“Stop,” Raistlin commanded the driver.
The carriage rolled to a halt. The mage jumped out and began walking at a rapid pace down Westgate Street. Caramon followed his brother’s quick footsteps as best he could.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To get a cup of hyava,” Raistlin replied, without turning.
Caramon stared at him in amazement. He was about to risk drawing down his brother’s wrath by asking another stupid question when he saw a sight that stole the words from his mouth. The street was suddenly infested with a huge wave of cats and in the middle of the tide, in front of a tavern, sat a single figure—a black-skinned man, dressed in black.
“Raist! That’s the man who—”
“Caramon, shut up,” said his twin.
At the brothers’ approach, the cats scattered, running up and over walls and down the street. Raistlin came to stand in front of the man. Caramon joined his brother, the warrior’s hand on the hilt of his sword.
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“Please, join me,” the man in black said. His voice had a faint hissing quality to it that made Caramon shiver. He glanced at Raistlin, who nodded. The fighter pulled a chair out and sat. The mage did likewise.
Caramon stared at the man. He was incredibly handsome, with dark black hair that curled down the back of his neck. His eyes were blue, a startling contrast to his shining black skin, and they were slightly slanted. He stared at them intently, without blinking.
“My name is Bast,” he said suddenly. Jewels sewn onto his black clothing in a band around his neck glowed softly in the sunlight. “May I offer you a drink?”
Without waiting for a reply, Bast lifted his hand, motioning for a barmaid. “Please, Catherine. Two cups of hyava for my guests.” Catherine stared a moment, then spun on her heel and ran back into the restaurant. She came back almost immediately with two small cups.
“Thank you,” Caramon said. The girl mumbled something and backed away, but lingered near, watching.
Raistlin sat as still and motionless as the city, his mouth set in grim, dark lines.
“Yes. Questions,” the man in black said, staring at the mage with intense blue eyes.
“Who are you?” Raistlin asked.
“You know who I am.”
“Why have you been following us?”
“You know why.”
Raistlin flushed, growing angered. The man in black appeared amused. Caramon took a large gulp of his drink and burned the roof of his mouth. Apparently, his brother had finally met his match.
‘Then what is your part in all this?” Raistlin demanded. “Why are you here?”
“You know why,” answered Bast, sharp white teeth
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flashing in a slow smile.
Caramon cringed, waiting for the outburst. His brother seemed to literally swell with suppressed rage and frustration. The man in black watched him calmly, and the anger seeped from Raistlin like blood from a wound.
“Do I? How do I know what to believe?”
“Believe what you want. It makes little difference to me.”
“No, I don’t believe that!” Raistlin said softly. “If so, why are you here, meeting with me?”
“I came here not to prove myself to you, but to prove you to myself.”
The man in black, who called himself Bast, rose slowly and lazily to his feet. Stretching luxuriously, muscles rippling in his slender arms, he gave them a graceful nod of his head and moved off down the street.
“Do you want me to stop him?” Caramon half rose.
“No!” said his brother sharply, gripping the warrior’s wrist. “He’s a foe beyond your strength, beyond your comprehension. You would be dead within moments.”
Caramon sat back down, somewhat relieved. He felt the truth of his brother’s statement, though he couldn’t quite say why. The big warrior only knew that, for one of the few times in his life, he’d actually been afraid.
Raistlin was regarding his brother coldly, his eyes narrowing to thin lines. “One night with a woman makes you very bold this morning, brother. She must have been something . . . special.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Caramon quietly.
“Why not? You’ve never minded flaunting your conquests before!”