were going. And although he frowned when Raistlin told him of their destination, he agreed to give them a lift.

He gazed pityingly at the frail child, coughing in the dust and the wheat chaff blowing off the fields.

"You plan on making this walk this every day, lad?"

"No, sir," Caramon answered for his brother, who couldn't speak. "He's going to magic school to learn to

make swords. And he's got to stay there by himself, and they won't let me stay with him."

The farmer was a kindly man who had small children of his own. "Look, boys, I come this way every day. If

you met me at the crossroads of a morning, I could give you a lift. I'll meet you in the afternoon coming back.

That way, you could at least be home with your family in the evenings."

"That'd be great!" Caramon cried.

"We can't pay you," Raistlin said at the same time, his face flushed with shame.

"Pshaw! I don't expect pay!" the farmer shot back, looking quite fierce. He glanced sidelong at the boys,

especially the sturdy Caramon. "What I could use is help in the fields. My own young'uns are too little to be of

much good to me yet."

"I could work for you," said Caramon promptly. "I could help you while Raist is in school."

"It's agreed, then."

Caramon and the farmer each spat on their palms, clasped hands on the bargain.

"Why did you agree to work for him?" Raistlin demanded after they had settled themselves at the back of the

empty wagon, their feet dangling over the edge.

"So you could ride back and forth to school," Caramon said. "Why? What's wrong with that?"

Raistlin bit his tongue. He should thank his brother, but the words stuck in his throat like a bad-tasting physic.

"It's just ... I don't like you working for me...."

"Oh, heck, Raist, we're twins," Caramon said, and grinning happily, he nudged his brother in the ribs. "You'd

do the same for me."

Thinking about it, as the cart rolled toward Master Theobald's School for Mages, Raistlin wasn't all that certain he

would.

The farmer's cart was there to pick them up in the afternoon. Raistlin returned home to find that his mother had

never missed him. Kitiara was surprised to see him back and demanded to know the reason. She was always angry

when her plans were thwarted. She had made up her mind that Raistlin was to board at the school, and she was

displeased to hear that he had decided to do otherwise .

She had to hear the story of the farmer twice, and even then was certain he was up to no good. The idea of

Caramon working for the farmer further angered her. Caramon would grow up to be a farmer, she said in disgust.

With manure instead of blood on his boots.

Caramon protested that he would not. They argued for a while; Raistlin went to bed with a headache. He awoke to

find the argument settled. Kit appeared to have other things on her mind. She was preoccupied, more irritable than

usual, and the boys were careful to keep out of the way of the flat of her hand. She did see to it that they were fed,

however, frying up some dubious bacon and serving the remainder of the moldy bread.

Late that night, as Kitiara slept, small, deft hands lifted the pouch from her belt. Fingers, whose touch was

delicate as the legs of a butterfly, removed the pouch's contents-a torn leaf of paper and a thick, folded piece of

leather. Raistlin took them both to the kitchen, studied them by the light of the banked cooking fire.

Traced on the paper was a family crest picturing a fox standing victorious over a dead lion. The motto was "None

too mighty" and beneath that was written "Matar." On the soft leather was a crudely drawn map of the route between

Solace and Solamnia.

Swiftly Raistlin folded the paper, tucked it back into the pouch, and reattached the pouch onto Kit's belt.

Raistlin did not mention his find to anyone. He had learned early on that knowledge is power, especially

knowledge of other people's secrets.

The next morning Kitiara was gone.

It was hot in the mage school. A fire roaring on the hearth

heated the windowless classroom to an almost unbearable degree. Master Theobald's voice droned through

the heat, whose currents could be seen radiating from the fireplace. A fire spell was the one spell the master

was truly adept at casting. He was pleased to show off his talent whenever he could.