circled the arena three times, chanting the name of Belzor, then they left through the door in the statue. Acolytes

circulated among the crowd, graciously accepting all offerings made in Belzor's name, with Belzor's blessing.

The High Priest led Judith to the door leading out of the temple. Here she greeted worshipers, who begged for her

blessing. A large basket stood at the floor at Judith's feet. Blessings were granted as the steel coins clinked.

The young mother stood bereft and alone. Catching hold of one of the acolytes, she begged, "Take pity on my poor

child! Her heritage is not her fault."

The acolyte coldly removed her hand from his sleeve. "You heard the will of Belzor, woman. You are fortunate our

god is so merciful. What he asks is a very small price to pay to free your child from eternal torment."

The young mother covered her face with her hands. "Where'd the snake go?" asked Caramon, weaving unsteadily

on his feet.

Raistlin kept firm hold on his brother, dissuaded him from making a foray into the arena in search of the giant

viper. "Kitiara, you and Sturm take Caramon back to the fairgrounds and put him to bed. I will meet you there."

"I do not want to believe in this miracle," Sturm said, gazing at the statue, "but neither can I explain it."

"I can, but I'm not going to," Raistlin said. "Not now." "What will you do?" Kit asked, catching hold of the

reeling Caramon by the shirttail.

"I'll join you later," Raistlin said and left them before Kit could insist on coming with him.

He pushed his way through the roving acolytes with their offering baskets to the arena, where the mother of

the dead child stood alone. One man, passing her, gave her a shove, called out, "Elven whore." A woman came

up to her to say loudly, "It is well your child died. She would have been nothing but a pointy-eared freak!" The

mother shrank away from these cruel words as from a blow.

Anger burned in Raistlin, anger kindled from words shouted long ago, words the weak use against those

weaker than themselves. An idea formed in hot forge-fire of his rage. It emerged from the flames as steel, heated

and ready for slagging. In the space of three steps, he had forged the plan in his mind, the plan he would use to

bring High Priestess Judith to ruin, discredit all the false priests of Belzor, bring about the downfall of the false

god.

Drawing near the unfortunate mother, Raistlin put out a hand to detain her. His touch was gentle, he could be

verygentle when he wanted, yet the woman still shivered beneath his grasp in fright. She turned fearful eyes

upon him.

"Leave me alone!" she pleaded. "I beg of you. I have suffered enough."

"I am not one of your tormentors, madam," Raistlin said in the quiet, calming tones he used to soothe the sick.

His hand clasped over the mother's, and he could feel her shaking. Stroking her hand reassuringly, he leaned near

and whispered, "Belzor is a fraud, a sham. Your child is at peace. She sleeps soundly, as though you had rocked

her to sleep yourself."

The woman's eyes filled with tears. "I did rock her. I held her, and at the end, she was at peace, as you have

said. 'I feel better now, Mama,' she told me, and she closed her eyes." The woman clutched frantically at Raistlin.

"I want to believe you! But how can I? What proof can you give me?"

"Come to the temple tomorrow night."

"Come back here?" The mother shook her head.

"You must," said Raistlin firmly. "I will prove to you then that what I've told you is the truth."

"I believe you," she said and gave him a wan smile. "I trust you. I will come."

Raistlin looked back into the arena, at the long line of worshipers fawning over Judith. The coins in the basket

gleamed in the light of the braziers, and more money continued to flow in. Belzor had done well for himself

tonight.

One of the acolytes came up, rattled the collection basket in front of Raistlin hopefully.

"I trust we will see you at tomorrow night's ceremony, brother."

"You can count on it," said Raistlin.

Raistlin returned to the fairgrounds, mulling over his plan in his mind. The forge-fire in his soul had burned very

hot but the flames died quickly when exposed to the cool

night air. Plagued with self-doubt, he regretted having made his promise to the bereaved mother. If he failed, he

would be laughed out of Haven.