coming. And then one night I found a snakeskin hanging from the door. That was when I closed the shop and

decided to move."

"Excuse me if I seem disrespectful, sir, but if you fear them, why did you try to go to their temple?"

"I thought it might placate them. I thought perhaps I could pretend to go along with them, just to keep them

from hounding me. It didn't work." Lemuel shook his head sadly. "Moving wouldn't be so bad. The mageware

shop itself never made a lot of money. It's my herbs and my plants that I'll miss. I'm trying to dig them up hoping

to transplant them, but I'm afraid I'll lose most of them."

"The shop wasn't successful?" Raistlin asked, glancing around wistfully at the bare shelves.

"It might have been if I'd lived in a city like Palanthas. But here in Haven?" Lemuel shrugged. "Most of what I

sold came from my father's collection. He was a remarkable wizard. An archmagus. He wanted me to follow in

his footsteps, but his shoes were much too big. I couldn't hope to fill them. Just wasn't cut out for it. I wanted to

be a farmer. I have a wonderful way with plants. Father wouldn't hear of it, however. He insisted that I study

magic. I wasn't very good at it, but he kept hoping I'd improve with age.

"But then, when I was finally old enough to take the Test, the conclave wouldn't let me. Par-Salian told my

father it would be tantamount to murder. Father was extremely disappointed. He

left home that very day, some twenty years ago, and I haven't heard from him since."

Raistlin was barely listening. He was forced to admit that his trip had been in vain.

"I'm sorry," he said, but that was more for himself than the mage.

"Don't be," Lemuel said cheerfully. "I was relieved to see Father go, to tell you the truth. The day he left I plowed

up the yard and put in my garden. Speaking of which, we should get this plant into water immediately."

Lemuel bustled off into the kitchen, which was located behind the shop in the back of the house. Here the

shutters were open, letting in the sunlight. Lemuel blew out his candle.

"What type of wizard was your father?" Raistlin asked, blowing out his candle in turn.

"A war wizard," Lemuel replied, lovingly tending the black bryony. "This is really quite nice. You say you grew it?

What sort of fertilizer do you use?"

Raistlin answered. He looked out the window onto Lemuel's garden, which, despite the fact that it was half dug

up, was truly magnificent. At any other time, he would have been interested in Lemuel's herbs, but all he saw now

was a blur of green.

A war wizard ...

An idea was forming in Raistlin's mind. He was forced to discuss herbs for a few moments, but soon led the

conversation back to the archmagus.

"He was considered one of the best," Lemuel said. He was obviously quite proud of his father, held no bitterness or

grudges against the man. He brightened when he spoke of him. "The Silvanesti elves once invited him to come help

them fight the minotaurs. The Silvanesti are very snooty. They almost never have anything to do with humans. My

father said it was an honor. He was immensely pleased."

"Did your father take his spellbooks with him when he left?" Raistlin asked hesitantly, not daring to hope.

"He took some, I'm sure. The very powerful ones, no doubt. But he didn't bother with the rest. My guess is that he

moved to the Tower of Wayreth, and in that case, you know, he wouldn't really need any of his elementary

spellbooks. What type of soil would you recommend?"

"A bit on the sandy side. Do you still have them? The books, I mean. I would be interested in seeing them."

"Blessed Gilean, yes, they're still here. I have no idea how

many there are or if they are of any importance. A lot of the mages I deal with . . . or rather used to deal with"-Lemuel

sighed again-"aren't interested in war magic.

"Elves come here often, mostly from Qualinesti these days. Sometimes they have need of what they term 'human

magic,' or sometimes they come for my herbs. You wouldn't think that, would you, young man? Elves being so good

with plants themselves. Butthey tell me that I have several species that they have not been able to grow. Oneyoung

man used to say that I must have elf blood in me somewhere. He's a mage, too. Perhaps you know him. Gilthanas is

his name."

"No, sir, I'm sorry," Raistlin said.

"I suppose you wouldn't. And, of course, I don't have any elf blood at all. My mother was born and raised here in