Shavas tossed the book to the floor. Leaning back among the pillows, she began to laugh.
That same morning, Lord Brunswick sat in his favorite chair in his estate’s main living room, a spacious area covered with dark wood and filled with the accoutrements of wealth and power. The minister watched his children play with cold eyes, running his fingers along the length and width of a leather bag, shaped like an oddly formed triangle.
His youngest daughter ran over to him and grabbed the pouch. “What’s that. Daddy?”
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DRACJONLANCE Pneiuoes
The lord slapped her across the face, pulling the bag away. “Don’t touch that, brat!”
The girl wailed and ran to her mother. The lord’s wife, comforting the child, stared at her husband, aghast. “Alfred! What’s come over you?”
The minister refused to answer, but stalked out of the room, slamming the double-doors behind him. He heard the muffled voice of the woman consoling the child. “There, there. Tonight’s the Festival of the Eye. Think of the fun you’ll have!”
The lord grinned. Yes, tonight the fun would begin.
The large house was dark. None of the rooms were occupied, the servants gone for the holiday. Brunswick walked through it hurriedly and into the grassy yard, clutching the bag to his chest.
Tucking the pouch away under his belt, the lord strode through the field surrounding his home, coming upon one of the many streams that ran out the city. He followed the tributary against the flow, walking steadily, with purpose, into Mereklar.
Lord Brunswick came to a park with a small grove of trees standing in the middle—a monument to his family. He stood, staring at it, then laughed in derision.
A small mew answered his laugh. At the foot of the tree was a kitten, lost, looking, perhaps, for a mother who would never return. The lord reached down and grabbed the kitten by the neck. Frantic with fright, the kitten clawed and scratched and sank its sharp milk teeth into the lord’s thumb.
Swearing, the minister hurled the kitten from him. Brunswick concentrated on the pain; the blood dried, and the wound closed and healed.
Lord Brunswick’s face darkened. He took the pouch from under his belt, tore open the flap, and pulled out a short wand, bent to an odd angle at one end. He pointed the wand at the kitten.
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An enraged snarl, sounding from above his head, caused the lord to glance upward in fear. Too late. A huge black cat dropped from the tree, its weight driving the man to the ground. The wand flew from Brunswick’s hand. The animal bared its long fangs, preparing to tear out the man’s throat.
The minister, with superhuman strength, threw the animal off his chest. Leaping to his feet, he crouched in a fighting stance.
The huge feline slowly circled to the left, the lord sidestepping in turn. Man and beast eyed each other warily, their bright, reflecting eyes shining. In a single motion, the minister shot forward, attempting to grab the cat by the neck, but the animal was too quick. It leaped aside and jumped on the man’s back.
The minister fought desperately, attempting to dislodge the panther by reaching up from behind. The cat worried the lord in the back of the neck, using its hind claws to flay his flesh, tearing bleeding rents that should have killed the man in an instant.
The minister fell heavily, his hand lighting on an object on the ground. There was a blazing flash of red light. The panther, stunned, toppled off the man. Lord Brunswick, reddish liquid pouring from his wounds, rose up and narrowed his eyes, concentrating his vision on the enemy before him. Another flash of red seared the skin from the panther’s back. The cat made no sound; the pain shook it back to consciousness. It leaped again, straight at its enemy, but the minister had suddenly disappeared.
The panther began to stalk the grove, casting its gaze about. It walked slowly, head sunk beneath its shoulders in fury. It made no sound until it whipped around, sinking its foreclaws into the arm of the minister as he