“Hey, Caramon. Can I help you?”
“Earwig!” the warrior exclaimed, whirling around. “Where have you been? We’ve looked all over! Are you sick or something?”
The kender seemed unusually pale, his face drawn and pinched. He stood with a slight stoop, leaning as heavily on his hoopak as Raistlin did on the Staff of Magius.
“I haven’t eaten in a few days, I think,” he said vaguely. “I was captured by … by that man.”
“Yeah, we went looking for you. In the cave . . . the cave of the dead wizard?”
Earwig appeared thoughtful, then shrugged. “I don’t remember. I’ve been through quite a lot recently, you know.”
“Where have you been? How did you escape? Wait till I bust this door down, and we’ll have a bite to eat and then talk.”
“No!” cried Earwig, clinging to Caramon. “There’s something I need to show you. We have to go now.”
“But what about you? You don’t look like you’re in any condition to—”
“Do not worry about me, Caramon. We have more pressing matters to attend to!”
The warrior’s eyes opened in surprise. “You’re sure talking funny. You sound kind of like Raist.”
“Don’t be a fool, Caramon!” the kender said sharply. “Come on!”
Caramon didn’t like this, and he wished his brother were around to advise him. Thinking of Raistlin made him recall the mage’s warning. Caramon looked at the
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kender’s ring finger. The flesh around the ring was swollen and fiery red. Blood trickled from beneath it.
Seeing the warrior’s stare, Earwig shoved his hand into his pocket. “Are you coming? Or do I have to go by myself?”
“All right, Earwig,” said Caramon, not wanting the kender to run around loose. “Lead the way.”
The kender headed at a run back toward the center of the city. Caramon had to work to catch up with him.
“Where are we going?” the warrior asked, searching the streets for signs of the mob.
“Uh, back to where I was, when I was captured, that is,” Earwig replied, apparently distracted by having to walk and think at the same time. “I mean, to the tunnels underneath the city.”
‘Tunnels? What tunnels?”
“The tunnels where my jail cell was, dolt!” Earwig muttered beneath his breath. •
“Did the tunnels have paintings all over them, like somebody was trying to tell a story or something?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so. It’s kind of hard to remember. I have this terrible headache,” the kender mumbled, rubbing his head with his right hand.
“Here, stop. Wait a minute. Let me see. Maybe you were—” The warrior reached out.
“Hey! What are you doing?!” the kender yelled. Spinning around, he clobbered the fighter on the hand with his hoopak.
“Ouch! Hey, yourself!” Caramon said in dismay, clutching his hand, staring at his friend. “I was only trying to help.”
Earwig glared at him, then a look of confusion crossed his face. “I—I’m sorry. I’m . . . nervous, that’s all.” The kender turned, moving back up the street.
“A nervous kender!” Caramon marveled. “Maybe I should have him stuffed for posterity.” Shrugging, mas-
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saging his bruise, the fighter followed.
After a few blocks, the street began to curve inward toward the center of the city, running parallel to several other boulevards going in the same direction. At the corner of a small park, empty of all life except for the grass and brush. Earwig went to the left, cutting across an open market till he reached a mansion, belonging to one of Mereklar’s ten councillors.
“Whose house is this?” Caramon asked, peering up to the second floor, then back down at the grounds.
“Lord Manion’s. But he’s dead now,” Earwig said sullenly. “Come on, will you! Don’t worry. Nobody’s home.”
“How do you know that?”
“Simple. Nobody lived in the house except for the lord, and he’s dead.” Earwig disappeared, starting to whistle in a weird, unnatural tone.
The warrior brought his parrying dagger up to his face, tapping himself lightly in the forehead with the pommel. “I can’t believe I’m actually listening to a kender,” he muttered. “Much less following one.”
A large pond surrounded by short hedgerows and dotted with flowerbeds reflected the light of the two visible moons, just beginning to rise.