THE SOULFORGE

Chapter 1

That winter was one of the mildest Solace had known, with rain and fog in place of snow and frost. The residents packed away their Yule decorations for another year, took down the pine boughs and the mistletoe, and congratulated themselves on having escaped the inconveniences of a hard winter. People were already talking of an early spring when a terrifying and most unwelcome visitor came to Solace. The visitor was Plague, and accompanying him was his ghastly mate, Death.

No one was certain who invited this dread guest. The number of travelers had increased during the mild winter, any one of them might have been a carrier. Blame was also ascribed to the standing bogs around Crystalmir Lake, bogs that had not frozen as they should have during the winter. The symptoms were the same in all cases, beginning with a high fever and extreme lethargy, followed by headache, vomiting, and diarrhea. The disease ran its course in a week or two; the strong and healthy survived it. The very young, the very old, or those in weak health did not.

In the days before the Cataclysm, clerics had called upon the goddess Mishakal for aid. She had granted them healing powers, and the plague had been virtually unknown, Mishakal had left Krynn with the rest of the gods. Those who practiced the healing arts in these days had to rely on their own skill and knowledge. They could not cure the disease, but they could treat the symptoms, try to prevent the patient from becoming so weak that he or she developed pneumonia, which led inevitably to death.

Weird Meggin worked tirelessly among the sick, administering her willow bark to break the fever, dosing the victims with a bitter concoction the consistency of paste, which seemed to help those who could be persuaded to choke it down.

Many of Solace's residents derided the old crone, terming her "cracked" or a witch. These very same people were among the first to ask for her the moment they felt the fever grip them. She never failed them. She would come at any time, day or night, and though her manner was a little strange -she talked constantly to herself and insisted on the unusual practice of washing her hands continually and forced others in the sickroom to do so as well-she was always welcome.

Raistlin began by accompanying Weird Meggin on her rounds. He assisted her in sponging the feverish bodies, helped persuade sick children to swallow the bad-tasting medicine. He learned how to ease the pain of the dying. But as the plague spread and more and more of Solace's citizens were caught in its lethal grip, Raistlin was forced by sheer necessity to tend patients on his own.

Caramon was among the first to catch the disease, a shock to the big man, who had never been sick in his life. He was terrified, certain he was going to die, and nearly wrecked the bedroom in his delirium, fighting snakes carrying torches, who were trying to set him on fire.

His strong body threw off the contagion, however, and since he had already survived the disease, he was able to assist his brother in caring for others. Caramon worried constantly that Raistlin would catch the plague. Frail as he was, he would not survive it. Raistlin was deaf to his brother's pleas to remain safely at home. Raistlin had discovered to his surprise that he gained a deep and abiding satisfaction in helping those stricken with the illness.

He did not work among the sick out of compassion. In general, he cared nothing for his neighbors, considered them dull and boorish. He did not treat the sick for monetary gain; he would go to the poor as readily as the rich. He found that what he truly enjoyed was power-power he wielded over the living, who had come to regard the young mage with hope bordering on reverence. Power he was sometimes able to wield over his greatest, most dread foe, Death.

He did not catch the plague, and he wondered why. Weird Meggin said it was because he made certain to wash his hands after tending to the sick. Raistlin smiled derisively, but he was too fond of the crazy old woman to contradict her.

At length, Plague slowly opened his clenched skeletal fingers, released Solace from his deadly grip. Solace's residents, acting under Weird Meggin's instructions, burned the clothes and bedding of those who had been ill. The snow came at last, and when it did, it fell on many new graves in Solace's burial ground.

Among the dead was Anna Brightblade.

It is written in the Measure that the duty of the lady wife of a knight is to feed the poor and tend to the sick of the manor. Though she was far from the land where the Measure was written and obeyed, Lady Brightblade was faithful to the law. She went to the aid of her sick neighbors, caught the disease herself. Even when she felt its first effects, she continued to nurse until she collapsed.

Sturm carried his mother home and ran to fetch Raistlin, who treated the woman as best he could, all to no avail.

"I'm dying, aren't I, young man?" Anna Brightblade asked Raistlin one night. "Tell me the truth. I am the wife of a noble knight. I can bear it."

"Yes," said Raistlin, who could hear the popping and crackling sounds of fluid gathering in the woman's lungs. "Yes, you are dying."

"How long?" she asked calmly. "Not long now."

Sturm knelt at his mother's bedside. He gave a sob and lowered his head to the blanket. Anna reached out her hand, a hand wasted from the fever, and stroked her son's long hair.

"Leave us," she said to Raistlin with her customary imperiousness. Then, looking up at him, she smiled wanly, her stern expression softened. "Thank you for all you have done. I may have misjudged you, young man. I give you my blessing."

"Thank you, Lady Brightblade," Raistlin said. "I honor your courage, madam. May Paladine receive you."

She looked at him darkly, frowned, thinking he blasphemed, and turned her face from him.

In the morning, as Caramon fixed his twin a bowl of hot gruel to sustain him through the rigors of the day, there came a knock on the door. Caramon opened it to admit Sturm. The young man was haggard and deathly pale, his eyes red and swollen. He was composed, however, had control of himself.

Caramon ushered his friend inside. Sturm sank into a chair, his legs collapsing beneath him. He had slept little since the first day of his mother's illness.

"Is Lady Brightblade." Caramon began, but couldn't finish.

Sturm nodded his head.

Caramon wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sturm. She was a great lady."

"Yes," said Sturm in a husky voice. He slumped in the chair. A tremor of a dry sob shuddered through his body.

"How long has it been since you ate anything?" Raistlin demanded. Sturm sighed, waved an uncaring hand.

"Caramon, bring another bowl," Raistlin ordered. "Eat, Sir Knight, or you will shortly follow your mother to the grave."

Sturm's dark eyes flashed in anger at Raistlin's flippant tone. He started to refuse the food, but when he saw that Caramon had picked up the spoon, was intending to feed him like a baby, Sturm muttered that perhaps he could manage a mouthful. He ate the entire bowl, drank a glass of wine, and the color returned to his wan cheeks.

Raistlin shoved aside his own bowl only half eaten. This was customary with him, however; Caramon knew better than to protest.

"My mother and I talked near the end," Sturm said in a low voice. "She spoke of Solamnia and my father. She told me that she had long ago ceased believing he was alive. She had kept up the pretense only for my sake."

He lowered his head, pressed his lips tightly together, but shed no tears. After a moment, his composure regained, he looked at Raistlin, who was gathering his medicines, preparing to set out.

"Something strange happened at. the end. I thought I would tell you, to see if you had ever heard the like. Perhaps it is nothing but a manifestation of the disease."

Raistlin looked up with interest. He was making notes on the illness, recording symptoms and treatments in a small book for future reference.

"My mother had fallen into a deep sleep, from which it seemed that nothing could rouse her."

"The sleep of death," Raistlin said. "I have seen it often with this illness. Sometimes it can last for several days, but whenever it comes, the patient never wakes." "Well, my mother did wake," Sturm said abruptly. "Indeed? Tell me precisely what occurred."

"She opened her eyes and looked, not at me, but beyond me, to the door to her room. 'I know you, sir, do I not?' she said hesitantly, adding querulously, 'Where have you been all this time? We've been expecting you for ages.' Then she said, 'Make haste, Son, bring the old gentleman a chair.'

"I looked around, but there was no one there. 'Ah,' my mother said, 'you cannot stay? I must come with you? But that will mean leaving my boy all alone.' She seemed to listen, then she smiled. 'True, he is a boy no longer. You will watch over him when I am gone?' And then she smiled, as if reassured, and drew her last breath.

"And this is the strangest part. I had just risen to go to her when I thought I saw, standing beside her, the figure of an old man. He was a disreputable old man, wearing gray robes with a shabby sort of pointed hat." Sturm frowned. "He had the look of a magic-user. Well? What do you think?"

"I think that you had gone a long time without food or sleep," Raistlin replied.

"Perhaps," Sturm said, still frowning, puzzled. "But the vision seemed very real. Who could the old man have been? And why was my mother pleased to see him? She had no use for magic-users."

Raistlin headed for the door. He had been more than patient with the bereaved Sturm and he was tired of being insulted. Caramon cast him an apprehensive glance, fearing that his brother might lash out, make some sarcastic comment, but his twin departed without saying another word.

Sturm left soon after, to arrange for his mother's burial.

Caramon heaved a doleful sigh and sat down to finish off the remainder of his brother's uneaten breakfast.

Chapter 2

Spring performed its usual miracle. Green leaves sprouted on the vallenwoods, wildflowers bloomed in the grave-yard; the small vallenwoods planted on the graves grew at the rapid pace customary to the tree, bringing solace to the grief-stricken. The spirits of those who had died flourished, were renewed in the living tree.

This spring brought another disease into Solace-a disease known to be carried by kender, a disease that is often contagious, especially among the young, who had just come to realize that life was short and very sweet and should be experienced to the fullest. The disease is called wanderlust.

Sturm was the first to catch it, although his other friends had exhibited the same symptoms. His case had been coming on ever since the death of his mother. Bereft and alone, his thoughts and dreams looked northward, to his homeland.

"I cannot give up the hope that my father still lives," he confessed to Caramon one morning. It was now his custom to join the twins for breakfast. Eating alone, in his own empty house, was too much to bear. "Though I admit that my mother's argument has some merit. If my father is alive, why did he never once try to contact us?"

"There could be lots of reasons," said Caramon stoutly. "Maybe he's being held prisoner in a dungeon by a mad wizard. Oh, sorry, Raist. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Raistlin snorted. He was occupied in feeding his rabbits, paying scant attention to the conversation.

"Whatever the case," Sturm said, "I intend to find out the truth. When the roads are open, within the month, I plan to travel north to Solamnia."

"No! Name of the Abyss," exclaimed Caramon, startled.

Raistlin, too, was amazed. He turned from his work, cabbage leaves in his hand, to see if the young man was serious.

Sturm nodded his head. "1 have wanted to make such a journey for the past three years, but I was loath to leave my mother for an extended period of time. Now there is nothing to hold me. I go, and I go with her blessing. If, in fact, my father is dead, then I have my inheritance to claim. If he lives

Sturm shook his head, unable to complete the expression of the dream, too wonderful to possibly come true.

"Are you going alone?" Caramon asked, awed.

Sturm smiled, a rare thing for the usually solemn and serious young man. "I had hoped that you would come with me, Caramon. I would ask you, too, Raistlin," he added more stiffly, "but the journey will be long and difficult, and I fear it might tax your, health. And I know that you would not want to be so far from your studies."

Ever since their return from Haven, Raistlin had spent every moment he could spare studying the tomes of the war magus. He had added several new spells to his spellbook.

"On the contrary, I am feeling unusually strong this spring," Raistlin remarked. "I would be able to take my books with me. I thank you for the offer, Sturm, and I will consider it, as will my brother."

"I'm going," Caramon said. "So long as Raist comes, too. And as he says, he has been really strong. He hasn't been sick hardly at all."

"I am glad to hear it," Sturm said, though without much enthusiasm. He knew very well that the twins would not be separated, although he had hoped against all reason to be able to persuade Caramon to leave Raistlin behind. "I remind you, Raistlin, that magic-users are not venerated in my country. Although, of course, you would be accorded the hospitality due any guest."

Raistlin bowed. "For which I am deeply grateful. I will be a most accommodating guest, I assure you, Sturm. I will not set the bed linens on fire, nor will I poison the well. In fact, you might find certain of my skills useful on the road."

"He's a really good cook," stated Caramon.

Sturm rose to his feet. "Very well. I will make the arrangements. My mother left me some money, although not much. Not enough for horses, I fear. We will have to travel on foot."

The moment the door closed behind Sturm, Caramon began capering around the small house, upsetting the furniture and wreaking havoc in his delight. He even had the temerity to give his brother a hug.

"Have you gone mad?" Raistlin demanded. "There! Look what you've done. That was our only cream pitcher. No, don't try to help! You've caused enough damage. Why don't you go polish your sword or sharpen it or whatever you do to it?"

"I will! A great idea!" Caramon rushed off to his bedroom, only to run back a moment later. "I don't have a whetstone."

"Go borrow one from Flint. Or better still, take your sword to Flint's and work on it there," Raistlin said, mopping up spilled cream. "Anything to get you out from underfoot."

"I wonder if Flint would like to come along. And Kit and Tanis and Tasslehoff! I'll go see."

His brother gone and the house quiet, Raistlin picked up the pieces of the broken pitcher and threw them away. He was as excited over the prospect of a journey to new and distant lands as his brother, though he had more sense than to smash the crockery over it. He was considering which of his herbs to pack, which he might find along the roadside, when there came a knock at the door.

Thinking it might be Sturm, Raistlin called out, "Caramon has gone to Flint's."

The knock was repeated, this time with the sharp rapping of an impatient visitor.

Raistlin opened the door, regarded his guest in amazement and surprise and not a little concern.

"Master Theobald!"

The mage stood upon the boardwalk outside the house. He wore a cloak over his white robes and carried a stout staff, indications that he had been traveling.

"May I come in?" Theobald asked gruffly.

"Certainly. Of course. Forgive me, Master." Raistlin stood aside, ushered his guest across the threshold. "I was not expecting you."

That was quite true. In all the years that Raistlin had attended the master's school, Theobald had never once paid a visit to Raistlin's home, nor evinced the slightest inclination to do so.

Bemused and somewhat apprehensive-his exploits in Haven had been widely reported throughout Solace-Raistlin invited his master to be seated in the only good chair in the house, the chair that happened to be his mother's rocking chair. Theobald declined all offers of food and wine.

"I do not have time to linger. I have been gone for a week, and I have not yet been home. I came here immediately. I have just returned from the Tower at Wayreth, from a meeting of the conclave."

Raistlin's uneasiness increased. "Isn't a meeting of the conclave at this early time of year somewhat unusual, Master? I thought they were always held in the summer."

"It is indeed unusual. We wizards had matters of great import to discuss. I was specially sent for," Theobald added, stroking his beard.

Raistlin made suitable comments, all the while wishing impatiently and with increasing nervousness that the provoking old fart would come to the point.

"Your doings in Haven were among the topics of discussion, Majere," Theobald said, glowering at Raistlin, brows bristling. "You broke many rules, not the least of which was casting a spell far above your capability."

Raistlin would have pointed out that the spell was obviously not above his capability to cast, since he had cast it, but he knew that this would be lost on Theobald.

"I did what I thought was right under the circumstances, Master," Raistlin said, as meekly and contritely as he could.

"Rubbish!" Theobald snorted. "You know what was right under the circumstances. You should have reported the wizardess to us as a renegade. We would have dealt with the matter in time."

"In time, Master," Raistlin emphasized. "Meanwhile, innocent people were being bilked out of what little they had, others were being driven from their homes. The charlatan priestess and her followers were causing irreparable harm. I sought to end it."

"You ended it, all right," Theobald said with dark implications.

"I was exonerated from her murder, Master," Raistlin returned, his tone sharp. "I have a writ from the High Sheriff of Haven himself proclaiming my innocence."

"So who did kill her?" Theobald asked.

"I have no idea, Master," Raistlin replied.

"Hunh," Theobald grunted. "Well, you handled the matter badly, but, still, you handled it. Damn near got yourself killed in the process, I understand. As I said, the conclave discussed the matter."

Raistlin kept silent, waited to hear his punishment. He had already determined that if they forbade him to practice magic, he would defy them, become a renegade himself.

Theobald withdrew a scroll case. He opened the lid, taking an unconscionable length of time about it, fussing and fumbling clumsily until Raistlin was tempted to leap across the room and wrest the case from the man's hand. Finally the lid came off. Theobald removed a scroll, handed it across to Raistlin.

"Here, pupil. You might as well see this for yourself."

Now that the scroll was in his hands, Raistlin wondered if he had the courage to read it. He hesitated a moment to insure that his hands did not tremble and betray him, then, with outward nonchalance masking inward apprehension, he unrolled the scroll.

He tried to read it, but his nervousness impaired his eyesight. The words would not come into focus. When they did, he did not comprehend them.

Then he could not believe them.

Amazed and aghast, he stared at his master. "This, this can't be right. I am too young."

"That is what I said," Theobald stated in nasty tones. "But I was overruled."

Raistlin read the words again, words that, though they were not in the least magical, began to glow with the radiance of a thousand suns.

The aspiring magus, Raistlin Majere, is hereby summoned to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth to appear before the Conclave of Wizards on the seventh day of the seventh month at the seventh minute of the seventh hour. At this time, in this place, you will be tested by your superiors for inclusion into the ranks of those gifted by the three gods, Solinari, Lunitari, Nuitari.

To be invited to take the Test is a great honor, an honor accorded to few, and should be taken seriously. You may impart knowledge of this honor to members of your immediate family, but to no others. Failure to accede to this injunction could mean the forfeiture of the right to take the Test.

You will bring with you your spellbook and spell components. You will wear robes representing the alliance of your sponsor. The color of the robes you will wear, if and when you are apprenticed- i.e., your allegiance to one of the three gods-will be determined during the Test. You will carry no weapons, nor any magical artifacts. Magical artifacts will be provided during the Test itself in order to judge your skill in the handling of said artifacts.

In the unfortunate event of your demise during the Test, all personal effects will be returned to your family.

You may be provided with an escort to the Tower, but your escort should be aware that he or she will not be permitted to enter the Guardian Forest. Any attempt by the escort to force entry will result in most grievous harm to the escort. We will not be held responsible.

That last sentence had been written, then crossed out, as if the writer had experienced second thoughts. An addendum had been inserted.

An exception to this rule is made in regard to Caramon Majere, twin brother to the aforementioned contestant. Caramon Majere is expressly desired to attend his brother's testing. He will be admitted into the Guardian Forest. His safety will be guaranteed, at least during the time he is inside the forest.

Raistlin lowered the scroll, let it roll back upon itself. His hands lacked the strength to hold it up, keep it open. To be invited to take the Test so young, to be even considered capable of taking the Test at his novitiate stage, was an honor of incredible magnitude. He was overcome with joy, joy and pride.

Of course, there was that cautionary phrase, In the event of your demise. Later, in the small hours of the night, when he would lie awake, unable to sleep for his excitement, that sentence would rise up before him, a skeletal hand reaching out to grasp him, drag him down. But now, filled with confidence in himself, proud of his achievements and the fact that these achievements had evidently impressed the members of the conclave, Raistlin had no fear, no qualms.

"I thank you, Master," he began when he could control his voice sufficiently to speak.

"Don't thank me," Theobald said, standing. "It is likely that I am sending you to your doom. I won't have your death on my conscience. I told Par-Salian as much. I go on record as being opposed to this folly."

Raistlin accompanied his guest to the door. "I am sorry you have so little faith in me, Master."

Theobald made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Come to me if you have any questions on your spellbook."

"I will do so, Master," said Raistlin, privately resolving that he would see Theobald in the Abyss first. "Thank you." After the master had gone and Raistlin had shut the door behind him, it was now Raistlin's turn to caper about the house. Transported with happiness, he lifted the skirts of his robes and performed several of the round-dance steps Caramon had struggled for years to teach him. Entering at that moment, Caramon stared openmouthed at his brother. His astonishment increased tenfold when Raistlin ran over to his twin, flung his arms around him, embraced him, then burst into tears. "What's wrong?"

Caramon misread his brother's emotions, his heart almost stopped in terror. He dropped his sword, which fell to the floor with a resounding clang, to clutch at his twin. "Raistlin! What's wrong? What's the matter? Who died?"

"Nothing is the matter, my brother!" Raistlin cried, laughing and drying his tears. "Nothing in the world is the matter! For once, everything is right."

He waved the scroll, which he still held in his hand, pranced about the small room until he collapsed, out of breath but still laughing, in his mother's rocking chair.

"Shut the door, my brother. And come sit beside me. We have a great deal to discuss."

Chapter 3

Swearing Caramon to secrecy regarding the Test proved a difficult task. In his exuberance, Raistlin showed Caramon the precious document summoning them both to the Tower at Wayreth. Caramon came across the unfortunate line in the event of your demise and was extremely upset. So upset that, at first, he vowed Raistlin should not go, that he would have Tanis and Sturm and Flint and Otik and half the population of Solace sit on Raistlin before he should take a Test where the penalty for failure was death.

Raistlin was at first touched by Caramon's very genuine concern. Exhibiting unusual patience, Raistlin tried to explain to his twin the reasoning behind such drastic measures.

"My dear brother, as you yourself have seen, magic wielded by the wrong hands can be extremely dangerous. The conclave wants only those among their ranks who have proven that they are disciplined, skillful, and-most important-dedicated body and soul to the art. Thus those who merely dabble in magic, who practice it for their own amusement, do not want to take the Test, because they are not prepared to risk their lives for the magic."

"It is murder," Caramon said in a low voice. "Murder, plain and simple."

"No, no, my brother." Raistlin was soothing. Thinking of Lemuel, Raistlin smiled as he added, "Those deemed not suitable for taking the Test are prohibited from doing so by the conclave. They permit only those magi who have an excellent chance of passing to take the Test. And, my dear brother, very, very few fail. The risk is extremely minor and, for me, no risk at all. You know how hard I have worked and studied. I can't possibly fail!"

"Is that true?" Caramon lifted his pale, haggard face, regarded his twin with a searching, unblinking gaze.

"I swear it." Raistlin sat back in the rocker, smiled again. He couldn't keep from smiling.

"Then why do they want me to come with you?" Caramon asked suspiciously.

Raistlin was forced to pause before answering. Truth to tell, he didn't know why Caramon should be invited to come along. The more Raistlin thought about it, the more he resented the fact. Certainly it was logical for his brother to escort him as far as the forest, but why should he come farther? It was extremely unusual for the conclave to permit entry to their Tower to any person outside their ranks.

"I'm not sure," Raistlin admitted at last. "Probably it has something to do with the fact that we are twins. There is nothing sinister about it, Caramon, if that's what you are thinking. You will merely accompany me to the Tower and wait until I have finished the Test. Then we will return home together."

Envisioning that triumphant journey back to Solace, Raistlin's spirits, which had been shadowed a moment before, were elevated to the heavens and sparkled bright as the stars.

Caramon was dolefully shaking his head. "I don't like it. I think you should discuss it with Tanis."

"I tell you again, I am not permitted to discuss it with anyone, Caramon!" Raistlin said angrily, losing patience at last. "Can't you get that through your gully-dwarf skull?"

Caramon looked unhappy and uneasy, but still defiant.

Raistlin left the rocking chair. Hands clenched to fists, he stood over his brother, stared down at him, spoke to him with passionate intensity.

"I am commanded to keep this secret, and I will do so. And so will you, my brother. You will not mention this to Tanis. You will not mention this to Kitiara. You will not mention this to Sturm or anyone else. Do you understand me, Caramon? No one must know!"

Raistlin paused, drew a breath, then said quietly, so that there could be no doubt of his sincerity, "If you do-if you ruin this chance for me-then I have no brother."

Caramon went white to the lips. "Raist, I-"

"I will disown you," Raistlin pressed on, knowing that the iron must strike to the heart. "I will leave this house, and I will never come back. Your name will never be spoken in my presence. If I see you coming down the road, I will turn and walk the opposite direction."

Caramon was hurt, deeply hurt. His big frame shuddered, as if the point Raistlin had driven home was in truth steel.

"I guess. it means a lot. to you," Caramon said brokenly, lowering his head, staring at his clasped hands.

Raistlin was softened by his brother's anguish. But Caramon had to be made to understand. Kneeling beside his twin, Raistlin stroked his brother's curly hair.

"Of course this means a lot to me, Caramon. It means everything! I have worked and studied almost my entire life for this chance. What would you have me do-cast it aside because it is dangerous? Life is dangerous, Caramon. Just stepping out that door is dangerous! You cannot hide from danger.

Death floats on the air, creeps through the window, comes with the handshake of a stranger. If we stop living because we fear death, then we have already died.

"You want to be a warrior, Caramon. You practice with a real sword. Isn't that dangerous? How many times have you and Sturm very nearly sliced off each other's ears? Sturm has told us of the young knights who die in the tourneys held to test their knighthood. Yet if you had the chance to fight in one of those, wouldn't you take it?"

Caramon nodded. A tear fell on the clasped hands.

"What I do is the same thing," Raistlin said gently. "The blade must be forged in the fire. Are you with me, my brother?" He pressed his hand over Caramon's. "You know that I would stand at your side, should you ever fight to prove your mettle."

Caramon lifted his head. In his eyes, there was new respect and admiration. "Yes, Raist. I'll stand with you. I understand, now that you've explained it. I won't say a word to anyone. I promise."

"Good." Raistlin sighed. The elation had drained away. The battle with his brother had sapped his energy, leaving him weak and exhausted. He wanted to lie down, to be quiet and alone in the comforting darkness.

"What do I tell the others?" Caramon asked.

"Whatever you choose," Raistlin returned, heading for his room. "I don't care, so long as you make no mention of the truth."

"Raist." Caramon paused, then asked, "You wouldn't do what you said, would you? Disown me? Claim that you never had a brother?"

"Oh, don't be such an idiot, Caramon," Raistlin said and went to his bed.

Chapter 4

Caramon informed Sturm the next day that neither he nor his brother could accompany him to Solamnia. Sturm tried arguing and persuading, but Caramon remained adamant, though he could give no clear reason for his change of heart. Sturm marked Caramon as being worried and preoccupied about something. Assuming that Raistlin had decided not to go and had forbidden his brother to go without him, Sturm- though offended and hurt-said no more about the matter.

"If you want a traveling companion, Brightblade, I'll go with you myself," Kitiara offered. "I know the fastest and best routes north. Plus, from what I've heard, there's dark doings happening up that way. We shouldn't either of us travel alone, and since we're heading the same direction, it makes sense that we travel together."

The three were in the Inn of the Last Home, drinking a glass of ale. Having stopped by her brother's home, Kit had recognized immediately that the twins were up to something and was angry when they maintained that nothing unusual was going on. Well aware that she would never be able to pry the secret from Raistlin, she hoped to be able to tease the truth out of the more pliable Caramon.

"You and Tanis would be most welcome, Kitiara," Sturm said, recovering from his initial astonishment at her offer. "I did not ask you at first because I knew Tanis planned to accompany Flint on his summer journeys, but-"

"Tanis won't be going with me," Kit said tonelessly, flatly. She drained her tankard of ale and loudly called out for Otik to bring her another.

Sturm looked over at Caramon, wondering what was going on. Tanis and Kitiara had been together all winter, closer and more affectionate than ever.

Caramon shook his head to indicate that he had no idea.

Sturm was troubled. "I'm not certain-"

"Fine. It's settled. I'm coining," Kit said, refusing to listen to any arguments. "Now, Caramon, tell me why you and that wizard brother of yours won't come with us. Four traveling the road is much safer. Besides, there's some people up north I want you to meet."

"Like I told Sturm, I can't go," Caramon said.

His usually cheerful face was shadowed, grave. He hadn't drunk even a sip of his ale, which had by now gone flat. Shoving it aside, he stood up, flung a coin on the table, and left.

He didn't feel comfortable around Kitiara anymore. He was glad she was leaving, relieved that Tanis wasn't going with her. He had often felt that he should tell Tanis the truth about that night. Tell Tanis that Kit had been the one to murder Judith. Tell Tanis that she had urged Caramon to let Raistlin take the blame, to let Raistlin die.

She had claimed that she was joking. Still.

Caramon gave a relieved sigh. She would leave, and if they were lucky, she would not return. Caramon was worried about Sturm, who would be traveling in Kit's company, but on reflection, Caramon decided that the young knight, bolstered by his reliance on the Oath and the Measure, could look after himself. Besides, as Kit said, traveling alone was dangerous.

Caramon's main concern was for Tanis, who would be terribly hurt by Kit's decision to leave. Caramon figured-logically-that Kitiara, the restless firebrand, was the one who had ended the relationship.

It was Raistlin who discovered the truth.

Although he had several months to wait before he and Caramon would undertake their journey to the Tower, Raistlin began immediately to make preparations. One of these involved the retooling of the leather thong that held the knife on Raistlin's wrist, concealed beneath his robes. A flick of that wrist was supposed to cause the knife to drop down, unseen, into the mage's hand.

At least that was how the thong was designed to work. Raistlin's wrist was far thinner than the wrist of the war mage who had originally worn it, however. When Raistlin tried wearing the contraption, the thong itself dropped into his hand. The knife fell to the floor. He took it to Flint, hoping the dwarf could fix it.

Flint, looking the thong over, was impressed with the workmanship, thought it might be dwarven.

According to Lemuel, the Qualinesti elves had made the knife and the thong as a gift to their friend, the war mage.

Raistlin made no mention of this, however. He agreed with the dwarf that the thong was undoubtedly constructed by some great dwarven leatherworker. Flint offered to adjust the size if Raistlin would leave the thong with him for a week or two.

Raistlin had his hand on the doorknocker, was about to knock, when he heard faint voices inside. The voices belonged to Tanis and Flint. Raistlin could distinguish only a few words, but one was "Kitiara."

Certain that any conversation about his sister would cease if he were introduced into it, Raistlin carefully and quietly lowered his hand from the knocker. He looked to see if anyone was in sight. Finding that he was alone, Raistlin slipped around the side of the house to Flint's workshop. The dwarf had opened the window to let in the soft spring breeze. Hidden from view by a fall of purple clematis, which grew up the side of the workshop, Raistlin stood to one side of the window.

Any qualms he might have had about eavesdropping on his friends were easily settled. He had often wondered how much Tanis knew about Kit's activities: midnight meetings with strangers, the murder of the priestess. Was Kit fleeing danger? Had Tanis threatened to denounce her? And where did that leave Raistlin if this were the case? Quite understandably, he had small faith in his sister's loyalty.

"We've been arguing for days," Tanis was saying. "She wants me to come north with her."

The conversation was interrupted by a moment's furious hammering. When that was finished, the talk resumed.

"She claims to have friends who will pay large sums to those skilled with bow and blade." "Even half-elves?" Flint grunted.

"I pointed that out, but she says-rightly so-that I could hide my heritage if I wanted. I could grow a beard, wear my hair long to cover my ears."

"A fine sight you'd look with a beard!"

Flint plied the hammer again.

"Well? Are you going?" he asked when the hammering had stopped.

"No, I'm not," Tanis said, speaking reluctantly, loath to share his feelings even with his longtime friend. "I need time away from her. Time to think things through. I can't think when I'm around Kitiara. The truth is, Flint, I'm falling in love with her."

Raistlin snorted, almost laughed. He swallowed his mirth, fearing to give himself away. He would have expected something inane like this from Caramon, but not the half-elf, who had certainly lived long enough to know better.

Tanis spoke more rapidly, relieved to be able to talk about it. "The one time I ever even hinted at marriage, Kit laughed me to scorn. She scolded me about it for days after. Why did I want to ruin all our fun? We shared a bed, what more could I want? But I'm not happy just sharing my bed with her, Flint. I want to share my life with her, my dreams and hopes and plans. I want to settle down. She doesn't. She feels trapped, caged. She's restless and bored. We quarrel continually, over stupid things. If we stayed together, she would come to resent me, perhaps even hate me, and I couldn't bear that. I will miss her terribly, but it's better this way."

"Bah! Give her a year or two with those friends of hers up north and she'll be back. Maybe then she'll be receptive to your proposal, lad."

"She may come back." Tanis was silent a moment, then he added, "But I won't be here." "Where are you going, then?"

"Home," Tanis replied quietly. "I haven't been home in a long time. I know this means I won't be with you on the first part of your travels, but we could meet in Qualinesti."

"We could, but. well. The truth of it is, I won't be going that way, Tanis," Flint said, clearing his throat. He sounded embarrassed. "I've been meaning to talk this over with you, but I never seemed to find the right time. I guess this is as good as any.

"That fair at Haven soured me, lad. I saw the ugly faces beneath the masks humans wear, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Talking to those hill dwarves made me start thinking of my own home. I can never go back to my clan. You know the reason for that, but I've a mind to visit some of the other clans in the vicinity. It will be a comfort to me, being with my own kind. I've been thinking about what that young scamp Raistlin says about the gods. I'd like to find out if Reorx is around somewhere, maybe trapped inside Thorbardin."

"Searching for some sign of the true gods. It's an interesting idea," Tanis said. He added with a sigh, "Who knows? In looking for them, I might find myself along the way."

The pain and sadness in the half-elf's voice made Raistlin ashamed of having listened in on this private conversation. He was leaving his post, heading for the front door, prepared to announce himself by conventional means, when he heard the dwarf say dourly,

"Which of us has to take the kender?"

Chapter 5

It was the last day of the month of Spring Blossom time. The roads were open. Travelers were abroad, once more filling the Inn of the Last Home to capacity. They ate Otik's potatoes, praised his ale, and told stories of gathering trouble in the world, stories of armies of hobgoblins on the march, of ogres moving down from their hidden holdings in the mountains, hints of creatures more fearsome than these.

Sturm and Kit were planning to leave the first of Summer Home. Tanis was leaving that day, too, explaining somewhat lamely that he wanted to be in Qualinesti in time for some sort of elven celebration involving the sun. Truth was, he knew very well that he could not go back to his empty house, the house that would always echo with her laughter. Flint was to accompany his friend part of the way, and so he, too, was setting off the next day.

It was known now among the companions that Raistlin and Caramon were making a journey themselves-a fact discovered by Kit, who was consumed with curiosity regarding Caramon's unusual circumspectness and who consequently bullied and teased him until he let fall that much.

Fearful that Kitiara would break his twin's resolve in the end, force him to reveal his secret, Raistlin hinted that they were going to seek out their father's relations, who had presumably come from Pax Tharkas. If their friends had looked at a map, they would have noted that Pax Tharkas was located in exactly the opposite direction from the Wayreth Forest.

No one did look at a map, because the only maps available were in the possession of Tasslehoff Burrfoot, who was not present. One of the reasons the companions had come together this last night, other than to bid each other farewell and safe roads, was to determine what to do about the kender.

Sturm began by stating in no uncertain terms that kender were not welcome in Solamnia. He added that any knight seen traveling in the company of a kender would be ruined, his reputation damned and blasted forever.

Kit said shortly that her friends in the north had no use for kender whatsoever, and she made it clear that if Tasslehoff valued his skin, he'd find some other route to travel. She fixed her gaze pointedly and haughtily upon Tanis. Relations between the two were strained. Kit had thought for certain that Tanis would beg her to stay, either that or travel with him. He had done neither, and she was angry.

"I cannot take Tas into Qualinesti," Tanis said, avoiding her gaze. "The elves would never permit it."

"Don't look at me!" Flint stated, alarmed to see them do just that. "If any of my clansmen were to so much as set eyes upon me in company with a kender, they'd lock me up for a crazy Theiwar, and I would be hard pressed to say they were wrong. Tasslehoff should go with Raistlin and Caramon to Pax Tharkas."

"No," said Raistlin with a finality in his tone that boded no argument. "Absolutely not."

"What do we do with him, then?" Tanis asked in perplexity. "Bind him and gag him and stash him in the bottom of a well," Flint advised. "Then we sneak off in the middle of the night, and he might -I repeat, he might-not find us."

"Who are you stashing at the bottom of a well?" came a cheerful voice. Tasslehoff, having sighted his friends through the open window, decided to save himself the wearisome walk around to the front door. Hoisting himself up onto the window ledge, he climbed inside.

"Mind my ale mug! You nearly kicked it over! Get off the table, you doorknob!" Flint caught his ale mug, held it close to his chest. "If you must know, it's you we're talking of stashing in the well."

"Are you? How wonderful!" Tas said, his face lighting up. "I've never been at the bottom of a well before. Ah, but I just remembered. I can't."

Reaching out, Tas kindly patted Flint's hand. "I appreciate the thought. I truly do, and I'd almost stay behind to do it, but you see, I'm not going to be here."

"Where are you going?" Tanis asked the question with trepidation.

"Before I start, I want to say something. I know you've been arguing over who takes me along, haven't you?" Tas looked sternly around at the group.

Tanis was embarrassed. He had not meant to hurt the kender's feelings. "You can come with us, Tas," he began, only to be interrupted by a horrified "He cannot!" from Flint.

Tas raised his small hand for silence. "You see, if I go with one of you, then that will make the others feel bad, and I wouldn't like that to happen. And so I've decided to go off on my own. No! Don't try to make me change my mind. I'm going back to Kendermore, and, no offense"-Tas looked quite severe-"but the rest of you just wouldn't fit in there."

"You mean the kender wouldn't allow us to enter their land?" Caramon asked, insulted.

"No, I mean you wouldn't fit in. Especially you, Caramon. You'd take the roof off my house the moment you stood up. Not to mention squashing all my furniture. Now, I could make an exception for Flint."

"No you couldn't!" said the dwarf hurriedly. Tasslehoff went on to describe the wonders of Kendermore, painting such an interesting picture of that carefree shire, where the concepts of private property and personal possessions are completely unknown, that every person at the table firmly resolved never to go anywhere near it.

The issue of the kender settled, there was nothing left but to say good-bye.

The companions sat for a long time at their table. The setting sun gleamed a fiery ball in the red portion of the stained-glass windows, shone orange in the yellow, and a strange sort of green in the blue. The sun seemed to linger as long as the companions, spreading its golden light throughout the sky, before slipping down past the horizon, leaving a warm afterglow behind.

Otik brought candles and lamps to drive away the shadows, along with an excellent supper of his famous spiced potatoes, lamb stew, trout from Crystalmir Lake, bread, and goat's cheese. The food was excellent; even Raistlin ate more than his usual two or three nibbling bites, actually devouring an entire trout. When every speck was eaten-nothing ever went to waste, with Caramon there to finish off the leftovers-Tanis called Otik over to settle the bill.

"The meal is on the house, my friends-my very dear friends," Otik said. He wished them all a safe journey and shook hands with every one of them, including Tasslehoff.

Tanis invited Otik to share a glass, which he did. Flint invited him to share another, and another after that. Otik shared so many glasses that eventually, when his services were required in the kitchen, young Tika had to help him stagger off.

Other Solace residents stopped by the inn, came to their table to say good-bye and offer their good wishes. Many were Flint's customers, sorry to hear of his leaving, for he had sold out all his stock and let it be known that he expected to be gone as long as a year. Many more came to say farewell to Raistlin, much to the secret astonishment of the rest of the company, who had no idea that the caustic, sharp-tongued, and secretive young man had so many friends.

These were not friends, however. They were his patients, come to express their gratitude for his care. Among these was Miranda. No longer the town beauty, she was wan and pale in her black mourning clothes. Her baby had been among the first to perish with the plague. She gave Raistlin a sweet kiss on his cheek and thanked him, in a choked voice, for being so gentle with her dying child. Her young husband also offered his thanks, then led away his grieving wife.

Raistlin watched her depart, thankful in his heart that he had been warned away from following down that pretty, rose-strewn path. He was uncommonly nice to his brother that night, much to the astonishment of Caramon, who couldn't imagine what he had done to earn Raistlin's gratitude.

Strangers at the inn noticed the odd assortment of friends, mainly due to the fact that either Tanis or Flint dropped by to return valuables that had been appropriated by the kender. The strangers shook their heads and raised their eyebrows.

"It takes all kinds to make this world," they said, and by the disparaging tones in which they spoke, it was obvious that they didn't believe the old homily in the slightest. In their view, it took their kind and no other.

The night deepened. Darkness gathered around the inn. The shadows crept into the inn itself, for the other customers were gone to their beds, taking their lamps or candles with them to light their way. A pleasantly soused Otik had long ago rolled into his bed, leaving the cleaning up to be done by Tika, the cook, and the barmaids.

They scrubbed the tabletops and swept the floor; the clatter of crockery could be heard coming from the kitchen. Still the companions sat at their table, loath to part, for each felt, in his or her own heart, that this parting would be a long one.

At length, Raistlin, who had been nodding where he sat for some time, said quietly, "It is time for us to go, my brother. I need my rest. I have much studying to do tomorrow."

Caramon made some unintelligible response. He had drunk more than his share of ale. His nose was red, and he was at that stage of drunkenness in which some men fight and others blubber. Caramon was blubbering.

"I, too, must take my leave," said Sturm. "We need to make an early start, put several miles behind us before the heat of the day sets in."

"I wish you would change your mind and come with us," Kitiara said softly, her eyes on Tanis.

Kit had been the loudest, brashest, liveliest person in the group, except when her gaze would fall on Tanis, and then her crooked smile would slip a little. Moments later, her smile would harden, and her laughter would blare out harshly, the noisiest person at the table. But as the jollity waned and the inn grew quieter, the shadows deepened around them, Kit's laughter died away, her stories began but never came to a close. She drew nearer and nearer to Tanis, and now she clasped his hand tightly beneath the table.

"Please, Tanis," she said. "Come north. You will find glory in battle, wealth, and power. I swear it!"

Tanis hesitated. Her dark eyes were warm and soft. Her smile trembled with the intensity of her passion. He had never seen her look more lovely. He was finding it more and more difficult to give her up.

"Yes, Tanis, come with us," Sturm urged warmly. "I cannot promise you wealth or power, but glory must surely be ours."

Tanis opened his mouth. It seemed he would say "yes." Everyone expected him to say "yes," including himself. When the "no" came out, he looked as startled as anyone at the table.

As Raistlin would say later to Caramon, on their way home that night, "The human side of Tanis would have gone with her. It was the elven side of him that held him back."

"Who wants you along anyway?" Kit flared, angry, her pride hurt. She had not anticipated failure. She slid away from him, stood up. "Traveling with you would be like traveling with my own grandfather. Sturm and I will have lots more fun without you."

Sturm appeared somewhat alarmed at this statement. The pilgrimage to his homeland was a sacred journey. He wasn't going north to "have fun." Frowning, he smoothed his mustaches and repeated that they needed to make an early start.

An uncomfortable silence fell. No one wanted to be the first to leave, especially now, when it seemed likely that their parting would end on a discordant note. Even Tasslehoff was affected. The kender sat quiet and subdued, so unhappy that he actually returned Sturm's money pouch. Tas returned the pouch to Caramon, but the thought was there.

"I have an idea," said Tanis at last. "Let us plan to meet again in the autumn, on the first night of Harvest Home."

"I might be back, I might not," said Kit, shrugging with a careless air. "Don't count on me."

"I trust I will not be back," Sturm said emphatically, and his friends knew what he meant. A return to Solace in the autumn would mean his quest to find his father and his heritage had failed.

"Then we will meet every year after, on the first night of Harvest Home in the fall, those of us who are here," Tanis suggested. "And let us take a vow that five years from now we will return here to the inn, no matter where we are or what we are doing."

"Those of us who are still alive," Raistlin said.

He had intended his words as a joke, but Caramon sat up straight, the shock of his brother's words penetrating his alcohol-induced befuddlement. He cast his twin a frightened glance, a glance that Raistlin deflected with narrowed eyes.

"It was only a small attempt at humor, my brother."

"Still, you shouldn't say things like that, Raist," Caramon entreated. "It's bad luck." "Drink your ale and keep silent," Raistlin returned irritably.

Sturm's stern expression had eased. "That is a good idea. Five years. I pledge myself to return in five years."

"I'll be back, Tanis!" Tas said, hopping about in excitement. "I'll be here in five years." "You'll likely be in some jail in five years," Flint muttered. "Well, if I am, you'll bail me out, won't you, Flint?"

The dwarf swore it would be a cold day in the Abyss before he bailed the kender out of jail one more time.

"Are there cold days in the Abyss?" Tasslehoff wondered. "Are there any sort of days at all in the Abyss, or is it mostly dark and spooky like a giant hole in the ground, or is it filled with blazing fire? Don't you think the Abyss would be a great place to visit, Raistlin? I'd really like to go there someday. I'll bet not even Uncle Trapspringer has-"

Tanis called for silence, just in time to prevent Flint from up-ending his ale mug over the kender's head. Tanis placed his hand, palm down, in the center of the table.

"I vow on the love and friendship I feel for all of you"-his gaze touched each of his friends, gathered them together-"that I will return to the Inn of the Last Home on the first night of Harvest

Home five years hence."

"I will be back in five years," said Kit, resting her hand over Tanis's. Her expression had softened. Her grip on him tightened. "If not sooner. Much sooner."

"I vow on my honor as the knight I hope to become that I will return in five years," Sturm Brightblade said solemnly. He placed his hand over Tanis's and Kit's.

"I'll be here," said Caramon. His large hand engulfed the other hands of his friends.

"And I," said Raistlin. He touched the back of his brother's hand with his fingertips.

"Don't forget me! I'll be here!" Tasslehoff crawled on top of the table to add his small hand to the pile.

"Well, Flint?" Tanis said, smiling at his old friend.

"Confound it, I may have more important things to do than come back to this place just to see your pasty faces," Flint grumbled.

He took hold of the hands of all his friends in his own gnarled and work-hardened hands. "Reorx walk with you until we meet again!" he said, then turned his head, stared very hard out the window at nothing.

The inn's door had long ago been locked for the night. A yawning barmaid was on hand to let them out. Raistlin said his good-byes quickly. He was eager to go home to his rest, and he waited impatiently at the door for his brother. Caramon embraced Sturm, the two longtime friends holding each other close. They parted in silence, both unable to speak. Caramon shook hands with Tanis, and he would have hugged Flint, but the dwarf, scandalized, told him to "get along home." Tasslehoff flung his arms as far as they would go around Caramon, who playfully tweaked the kender's topknot in return.

Kitiara stepped forward to embrace her brother, but Caramon seemed not to see her. Raistlin was now tapping his foot in irritation. Caramon hurried off, brushing past Kit without a word. She stared after him, then grinned, shrugged. Sturm's good-byes were brief and formal, accompanied by low and respectful bows for Tanis and Flint. Kit arranged a meeting place and then Sturm left.

"I think I'll stay a little longer," said Tas. He was just about to upend his pouches to look over his day's "findings" when there came a heavy knock on the door.

"Oh, hullo, Sheriff," Tas called cheerfully. "Looking for someone?"

Tasslehoff departed in the company of the sheriff. The kender's last words were for someone to remember to get him out of jail in the morning.

Kit stood in the doorway, waiting for Tanis.

"Flint, you coming?" Tanis asked.

The barmaid had taken the candles away. Flint sat in the darkness. He made no response. "The girl's wanting to close up," Tanis urged. Still no response.

"I'll take care of him, sir," the barmaid said softly.

Tanis nodded. Joining Kit, he put his arm around her, drew her close. The two walked side by side into the night.

The dwarf sat there, by himself, until dawn.