Shame and derision were far more difficult for Raistlin to contemplate than any physical punishment. He

pictured the crowd hooting with mirth, the High Priest hiding his smugly pitying smile, the High Priestess Judith

regarding his downfall in triumph, and he writhed at the thought. He began to think of excuses. He would not go

to the temple tomorrow. He wasn't feeling well. The young mother would be disappointed, left bitterly unhappy,

but she would be no worse off than she was now.

The right and proper thing to do would be to make a report to the Conclave of Wizards. They were the people

most capable of dealing with the matter. He was too young, too inexperienced....

Yet, he said to himself, think of the triumph if I succeed!

Not only would he ease the suffering of the mother, but he would also distinguish himself. How fine it would

be to report not only the problem to the conclave, but to add modestly that he had solved it. The great Par-Salian,

who had undoubtedly never heard of Raistlin Majere before, would take notice. A thrill came over Raistlin.

Perhaps he would be invited to attend a meeting of the conclave! By this act, he would prove to others and to

himself that he was capable of using powerful magicks in a crisis situation. Surely they would reward him.

Surely the prize was worth the risk.

"In addition. I will be fulfilling my promise to the three gods

who once took an interest in me. If I cannot prove their existence to others, at least I can shatter the image of this

false god who is attempting to usurp them. In that way, I will draw their favorable attention as well."

He went over his plan in his mind again, this time eagerly, excitedly, searching for flaws. The only flaw that he

could see lay within himself. Was he strong enough, skilled enough, brave enough? Unfortunately none of those

questions would be answered until the time came.

Would his friends back him up? Would Tanis, who was nominally their leader, permit Raistlin to even try his

scheme? "Yes, if I approach them the right way."

He found the others gathered around a campfire they had built in back of Flint's stall.

Tanis and Kit sat side by side. Evidently the half-elf had not yet discovered Kit's deception. Caramon sat on a log,

his head in his hands. Flint had returned from the tavern a bit tipsy, having fallen in with some hill dwarves from the

Kharolis Mountains, who, though not of his clan, had traveled near his old homeland and were happy to share gossip

and ale. Tasslehoff squatted by the campfire, roasting chestnuts in a skillet.

"You're back," said Kit as Raistlin appeared. "We were getting worried. I was just about to send Tanis to find you.

He's already been out rescuing the kender."

Kit winked when Tanis wasn't looking. Raistlin understood. Caramon did, too, apparently. Lifting his head, his

brow puckered, he looked at his twin, sighed, and lowered his head to his hands again.

"My head aches," " he mumbled.

Tanis explained that he had found Tasslehoff, along with twenty other kender, incarcerated in the Haven jail.

Tanis paid the fine levied on those who "knowingly and willingly associate with kender," extricated Tas from prison,

and brought him forcibly back to the fairgrounds. Tanis trusted that tomorrow the distractions of the fair would keep

the kender occupied and out of the town proper.

Tasslehoff was sorry to have missed the evening's adventure, especially the giant snake and the intoxicating

smoke. The Haven jail had been a disappointment.

"It was dirty, Raistlin, and it had rats! Can you believe it? Rats! For rats I missed a giant snake and intoxicating

smoke. Life is so unfair!"

Tas could never stay unhappy for long, however. Upon re-

fleeting that he couldn't possibly be two places at the same time (except Uncle Trapspringer, who had done it

once), the kender cheered up. Forgetting the chestnuts (which soon burned past eating), Tas sorted through all his

newfound possessions, then, worn out by the day's excitement, he fell asleep, his head pillowed on one of his

own pouches.

Flint shook his head at the story of Belzor. He stroked his long beard and said it didn't surprise him in the

least. He expected nothing better of humans, present company excepted.

Kit considered it a fine joke.

"You should have seen Caramon," she told them, laughing. "Staggering about like a great drunken bear."

Caramon groaned and rose unsteadily to his feet. Mumbling something about feeling sick, he staggered off in