Again Antimodes felt the sanctifying touch of the god.

"Your sister tells me, Raistlin, that you would like to go to school to study to be a mage," Antimodes began, by way

of introducing the topic.

Raistlin hesitated a moment, then said, "Yes, I suppose so." "You suppose so?" Antimodes repeated sharply, disappointed.

"Don't you know what you want?"

"I never thought about it," Raistlin replied, shrugging his thin shoulders in a gesture remarkably similar to that of

his more robust twin. "About going to school, I mean. I didn't even know there were schools to study magic. I just

thought magic was a ... a-" he searched for the phrase-"a part of you. Like eyes or toes."

The fingers of the god hammered on Antimodes's soul. But he needed more information. He had to be sure.

"Tell me, Raistlin, is anyone in your family a mage? I'm not prying," Antimodes explained, seeing a pained

expression contort the child's face. "It's just that we've found that the art is most often transmitted through the

blood."

Raistlin licked his lips. His gaze dropped, fixed on his hands. The fingers, slender and agile for one so young,

curled inward. "My mother," he said in a flat voice. "She sees things. Things far away. She sees other parts of the

world. She watches what the elves are doing and the dwarves beneath the mountain."

"She's a seer," said Antimodes.

Raistlin shrugged again. "Most people think she's crazy." He lifted his gaze in defiance, ready to defend his mother.

When he found Antimodes regarding him with sympathy, the boy relaxed and the words flowed out, as if a vein were

cut open.

"She forgets to eat sometimes. Well, not forgets exactly. It's like she's eating somewhere else. And she doesn't do

work around the house, but that's because she's not really in the house. She's visiting wonderful places, seeing

wonderful, beautiful things. I know," Raistlin continued, "because when she comes back, she's sad. As if she didn't

want to come back. She looks at us like she doesn't know us sometimes."

"Does she talk about what she's seen?" Antimodes asked gently.

"To me, a little," the boy answered. "But not much. It makes my father unhappy, and my sister ... well, you've seen

Kit. She doesn't have any patience with what she calls Mother's 'fits.' So I can't blame Mother for leaving us," Raistlin

continued, his voice so soft that Antimodes had to lean forward to hear the child. "I'd go with her if I could. And we'd

never come back here. Never."

Antimodes sipped his drink, using the mead as an excuse to keep silent until he had regained control of his anger.

It was an old story, one he'd seen time and again. This poor woman was no different from countless others. She had

been born with the art, but her talent was denied, probably ridiculed, certainly discouraged by family members who

thought all magic-users were demon spawn. Instead of receiving the training and discipline that would have taught

her how to use the art to her benefit and that of others, she was stifled, smothered. What had been a gift had become

a curse. If she were not already insane, she soon would be.

There was no longer a chance to save her. There was yet a chance to save her son.

"What work does your father do?" Antimodes asked.

"He's a woodcutter," Raistlin answered. Now that they had shifted topics, he was more at ease. His hands

flattened on the table. "He's big, like Caramon. My father works really hard. We don't see him much." The child

didn't appear overly distressed by this fact.

He was silent a moment, then said, his brow furrowed with the seriousness of his thought process, "This

school. It isn't far away, is it? I mean, I wouldn't like to leave Mother for very long. And then there's Caramon.

Like he said, we're twins. We take care of each other."

I'm going to be leaving sometime soon,the sister had said.Mylittle brothers will have to fend for themselves when I'm gone.

Antimodes clasped hands with the god, gave Solinari's hand a deal-clinching shake. "There is a school quite

close by. It is located about five miles to the west in a secluded wood. Most people have no idea it is even there.

Five miles is not a long walk for a grown man, but it is quite a hike for a small boy, back and forth every day.

Many students board there, especially those who come from distant parts of Ansalon. It would be my suggestion

that you do the same. The school is only in session eight months out of the year. The master takes the summer

months off to spend at theTowerofWayreth. You could be with your family during that time. I would have to

talk to your father, though. He is the one who must enroll you. Do you think he will approve?"