mage, an initiate, not even yet an apprentice, Raistlin would not be permitted inside the Tower. His first entry into

that fabled and dread edifice would be if and when he was invited to take the Test. The Tower of Wayreth was out of

the question.

There were other sources for books of magic and books on magic: mageware shops.

Mageware shops were not numerous in this day and age, but they did exist. There was a mageware shop in Haven;

Raistlin had heard Master Theobald speak of it.He knew the location, having made surreptitious inquiries.

One night, shortly after Flint's marvelous recovery, Raistlin knelt down beside a small wooden chest he kept in his

room. The chest was guarded by a simple locking cantrip, one of the first magicks every mage learns, a spell that is

absolutely essential in a world populated by kender.

Removing the cantrip with a single spoken command, a command that could be personalized to suit each wizard

who utilize d it, Raistlin opened the lid to the chest and took out of it a small leather purse. He counted the coinscompletely

unnecessary. He knew to the halfpence how much he had acquired. He deemedhe had enough.

The next morning he broached the subject with his brother. "Tell Farmer Sedge that you must take some time off,

Caramon. We are traveling to Haven."

Caramon's eyelids opened so wide it seemed probable he might never be able to close them. He stared at his twin

in wordless astonishment. The distance from Solace to Master Theobald's former school, about five miles, had been

the farthest Caramon had ever traveled from his home in his life. The distance to the Lordcity of Haven was perhaps

some ninety miles and seemed liked the end of the known world to Caramon.

"Flint is journeying to the Harvest Home Festival in Haven

next week. I heard him tell Tanis so last night. Tanis and Kit will undoubtedly travel along. I propose that we go

with them."

"You bet we will!" cried Caramon. In his joy, he performed an impromptu dance upon the door stoop, causing

the entire house to s hake on its tree-limb foundations.

"Calm down, Caramon," Raistlin ordered irritably. "You'll crash through the floorboards again, and we can't

spare the money for repairs."

"Sorry, Raist." Caramon quieted his elation, especially as he had a sobering thought. "Speaking of money, do

we have enough? Going to Haven will cost plenty. Tanis will offer to pay for it, but we shouldn't let him."

"We have enough if we are frugal. I will handle that detail. You need not worry about it."

"I'll ask Sturm if he wants to go," Caramon said, his happiness returning. He rubbed his hands together. "It

will be a real adventure!"

"I trust not," Raistlin said caustically. "It is a three-day journey by wagon on well-traveled roads. I see no

adventuring involved."

Which only proved that he had not inherited his mother's gift of foresight after all.

T he journey began as uneventfully as anyone could haver Lwished, with the possible exception of two young

and

aspiring warriors eager to display their newfound skills. The weather was clear and cool, the sunshine

warmed them pleasantly in the afternoons. Recent rains kept the dust down. The road to Haven was filled with

travelers, for Harvest Home was the city's largest festival.

Tanis drove the wagon, which was filled to capacity with the dwarf's wares. Flint hoped to make money

enough at the festival to help offset the amount he had lost over the summer. Raistlin rode up front with Tanis, to

keep the half-elf company. Kitiara sometimes rode, sometimes walked. She was far too restless to ever do any

one thing for long. Flint had a place in the back of the wagon, where he was comfortably ensconced among the

rattling pots and pans, keeping a close eye upon his more valued wares: silver bracers and bracelets, necklaces

set with precious stones. Sturm and Caramon walked alongside, ready for trouble.

The two young men peopled the road with bands of robbers, legions of hobgoblins (despite Tanis's amused

assurances that a goblin had not been seen in Solace since the time of the Cataclysm), and hordes of ravening

beasts from wolves to basilisks.

Their hopes for combat (nothing serious, a minor altercation would do) were aided and abetted by Tasslehoff,

who took great delight in relating every tale he'd ever heard and quite a few he made up on the spot. Tales about

unwary travelers having their hearts ripped out and eaten by ogres, travelers who were dragged off by bears,