Brothers Majere by Weis, Margaret

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“No, they may yet be of some use. We can always destroy them later. The kender?”

“We lost him, my lord.”

“I told you to guard him carefully!”

“He appeared harmless. . . .”

“He is. The ring is not.”

“Your orders, my lord?”

“Let these two go. I have business elsewhere. Time runs short, and there are still seven left. Keep your eyes on these two.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Caramon shook his head to clear it. Putting a hand up, he tried to rub away the pain. “Raist?” he called, sitting.

His brother lay unconscious on the ground. Near him, curled up by his side, purring loudly, was a large tabby cat.

CHAPrER 20

“Raist!” CanaMON, qlaNCiNQ askaNce at tfje tabby

cat, bent over his brother. “Raist, are you all right?” he asked helplessly. If his twin was suffering from some sort of magical affliction, Caramon had no idea what he would do.

Raistlin’s eyelids fluttered. He opened them and gazed around as if trying to recall where he was. Suddenly remembering, he sat bolt upright.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long. Only a few moments.”

The mage looked sharply around. “Where’s Bast?”

“Gone, I guess,” said Caramon uneasily, remembering the

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dimly heard conversation, wondering if he’d dreamed it. Raistlin gripped his brother’s arm. “Help me up.” “Should you? What happened? That wizard—” “No time for questions! Help me up! We must return to

the city!”

‘The city? How? They won’t let us in the gate!”

“It may be easier than you suppose, my brother,” said

Raistlin grimly. “It may be far too easy.”

Raistlin was right. The gate was deserted. The guards had fled their posts.

“Listen, do you hear it?” Raistlin asked, tilting his head.

Caramon shook his head. “No, I don’t hear a thing.”

“Exactly. There is no sound in the city.”

Caramon drew the bastard sword from his back with a single motion, feeling ‘warrior’s fear’ creep into his limbs. He listened more closely now, and did hear something, something that was moving closer to their present location with great speed.

“Raist, come on!” he yelled, grabbing his brother and pulling him through the gate, into an alley, ducking behind old barrels and boxes. He recognized the sound now, the sound of terror and hatred, the need to destroy the misunderstood.

“We’ll find ’em! First Lord Manion. Now Lord Brunswick!”

“The wizard wears long red robes!”

“The big one’s got more muscles than a horse!”

The mob surged past them. Raistlin frowned in irritation. “I don’t have time for this. I must see Councillor Shavas.”

Caramon stared at him. “But— You think she tried to kill you!”

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“No, my brother. Not kill me. You see, Caramon,” Raistlin said, with a soft sigh, “I think that I am at last beginning to understand.”

“I’m glad you are. I don’t understand a damn thing! Well, we better get started, before they come back.”

“No, my brother. Not we. I must go alone.”

“But—”

“Return to Barnstoke Hall. There may be news of the kender. If what you say you overheard is true, he has probably escaped. Caramon”—Raistlin looked at him intently—”beware the ring he wears!”

And then, before Caramon could say a word, the mage was gone, slipping into the shadows of late afternoon, gliding down the street like a wraith.

Lady Masak closed the record book, shuddering slightly at what she’d read. With an unsteady hand, she placed the text back on the shelf among the others of its kind, the rows and rows of gold-inlaid dates shining brightly in the afternoon sunlight. She sat down in her white chair, sipping at a cup of steaming tea.

The room was very long, colored gray by stains and paints, and dominated by a single table that stretched its expanse. The only chair was the one the Director of Records occupied. Over a thousand books filled the hail-the legacy of the citizens and council members of Mereklar since the city was discovered.

The woman cocked her head suddenly and turned her gaze out the window to the city below. She’d heard something, or thought she had. It sounded like a scream.

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