected from a sewer. It smells like . . . iron.” He sounded disbelieving.

“Or blood,” said Raistlin softly.

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“Yeah.”

There was no room to swing a sword. Caramon drew a dagger from its sheath. Its blade gleamed in the light of the staff.

“We must therefore assume that this is not a sewer, but a connection to a waterway,” Raistlin added.

The cat meowed impatiently, and the mage walked forward, moving past his brother. Caramon started to protest—he always took the point when the two walked into danger together. But he remembered, then, that Raistlin carried the light. He kept close behind him.

The cat moved slowly, ensuring that his followers would not become lost in what Caramon soon discovered was a maze of tunnels. The feline didn’t appear to like the water any better than the warrior, for it shook its paw with each step and seemed to grimace at setting a foot back into the stream.

They walked for what seemed like miles, though something in the back of Caramon’s mind insisted that they had not gone any great distance at all.

“What are you saying, Caramon?”

“I said we could use a dwarf now,” the warrior replied. “I wish I could see better! Anything could jump out at us.”

“I don’t sense any threat to ourselves down here. The only feeling I get from this place is that it is old . . . very, very old.”

“Old and forgotten.”

“I agree, my brother. It is most unusual.”

They walked and walked. The chill water seeped through Caramon’s boots. He was shivering and he worried about his twin, knowing that Raistlin’s robes must be soaked through. The warrior knew better, however, than to ask. The cat made a sudden turn, darting down another passage that angled off from the first. The new passage was equally as black as the old. Caramon hesi-

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