“I went to get wood,” mumbled Caramon, shamefacedly. “I honestly didn’t think there was any danger. I haven’t heard word of thieves around these parts. And the fire was out and I knew you’d be chilled to the bone, and then there’s that stuff you drink—”
“Never mind!” Raistlin impatiently cut short his brother’s explanations. “No harm was done. You know what a light sleeper I am. I heard them coming from some distance away.” The mage paused, carefully scrutinizing their prisoner. “A bit unusual for professional thieves, don’t you think, Caramon?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact,” said the warrior, scratching his head. “They did seem sort of clumsy.”
“A pity the leader escaped.”
“Did he?” Caramon growled and glanced around.
“The man with the black hood. He ran off the moment you burst into the grove. I think a conversation with him might have been quite interesting. Did you hear his words before he struck what he thought was my limp and unresisting form?”
Caramon thought back, past blood and fear and grief, and heard in his memory, “These fools will never reach Mereklar!”
“I’ll be damned,” said the big warrior, stunned, the implication dawning on him.
“Yes, my brother. Not thieves, but hired killers.”
“I could go after him.”
“You would never find him. He is on home ground, and we are not. Let’s have a look at what we’ve captured. Shirakl”
The magical light of the staff gleamed. Raistlin held it close to the assassin while his brother grasped the greasy,
Bnotrjens Majene
leather helmet the man wore and yanked it off him. The face that stared back at them had been frozen by Rais-tlin’s spell just at the time he was prepared to strike down Caramon. The killer’s mouth was twisted in a grin of bloodlust. He had obviously been enjoying the idea of knifing a man in the back.
“I’m going to lift the spell. Hold onto him,” Raistlin instructed.
Caramon grabbed the man, encircling the scrawny neck with his huge arm, a dagger held to the assassin’s throat.
At a movement of Raistlin’s gold-skinned hand, the man’s body jerked. Finding himself free of the enchantment, the attacker attempted briefly to get away. Caramon tightened his grip slightly, the dagger pricking the killer’s skin.
“I won’t run!” the man whined, going limp. “Just don’t let him do no more of that magic on me!”
“1 won’t … if you answer a few questions,” said Raistlin in his soft, whispering voice.
“Sure, I’ll telf you anything! Just don’t do that magic stuff again!”
“Who hired you to kill us?”
“I dunno. A fella in a black hood. 1 never saw his face.”
“His name?”
“I dunno. He didn’t tell us.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“In an inn near Mereklar. The Black Cat. Last night. He said he had a job for us. He said we was just goin’ to rob you! He didn’t say nothing about killin’!”
“You’re lying,” said Raistlin coolly. “You were hired to murder us in our sleep.”
“No! I swear! I was—”
“I’m tired of listening to his babbling. Shut him up, Caramon.”
29
DRAQONLANCE Pneluoes
“Permanently?” suggested Caramon, his hand engulfing the assassin’s throat.
Raistlin appeared to consider the matter. The thief kept silent, his face now twisted into an expression of terror.
“No, I have another use for him. Hold him tight.”
Raistlin pulled the hood back from over his head. The twin moons’ shimmering light reflected into his eyes — the eyes with the pupils of hourglasses, the eyes that saw everything decay, wither, and die. It glistened off the golden skin and the prematurely white hair that looked ghastly on a young man of twenty-one. Slowly, Raistlin approached the thief.
The man screamed and struggled desperately in Cara-mon’s tight grip.
Reaching out one gold-skinned hand, Raistlin placed five fingers on the thief’s forehead. The man writhed beneath the mage’s touch and began to howl.
“Shut up,” Caramon grunted, “and listen to my brother!”
“When you see the man in the black hood, you will tell him that my brother and I are coming to Mereklar and that we will not rest until we have found him. Do you understand that?”