whetstone."

"Go borrow one from Flint. Or better still, take your sword to Flint's and work on it there," Raistlin said,

mopping up spilled cream. "Anything to get you out from underfoot."

"I wonder if Flint would like to come along. And Kit and Tanis and Tasslehoff! I'll go see."

His brother gone and the house quiet, Raistlin picked up the pieces of the broken pitcher and threw them

away. He was as excited over the prospect of a journey to new and distant lands as his brother, though he had

more sense than to smash the crockery over it. He was considering which of his herbs to pack, which he might

find along the roadside, when there came a knock at the door.

Thinking it might be Sturm, Raistlin called out, "Caramon has gone to Flint's."

The knock was repeated, this time with the sharp rapping of an impatient visitor.

Raistlin opened the door, regarded his guest in amazement and surprise and not a little concern.

"Master Theobald!"

The mage stood upon the boardwalk outside the house. He wore a cloak over his white robes and carried a

stout staff, indications that he had been traveling.

"May I come in?" Theobald asked gruffly.

"Certainly. Of course. Forgive me, Master." Raistlin stood aside, ushered his guest across the threshold. "I was

not expecting you."

That was quite true. In all the years that Raistlin had attended the master's school, Theobald had never once

paid a visit to Raistlin's home, nor evinced the slightest inclination to do so.

Bemused and somewhat apprehensive-his exploits in Haven had been widely reported throughout Solace-

Raistlin invited his master to be seated in the only good chair in the house, the chair that happened to be his

mother's rocking chair. Theobald declined all offers of food and wine.

"I do not have time to linger. I have been gone for a week, and I have not yet been home. I came here

immediately. I have just returned from the Tower at Wayreth, from a meeting of the conclave."

Raistlin's uneasiness increased. "Isn't a meeting of the conclave at this early time of year somewhat unusual,

Master? I thought they were always held in the summer."

"It is indeed unusual. We wizards had matters of great import to discuss. I was specially sent for," Theobald

added, stroking his beard.

Raistlin made suitable comments, all the while wishing impatiently and with increasing nervousness that the

provoking old fart would come to the point.

"Your doings in Haven were among the topics of discussion, Majere," Theobald said, glowering at Raistlin,

brows bristling. "You broke many rules, not the least of which was casting a spell far above your capability."

Raistlin would have pointed out that the spell was obviously not above his capability to cast, since he had cast

it, but he knew that this would be lost on Theobald.

"I did what I thought was right under the circumstances, Master," Raistlin said, as meekly and contritely as he

could.

"Rubbish!" Theobald snorted. "You know what was right under the circumstances. You should have reported

the wizardess to us as a renegade. We would have dealt with the matter in time."

"In time, Master," Raistlin emphasized. "Meanwhile, innocent people were being bilked out of what little they

had, others were being driven from their homes. The charlatan priestess and her followers were causing

irreparable harm. I sought to end it."

"You ended it, all right," Theobald said with dark implications.

"I was exonerated from her murder, Master," Raistlin returned, his tone sharp. "I have a writ from the High

Sheriff of Haven himself proclaiming my innocence."

"So who did kill her?" Theobald asked.

"I have no idea, Master," Raistlin replied.

"Hunh," Theobald grunted. "Well, you handled the matter badly, but, still, you handled it. Damn near got

yourself killed in the process, I understand. As I said, the conclave discussed the matter."

Raistlin kept silent, waited to hear his punishment. He had

already determined that if they forbade him to practice magic, he would defy them, become a renegade himself.