Shavas rose gracefully to her feet. Bringing her arms up over her head, she undid the braids coiled around her head, releasing cascading waves of soft, brown hair.
Caramon watched her, his desire a physical pain. ” ‘I long to hear the epiphany of your woman’s crown, and play upon its shining strands,’ ” he whispered.
The councillor bent down, kneeling in front of her guest. Bringing her cheek close to Caramon’s mouth, she nestled near him. “That’s beautiful. Did you make it up?”
“No,” the fighter replied, clasping her in his arms, drawing her down to lie beside him in the cool grass. “It’s something Raist used to say. I think he read it in a book. He’s always . . . reading . . . books.”
Shavas brought her hands up to caress his face, brushing the backs of her long, perfect fingernails against his rough skin.
“Say it to me again, Caramon,” she whispered.
But he knew she didn’t really want to hear the quote.
Which was good, because he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember it.
228
BnotrjeRS Majeue
Raistlin sat on the couch in Shavas’s library, flipping absently through the book Caramon had glanced over two evenings ago. Noting the blank pages, he tossed it aside in contempt.
The councillor had left the door to her estate open, allowing the mage access. Her note did not say when she would return. Raistlin, knowing Caramon’s prowess, decided that the lady probably wouldn’t be back until morning. The mage stifled a small flame of jealous desire that threatened to engulf him in a raging fire.
“The magic,” he said to himself. “Never forget what is important.”
Raistlin rose to his feet, preparing to cast a spell. His chant began as a low murmuring, a song that filled the room with indescribable music. His left hand opened wide, then closed, fingers opening again in patterns of power, drawing strength from Krynn and the unseen planes. He raised the black staff high into the air, arm straight, bringing it slowly back against his robed body, curving it in an arc to his side.
In answer to his command, three books began to glow.
Knowing the spell wouldn’t last long, Raistlin marked in his memory their location and sat back down on the couch. He drew a deep, shivering breath. Staring at his treasure, his body, too, ached with desire.
Gathering and calming his thoughts, he moved slowly to the bookshelf, reached up a trembling hand, and pulled down the first text. It was entitled, Mereklar. Below that was inscribed. The Lord of the Cats.
“What’s this?” Raistlin studied the brown cover, frowning. It appeared that the second half of the title had been added on in haste, as if the binder had been given a last-minute instruction. He placed it on the table near the fire, sitting down in the wooden chair, opening the book
229
DRAQONLANCE PnelUOGS
to the first page. Among the illuminations of red, blue, and gold were scrawling letters, written by an unknown, unnamed scholar of ages past.
The origins of Mereklar are unknown, and will remain unknown until such lime as it needs to be discovered. The purpose of the city is clear and final, and those within know its reasons. The cats must live here, for their purpose will be known when the time is come.
“What nonsense!” the mage snarled. “I expected magical spells, not a tour guide!”
He turned to another page and found a picture of a black-skinned man dressed in black clothes standing in front of a blasted cityscape. Lightning cracked against an orange sky, and three moons formed a Great Eye in the unnatural air. The street looked familiar to Raistlin, but he couldn’t immediately place it. Underneath the painting was the caption: The Lord of Cats in his realm of despair, waiting, stealthy and black, for the gate to open.
“Interesting. Very interesting,” said Raistlin, his anger gone. He began to carefully turn the ancient parchments, one by one, until he reached the end of the book. “This certainly puts matters in a different light than the prophecies would have it.”
The Lord of Cats brings his demons . . . will lead the cats against the world . . . destroys the city that stands before the first gods . , . slays those who bring harm to his dominion . . , agent of evil.