Word of the excitement in Haven had either not yet reached the fairgrounds, or, if it had, the participants had

listened to it as a good story, little thinking it would have any effect on them. They would feel differently in the

morning. If there was a murder trial and a hanging tomorrow, attendance at the fair would fall to almost nothing,

sales would be down.

Caramon found Flint's stall by tracing the lumpy outlines of the various buildings, silhouetted against the lambent

light of stars and the red moon, which was full and exceedingly bright. Caramon took this as a good omen. Though

Raistlin wore white robes, he had once remarked that he favored Lunitari.

Caramon looked for Sturm, but he was nowhere to be found, nor was Tasslehoff around. Caramon went to Tanis's

tent, hesitated at the tent flap.

Desperate, Caramon had no compunction about interrupting any sort of pleasurable activity that might be

taking place inside. Listening, he could hear nothing. He lifted the flap, peeked in. Tanis was alone, asleep,

though not peacefully. He murmured something in an unknown language, probably elven, tossed restlessly.

Evidently the quarrel remained unresolved. Caramon lowered the flap, backed away.

Entering the tent he shared with his twin, Caramon was not surprised to find Kitiara inside, rolled up in a

blanket. By her even breathing, she was sleeping soundly and contentedly. Red moonlight flowed in after

Caramon, as though Lunitari herself was intent on being present at this interview. Anger and awe vied for the

uppermost position in Caramon's soul.

Squatting down, he touched Kit's shoulder. He had to shake her several times to rouse her, and by this and the

poor job of acting she did on rolling over and feigning not to immediately recognize him, he concluded that she

had been shamming, playing possum. Kit was not one to let anyone sneak up on her, as Caramon himself knew

from past painful experience.

"Who is that? Caramon?" Kit affected a yawn, ran her hand through her tousled hair. "What do you want?

What time is it?"

"They've arrested Raistlin," Caramon said.

"Yes, well, I'm not surprised. We'll pay his fine and get him out of jail in the morning." Kit drew the blanket

over her shoulders, turned away.

"They've arrested him for murder." Caramon spoke to his sister's back. "For the murder of the Widow Judith.

We found her dead in her chambers. Her throat had been cut. There was a knife beside the body. Raistlin and I

both recognized that knife. We'd seen it before-on your knife belt."

He fell silent, waiting.

Kitiara held still a moment, then, throwing off the blanket, she sat up. She was dressed in her hose and longsleeved

shirt. She had removed her leather vest, but she was wearing her boots.

She was nonchalant, easy, even slightly amused. "So why did they arrest Raistlin?"

"They found him holding the knife."

Kit grimaced. "That was stupid. Baby brother usually

doesn't make stupid mistakes like that. As for recognizing the

knife"-she shrugged-"there are a lot of knives in this world."

"Not many with Flint's mark, or the way you wrap the hilt

with braided leather. It was your knife, Kit. Both Raistlin and I know it."

"You do, do you?" Kit quirked an eyebrow. "Did Raistlin say anything?"

"No, of course not. He wouldn't." Caramon was grim. "Not until I talked to you about it. But he's going to."

"They won't believe him."

"Then you're going to say something. You killed her, didn't you Kit?"

Kitiara shrugged again, made no reply. The red moonlight, reflected in her dark eyes, never wavered.

Caramon stood up. "I'm going to tell them, Kit. I'm going to tell them the truth." He bent down, started to

duck out the tent.

Kit twisted to her feet, seized hold of his sleeve. "Caramon, wait! There's something you have to consider.

Something you haven't thought about." She tugged him back inside the tent, closed the flap, shutting out the

moonlight.

"Well"-Caramon regarded her coldly-"what's that?"