"Here. Wear these." Kit hunted out a pair of Caramon's old shoes from last winter and tossed them at Raistlin.

"They'll pinch my toes," he protested, regarding them glumly.

"Wear them," Kit ordered. "All the other boys in the school wear shoes, don't they? Only peasants go barefoot.

That's what my father says."

Raistlin made no reply. He slid his feet into the worn shoes.

Picking up a dirty dishcloth, Kit dipped it in the water bucket and scrubbed Raistlin's face and ears so vigorously

that he was certain at least half his skin must be missing.

Squirming free of his sister's grasp, Raistlin saw that Rosamun dropped her ball of wool on the floor. Her beauty

had faded, like a rainbow fades when the storm clouds overtake the sun. Her hair was drab and lusterless, her eyes

had too bright a luster, the luster

of fever or madness. Her pale skin had a gray cast to it. She stared vaguely at her empty hands, as if she were

wondering what to do with them. Caramon picked up the wool, handed it to her.

"Here, Mother."

"Thank you, child." She turned her vacant gaze to him. "Gre gor's dead, do you know that, child?"

"Yes, Mother," Caramon said, not really hearing her.

Rosamun would often make incongruous statements like this. Her children were used to them and generally

ignored them. But this morning Kitiara rounded on her mother in sudden fury. "He's not dead! What do you

know? He never cared for you! Don't say things like that, you crazy old witch!"

Rosamun smiled and twined her wool and sang to herself. Her boys stood nearby, quiet, unhappy. Kit's words

hurt them far more than they hurt Rosamun, who wasn't paying the slightest attention to her daughter.

"He's not dead! I know it and I'm going to find him!" Kitiara declared, her vow low and fervent.

"How do you know he's alive?" Caramon asked. "And if he is, how will you find him? I've heard there are lots

of people in Solamnia. Even more than here in Solace."

"I'll find him," Kit replied confidently. "He told me how." She gazed at them speculatively. "Look, this is

probably the last time you'll see me for a long while. Come here. I'll show you something if you promise not to

tell."

Leading them into the small room where she slept, she produced from her mattress a crudely crafted,

handmade leather pouch. "In here. This is my fortune."

"Money?" Caramon asked, brightening.

"No!" Kitiara scoffed at the notion. "Something better than money. My birthright."

"Let me see!" Caramon begged.

Kitiara refused. "I promised my father I would never show it to anyone. At least not yet. Someday, though,

you will see it. When I come back rich and powerful and riding at the head of my armies, then you will see it."

"We'll be part of your army, won't we, Kit," Caramon said. "Raist and me."

"You'll be captains, both of you. I'll be your commander, of course," Kit said matter-of-factly.

"I'd like being a captain." Caramon was enthusiastic. "What about you, Raist?"

Raistlin shrugged. "I don't care." After another lingering

glance at the pouch,he said quietly, "We should leave now. I'll be late."

Kit eyed them, her hands on her hips. "You'll do, I suppose. You come straight back home, Caramon, after

you drop Raistlin off. No hanging about the school. You two have to get used to being separated."

"Sure, Kit." It was now Caramon's turn tobe glum.

Raistlin went to his mother, took her by the hand.

"Good-bye, Mother," he said with a catch in his voice. "Good-bye, dear," she said. "Don't forget to cover your

head

when it's damp."

And that was his blessing. Raistlin had endeavored to explain to his mother where he was going, but she had

been completely unable to comprehend. "Studying magic? Whatever for? Don't be silly, child."

Raistlin had given up. He and Caramon left the house just as the sun was gilding the tips of the vallenwood

leaves.

"I'm glad Kit didn't want to come with us. I have something to tell you," Caramon said in a loud whisper. He