"I have a question!" Caramon cried. "Is it true that sometimes the initiates die "

He was talking to a door. He was inside a room, a very

comfortable room that might have been lifted from one of the finest inns in Ansalon. A fire burned on the hearth.

A table, loaded with food, all of Caramon's favorite dishes, and a most excellent ale.

Caramon paid no attention to the food. Angry at what h e considered high-handed treatment, he tried to open

the door. The handle came off in his hands.

Now extremely fearful for his brother, suspecting some sort of sinister intent on Raistlin's life, Caramon was

determined to rescue his twin. He hurled himself at the door. It shook beneath his weight but did not budge. He

beat at the door with his fists, shouting for someone to come and release him.

"Caramon Majere."

The voice came from behind him.

Startled and alarmed, Caramon turned around so fast that he tripped over his own feet. Stumbling, he clutched

at the table and stared.

Par-Salian stood in the center of the room. He smiled reassuringly at Caramon.

"Forgive my dramatic arrival, but the door is wizard-locked, and it's such a bother removing the spell and then

putting it on again. Is the room comfortable? Is there anything we might bring you?"

"Damn the room!" Caramon thundered. "They told me he might die."

"That is true, but he is aware of the risks."

"I want to be with him," said Caramon. "I'm his twin. I have that right."

"You are with him," said Par-Salian softly. "He takes you everywhere."

Caramon didn't understand. He wasn't with Raistlin, they were trying to trick him, that's all. He brushed the

meaningless words aside.

"Let me go to him." He glowered and clenched his fists. "Either you let me go or I'll tear down this Tower

stone by stone."

Par-Salian stroked his beard to hide his smile. "I'll make a bargain with you, Caramon. You permit our tower

to remain standing, unharmed, and I'll permit you to watch your brother as he takes his Test. You will not be

allowed to help or assist him in any way, but perhaps watching him may alleviate your fears."

Caramon thought it over. "Yeah. All right," he said. Once he knew where Raistlin was, Caramon figure d he

could go to him if he needed help.

"I'm ready. Take me to him. Oh, and thanks, but I'm not thirsty now."

Par-Salian was pouring water from a pitcher into a bowl. "Sit down, Caramon," he said.

"We're going to go find Raist-"

"Sit down, Caramon," Par-Salian repeated. "You want to seeyourtwin? Look into the bowl."

"But it's only water...."

Par-Salian passed his hand over the water in the bowl, spoke a single magic word, scattered a few crumbled

leaves of plants into the water.

Sitting down, planning to first humor the old man and then grab h im by his scrawny throat, Caramon looked

into the water.

Raistlin trudged down a lonely, little -traveled road on the

outskirts of Haven. Night was falling, a stiffening breeze

swayed the treetops, sent autumn leaves flying. There was a smell of lightning in the humid air. He had been

traveling all day on foot, he was tired and hungry, and now a storm was approaching. All thought of spending the

night sleeping on the ground vanished from his mind.

A tinker he had met earlier had told him, in response to a question, that there was an inn up ahead, an inn with

the droll name of the Inn Between. The tinker added the warning that the inn had an evil reputation, was known to

be frequented by the wrong sort of crowd. Raistlin didn't care what sort of crowd drank there, so long as the inn had

a bed beneath a roof and they let him sleep in it. He had little fear of thieves. It must be obvious from his shabby

robes that he carried nothing of value. The very sight of those robes-the robes of a magic-user-would make the

ordinary footpad think twice before accosting him.

The Inn Between, so called because it was located equidistant between Haven and Qualinesti, did not look