Two humans captured near Atossa. One of them escaped by inexplicable, perhaps magical means. Might he be this Raistlin you are seeking? Report immediately to the Supreme Circle.

The King

Fesz looked questioningly at Tasslehoff.

"Well," said the kender, "I don't know. I don't think it could be Raistlin. The note says two humans. Raistlin's only one human, not to mention Flint's a dwarf and Tanis is an elf-well actually a half-elf, but he doesn't like to be reminded of his human heritage. So I don't think it could be Raistlin."

Fesz knitted his bullish brow.

"Hey, wait a minute!" added Tas excitedly. "Maybe it's Sturm and Caramon. They're two humans. They're supposed to be dead, and I don't think they know any magic, but maybe Raistlin taught Caramon some tricks when they were kids together or something. I bet that's who it is. Oh, boy! Sturm and Caramon are alive. I wonder which one escaped?"

"Sturm and Caramon," rumbled Fesz. "Those were the two humans who were thrown into the Blood Sea."

'That's right."

"Supposing they were still alive," wondered the shaman minotaur. "Why would Raistlin have taught Caramon magic when they both were children?"

"I don't know," responded the kender. "Except maybe because they're twin brothers."

"They're brothers!" Fesz practically shouted. Even Dogz gave a start. Fesz had to lower his voice and struggle to maintain a calm tone. "You never told me that Raistlin has a brother!"

The kender shrugged. "You never asked me. Besides, I thought Caramon was dead, didn't you? Does it matter if Raistlin has a brother? I told you he has a sister, didn't I? Well, actually a half-sister, if you want to get-"

"Wait!" Fesz put up a hand, then, with a great weary sigh, took out his quill pen and began to scribble something on a scrap of parchment. He paused, thought of something, and looked down at Tas. "Before we go on," he said with an extraordinary effort at patience, "does Raistlin have any more sisters or brothers whom we haven't talked about so far?"

"No," Tas said petulantly, confused as to why Fesz seemed so upset. "At least not any that I've heard about."

"Only Kitiara and Caramon."

"Yup."

Fesz wrote something else down hurriedly, then stuck the note in a pocket.

"I wonder which it was, Sturm or Caramon…" murmured Tasslehoff.

"We must go to Atossa and find out," declared Fesz.

Tas broke out into a huge, happy grin.

"After I make an appearance before the Supreme Circle," added the shaman minotaur hastily.

"The Supreme Circle… wow!" exclaimed Tasslehoff. "I've never met a whole circle of supreme anything before. I can hardly wait!"

From behind him, Dogz clamped a huge, heavy hand on the kender's shoulder.

"I am truly sorry, friend Tas," said Fesz with obvious sincerity, "but I must go alone. The Supreme Circle would not be pleased if I brought a kender."

Around the large, round oaken table in the palace's main hall sat eight grim-faced, bull-horned minotaurs-nine, if you included the king, who had journeyed from his main residence in the southern city of Nethosak for this emergency conclave. While the others merely looked displeased, the king's bestial countenance bristled with murderous anger, which he was barely able to keep in check. The king had other important things to do and didn't appreciate this interruption in his schedule.

Clockwise from the left of the king, the eight members of the Supreme Circle included Inultus, who commanded the minotaur military and civil police. He was swathed in emblems and badges proclaiming his rank. Next to him sat Akz, whose nickname was Attacca, but no one dared utter it to his face. He was the leader of the minotaur navy. Akz detested Inultus, and vice versa. They were known enemies but were forced to cooperate on policy matters for the greater good of the kingdom. Akz wore nothing across his broad muscular chest. His only garb was a jeweled leather strap girding his powerful loins.

Next to Akz sat the oldest among them, a furrowed minotaur with tufts of gray-white hair called Victri, the representative of the rural minotaurs who tilled the land and maintained isolated government farms throughout the few fertile sections of the isles. Although most self-respecting warriors held the agricultural minotaurs in contempt, they were vital to the economy and stability of the isles. Furthermore, Victri had served on the Supreme Circle the longest. Everyone knew his reputation for honor and wisdom. Quite apart from that, Victri was a ferocious fighter who had distinguished himself in battle. Dressed like a tiller of the land, Victri wore more clothing than any other member of the Supreme Circle, including a heavy shawl that draped his brutish shoulders.

Next to Victri sat Juvabit, a historian and scholar in a society that did not much value scholarly pursuit. Although he was an intellectual by minotaur standards, Juvabit looked indistinguishable from the rest, with his ugly snout, curved horns, and cloven hooves. The only thing that hinted at his stature was a tassel, woven from thin gold strands, which he wore dangling from one shoulder. It signified the Order of the King, the nation's highest accolade, and Juvabit was the only one in the room to have earned it. If anything, that made Juvabit even more insolent than the others, confident in his belief that his fellow members of the Supreme Circle were dullards and that not only was he smarter than any of the others, but he could hold his own against any one of them in hand-to-hand combat.

Next to Juvabit sprawled Atra Cura, his bulky form spilling out of the big wooden chair he sat in. Atra Cura's job was to monitor the human and minotaur pirates who roamed the nearby seas, to extract a percentage of their plunder for the king-and a percentage of that percentage for himself-and to keep the rival pirate factions in line. It would not be inaccurate to say that Atra Cura himself was the fiercest, most murderous pirate of them all. Alone among the minotaurs of the Supreme Circle, he was dressed flamboyantly in bright hues decorated with magnificent gems. Atra Cura flaunted conspicuous weapons, with several sabres and knives tucked into his garb.

The lone female, Kharis-O, was the designated leader of a nomadic band of female minotaurs called the Apart Clan that scorned males and lived outside the cities. The Apart Clan, which had followers in each of the main minotaur isles as well as most of the lesser ones, rarely interacted with the more organized sectors of the society, yet nobody doubted their loyalty to the minotaur race. They could be counted on in times of war, and their fierce battle prowess was every bit the equal of the male warriors. Nothing in Kharis-O's exceptionally ugly face hinted at femininity. Indeed, she offered no concession to her gender in her clothing. She wore tight leather leggings beneath a short leather skirt, and thick, hobnailed sandals. She sat glowering at everyone around the table but said nothing.

The last two members of the Supreme Circle were Bartill and Groppis. Bartill was the head of the architectural and construction guilds, and therefore one of the most powerful minotaurs in the realm. Everyone had to be careful to curry favor with him.

Groppis, inevitably Bartill's ally in a debate, was the keeper of the treasury, every bit as vital in the hierarchy as Bartill. It was Groppis who collected taxes, stashed plunder, and kept a strict accounting of the government wealth, doling out stipends according to autocratic decisions.

The ninth was the king himself, in his fourteenth year of rule. The king exhibited the arrogance of his office and the physical superiority to match. In order to retain his rank, the king met his strongest challenger annually in one-on-one combat in the coliseum arena. For fourteen years, the present king had maintained an adamant grip on his position, ramming, stabbing, piercing, or strangling to death with his bare hands any and all comers. The thin silver band set with small diamonds that he wore around his forehead as a symbol of his reign would be passed on to the next king only if and when he was ever bested.