“Yeah. It’s all hot and steamy in there, too.”
“Uh-huh. Next you’ll tell me there’s a secret chamber somewhere.”
“Wow! How did you kn-”
“Name of the Abyss, Earwig! Quit making up these wild tales of yours!” Caramon stalked off down the hall. “Come on. I think we should be getting back to Raist.”
“Sure, Caramon,” Earwig said cheerfully. He slipped the ring onto his finger.
“You and Caramon are twins?” Shavas asked from across the small table.
Raistlin glanced up from the game board before him, startled by the observation. He had made no mention of it before. “I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he said dryly.
“Granted, you don’t resemble each other, but you and your brother are more alike than perhaps either of you realize.”
“I doubt that, Lady Shavas. The same informant who told you of our plans to come to Mereklar must have given you this information, as well.”
“Don’t be angry, Raistlin,” the lady said, looking at him with her splendid eyes, the eyes that did not age. “With such terrible trouble coming to our city, it is my duty as councillor to divine the intent and motives of all who visit Mereklar.”
She was right, of course. Raistlin grudgingly admitted and sneered at himself. This cursed nature of his that must gain dominion of everything, everyone … despite the fact that he could still taste the sweetness of her lips on his.
The game board was a block of unidentifiable grayish metal the length of a forearm and many inches thick, checkered on top with alternating squares of silver and ebony. The mage reached over and moved the carved figure of a man on a horse two spaces left and one forward.
“An excellent move, but one with which I am familiar.” The councillor smiled.
Taking a piece of gold-a small rectangle with a raised square at one end-from a scale set to the side of the players, she placed it among a small pile she was accumulating. The scales tipped toward the mage. Shavas moved one of her own pieces-a man with a large shield and spear-from in front of Raistlin’s knight, next to two other knights on the same row. She placed a thick metal bar under her men, creating a barrier Raistlin’s horseman could not cross.
The mage deployed one of his own pieces-a tower-behind his cavalrymen and took a larger bar from his own side of the scales, causing them to tilt slightly, though still in his favor. He removed the barrier and the three men from the board, pushing his knight forward one square.
“I am familiar with that move as well,” Raistlin said, leaning back in his chair, regarding the board with calculating eyes.
His tactic had forced Shavas to expend important magic-represented by the ingots-and move a piece from the side of the board where the mage’s real concentration of forces was waiting. He had caused her to sacrifice three yeomen, a fortification, and position in the game through his diversion.
Shavas also leaned back in her chair, measuring the amount of magic she had available, reading the gauge at the top of the scales, a pointer leaning to her opponent’s advantage.
“You play an excellent game, Master Mage.”
“Thank you. I have been playing a long time.”
The door opened with a bang, slamming back against the wall. Caramon and Earwig clomped into the room.
“I found him,” said Caramon.
“Found who? Me? I wasn’t lost, was I? Was I lost, Raistlin?” asked Earwig.
The mage, watching Shavas, saw the woman’s gaze fasten on Earwig. Her eyes glinted, the lids narrowed. Raistlin glanced swiftly at Earwig and saw that the kender’s collar was askew, the cat’s skull necklace shone brightly in the firelight. He looked swiftly back to the councillor, but her face was expressionless.
Surely I was mistaken, he thought, a cold chill convulsing him. “It took you long enough. What have you been doing?” he demanded, speaking tersely to cover his emotion.
“Just … walking around,” Caramon mumbled. He looked down at the game they were playing. “Wizards and Warriors. Never could get the hang of that.”
“Many people have difficulty mastering it, Caramon,” the woman said soothingly.
“I guess I just don’t have a head for long-term strategies,” the fighter confessed.
The councillor’s eyes met his. She seemed to say that she admired men who were above playing silly games. The warrior felt the blood rush to his face.
“Hey!” Earwig cried excitedly. “Those pieces are just like the pieces in my pouch. Do you want to see?”
The kender, plopping himself down on a couch, bumped into Caramon, causing the big man to lose his balance and jostle the game board. Pieces rolled everywhere.
“You clumsy oaf! We’ve been playing this game for hours!” Raistlin snarled in anger.
“I … I’m sorry, Raist,” the warrior said in confusion. He started to add something, but a look from the councillor made him forget what it was.
“No harm done,” Shavas said, smiling up into Caramon’s eyes. “We should return to discussing business anyway. Your brother and I were only passing the time until you came back.”
Her look told Caramon that she’d been counting the moments. The warrior had never met a woman so fascinating, so alluring. He couldn’t understand how he’d stayed away from her for so long. It was the house … this strange house.
“What kept you anyway?” Raistlin asked. “Surely it didn’t take that long to find the kender!”
“I wasn’t lost,” said Earwig sternly. “I knew where I was the whole time. If anyone was lost, it was Caramon. I found him in-ouch! Hey!”
“What? Oh, sorry, Earwig. I didn’t mean to sit on you.” Extricating the kender from beneath him, Caramon moved to the other side of the couch, near his brother.
“As you already know,” the councillor began, waiting for all her guests to settle themselves, “Mereklar’s welfare depends on the cats that live here. They protect us from evil in the world. The prophecy-”
“We’ve read the prophecies,” interrupted Raistlin shortly. “But perhaps you can tell us who gave them?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. May I continue? Recently, the cats have started to disappear. Nobody knows why. Nobody knows where they have gone. The citizens are beginning to fear for their lives. They believe the prophecies, you see. They fear the end of the world is coming.
“Do you know the origins of the city?” she asked of all three companions.
“We have heard some things about Mereklar,” the mage replied, “but perhaps you could fill in the missing details?”
Shavas smiled slightly, nodded her head. “Nobody is certain of the origins of city, except that it apparently survived the Cataclysm untouched. Unfortunately, its inhabitants did not. When the people living in the surrounding lands fled to the city, they discovered that all of the buildings were empty. Mereklar’s citizens-if there were any-had disappeared.”
“What do you mean, ‘if there were any’?”
“There are those who believe that the city dates only from the Cataclysm. That it wasn’t here before then. Absurd, I know, but I thought I would mention it to you.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. In time, some of the families took over key positions of state, helping everyone live together in this new place.”
“And your family was among them?” Raistlin asked.
“That is correct. My family have always been councillors, those who direct and guide all aspects of the city. Lord Brunswick is the Minister of Agriculture and keeps track of the lands that produce our food. Lord Alvin is Minister of Property. The others are lords and ladies of their respective spheres, such as the Sergeant at Arms, Master of the Libraries, and similar functions. There are ten in all.”
Shavas shifted languidly in her chair. Her hand gracefully drew the folds of her clinging gown away from her throat, revealing her long, arched neck and marble-white skin. The brothers stared, transfixed.
“When I say that there were no signs of the former inhabitants, I am not wholly correct,” Shavas murmured, her fingers toying with her opal necklace. “We found the prophecies, which were discovered in every home, without exception. These books were here, in the library. And then there were the-”