"Like you said, someday I'll have a real one," Caramon answered, his enthusiasm undaunted by logic. "Kitiara

promised. Hey, that reminds me of what I was going to tell you. I think Kit's getting ready to go somewhere.

Yesterday I ran into her coming down the stairs from that tavern at the edge of town. The Trough."

"What was she doing there?" Raistlin asked, interested. "For that matter, what were you doing there? That

place is rough."

"I'll say!" Caramon agreed. "Sturm Brightblade says it's a place where thieves and cutthroats hang out. That's

one reason I was there. I wanted tosee a cutthroat."

"Well," said Raistlin with a half-smile, "did you see one?"

"Naw!" Caramon was disgusted. "At least, I don't think so. All the men were pretty ordinary. Most didn't look

any different from Father, only not as big."

"Which is exactly what a good assassin would look like," Raistlin pointed out.

"Like Father?"

"Certainly. That way, he can sneak up on his victim without the victim noticing him. What did you think an

assassin would look like? Dressed all in black with a long black cape and a black mask over his face?" Raistlin

asked mockingly.

Caramon pondered. "Well ... yes."

"What an idiot you are, Caramon," Raistlin said.

"I guess so," " Caramon replied, subdued. He stared down at his feet, kicked at the dirt for a few moments. But

it wasn't in Caramon's nature to be depressed for long. "Say," he said cheerfully, "if they really are ordinary,

maybe I didsee a cutthroat after all!"

Raistlin snorted. "What you did see was our sister. What was she doing there? Father wouldn't like her going

into places like that."

"That's what I told her," Caramon said, self-righteous. "She smacked me and said that what Father didn't know

wouldn't hurt him, and I was to keep my mouth shut. She was talking to two grown-up men, but they left when I

came. She was holding something in her hand that looked like a map. I asked her what it was, but she just pinched

my arm real hard"-Caramon exhibited a blue and red bruise "and took me away and made me swear on a grave in

the graveyard that I'd never say a word to anyone. Otherwise a ghoul would come and get me one night."

"You told me," Raistlin pointed out. "You broke your promise."

"She didn't mean you!" Caramon returned. "You're my twin. Telling you is like telling myself. 'Sides, she knows I'll

tell you. I swore for both of us, anyway. So if the ghoul comes and gets me, it'll get you, too. Hey, I wouldn't mind

seeing a ghoul, would you, Raist?"

Raistlin rolled his eyes but said nothing. He saved his breath. He hadn't covered half the distance to the school

yet and already he was exhausted. He loathed his frail body that seemed determined to thwart every plan he made, to

ruin every hope, to wreck every desire. Raistlin cast a jealous glance at his well-built, stout, and healthy twin.

People said there had once been gods who ruled over mankind, but the gods had grown angry at man and had

gone away. Before they left, the gods had cast down a fiery mountain on Krynn, shattering the world. Then they had

abandoned man to his fate. Raistlin could well believe that this was so. No just and honorable god would have played

such a cruel joke as had been played on him-splitting a single person in two, giving one twin a mind without a body,

the other a body without a mind.

Yet it would be comforting to think that there was an intelligent reason behind the decision, a purpose; comforting

to know that he and his twin were not just some freak of nature. It would be comforting to know that there were

gods, if only so that one could blame them!

Kitiara often told Raistlin the story of how he had nearly died, how she had saved his life when the midwife had

told her the baby was good as dead and to leave it alone to gasp out its pitiful life. Kit was always a little miffed that

Raistlin was not properly grateful to her. She was never to know, being strong herself, that sometimes, when

Raistlin's body burned with fever and his muscles ached beyond endurance, when his mouth was parched with a

thirst he could never quench, he cursed her in the night.

But Kitiara had been responsible for his entry into the school of magic. She had made amends.

If only he could manage to reach that school without collapsing first.

A farm cart, trundling past, proved Raistlin's salvation. The farmer stopped and asked the boys where they