"Fine. It's settled. I'm coming," Kit said, refusing to listen to any arguments. "Now, Caramon, tell me why you and

that wizard brother of yours won't come with us. Four traveling the road is much safer. Besides, there's some people

up north I want you to meet."

"Like I told Sturm, I can't go," Caramon said.

His usually cheerful face was shadowed, grave. He hadn't drunk even a sip of his ale, which had by now gone flat.

Shoving it aside, he stood up, flung a coin on the table, and left.

He didn't feel comfortable around Kitiara anymore. He was glad she was leaving, relieved that Tanis wasn't going

with her. He had often felt that he should tell Tanis the truth about that night. Tell Tanis that Kit had been the one to

murder Judith. Tell Tanis that she had urged Caramon to let Raistlin take the blame, to let Raistlin die.

She had claimed that she was joking. Still ...

Caramon gave a relieved sigh. She would leave, and if they were lucky, she would not return. Caramon was

worried about Sturm, who would be traveling in Kit's company, but on reflection, Caramon decided that the young

knight, bolstered by his reliance on the Oath and the Measure, could look after himself. Besides, as Kit said,

traveling alone was dangerous.

Caramon's main concern was for Tanis, who would be terribly hurt by Kit's decision to leave. Caramon figuredlogically-

that Kitiara, the restless firebrand, was the one who had ended the relationship.

It was Raistlin who discovered the truth.

Although he had several months to wait before he and Caramon would undertake their journey to the Tower,

Raistlin began immediately to make preparations. One of these involved the retooling of the leather thong that held

the knife on Raistlin's wrist, concealed beneath his robes. A flick of that wrist was supposed to cause the knife to

drop down, unseen, into the mage's hand.

At least that was how the thong was designed to work. Raistlin's wrist was far thinner than the wrist of the war

mage who had originally worn it, however. When Raistlin tried wearing the contraption, the thong itself dropped into

his hand. The knife fell to the floor. He took it to Flint, hoping the dwarf could fix it.

Flint, looking the thong over, was impressed with the workmanship, thought it might be dwarven.

According to Lemuel, the Qualinesti elves had made the knife and the thong as a gift to their friend, the war mage.

Raistlin made no mention of this, however. He agreed with the dwarf that the thong was undoubtedly constructed

by some great dwarven leatherworker. Flint offered to adjust the size if Raistlin would leave the thong with him

for a week or two.

Raistlin had his hand on the doorknocker, was about to knock, when he heard faint voices inside. The voices

belonged to Tanis and Flint. Raistlin could distinguish only a few words, but one was "Kitiara."

Certain that any conversation about his sister would cease if he were introduced into it, Raistlin carefully and

quietly lowered his hand from the knocker. He looked to see if anyone was in sight. Finding that he was alone,

Raistlin slipped around the side of the house to Flint's workshop. The dwarf had opened the window to let in the

soft spring breeze. Hidden from view by a fall of purple clematis, which grew up the side of the workshop,

Raistlin stood to one side of the window.

Any qualms he might have had about eavesdropping on his friends were easily settled. He had often wondered

how much Tanis knew about Kit's activities: midnight meetings with strangers, the murder of the priestess ...

Was Kit fleeing danger? Had Tanis threatened to denounce her? And where did that leave Raistlin if this were

the case? Quite understandably, he had small faith in his sister's loyalty.

"We've been arguing for days," Tanis was saying. "She wants me to come north with her."

The conversation was interrupted by a moment's furious hammering. When that was finished, the talk

resumed.

"She claims to have friends who will pay large sums to those skilled with bow and blade."

"Even half-elves?" Flint grunted.

"I pointed that out, but she says-rightly so-that I could hide my heritage if I wanted. I could grow a beard,

wear my hair long to cover my ears."

"A fine sight you'd look with a beard!"

Flint plied the hammer again.

"Well? Are you going?" he asked when the hammering had stopped.