Raist! Over here!" Caramon waved from the front of the

farmer's cart, which he was driving. At the age of thirteen, so tall and broad and muscular that he often passed

for much older, Caramon had become Farmer Sedge's top field hand.

Caramon's hair curled on his brow in soft auburn rings, his eyes were cheerful, friendly, and guileless:

gullible. The children adored him, and so did every shyster, beggar, and con artist that passed through Solace. He

was unusually strong for his age, also unusually gentle. He had a formidable temper when riled, but the fuse was

buried so deep and took so long to burn that Caramon usually realized he was angry only when the quarrel had

long since ended.

The only time his anger exploded was when someone threatened his twin.

Raistlin lifted his hand to acknowledge his brother's shout. He was glad to see Caramon, glad to see a friendly

face.

Seven winters ago, Raistlin had decided that he must board at Master Theobald's school during the coldest

months of the year, an arrangement that meant for the first time in their lives the twin brothers were separated.

Seven winters passed, with Raistlin absent from his home. In springtime, like this spring, when the sun melted

the frozen roads and brought the first green and golden buds to the vallenwoods, the twins were reunited.

Long ago, Raistlin had given up secretly hoping that someday he would look into a mirror and see in himself

the image of his handsome twin. Raistlin, with his fine-boned features and large eyes, his soft-to-the-touch

reddish hair that brushed his shoulders, would have been the more handsome of the two but

for his eyes. They held the gaze too long, stared too deeply, saw too much, and there was always the faint hint of

scorn in them, for he saw clearly the shams and artifices and absurdities of people and was both amused and

disgusted with them.

Jumping down from the cart, Caramon gave his brother a boisterous hug, which Raistlin did not return. He used

the bundle of clothes he held in both arms as an excuse to avoid an overt show of affection, a show Raistlin found

undignified and annoying. His body stiffened in his brother's embrace, but Caramon was too excited to notice. He

grabbed the bundle, flung it in the back of the cart.

"C'mon, I'll help you up," Caramon offered.

Raistlin was beginning to think he wasn't as glad to see his twin as he'd first imagined. He had forgotten how

irritating Caramon could be.

"I'm perfectly capable of climbing onto a farm cart without assistance," Raistlin returned.

"Oh, sure, Raist." Caramon grinned, not the least offended. He was too stupid to be offended.

Raistlin pulled himself up onto the cart. Caramon bounded up into the driver's seat. Grasping the reins, he made

clucking sounds with his tongue at the horse, turned the beast around, and started back up the road toward Solace.

"What's that?" Caramon jerked his head around, looked behind him at the school.

"Pay no attention to them, my brother," Raistlin said quietly.

Classes were over. The master usually took advantage of this time of day to "meditate," which meant that he could

be found in the library with a closed book and an open bottle of the port wine for whichNorthern Ergothwas famous.

He would remain in his meditative state until dinner, when the housekeeper would awaken him. The boys were

supposed to use this time for study, but Master Theobald never checked on them, and so they were left to their own

devices. Today a group had gathered at the back of the school to bid farewell to Raistlin.

"'Bye, Sly!" they were yelling in unison, the cry being led by their instigator, a tallboywith carrot-orange hair and

freckles, who was new to the school.

"Sly!" Caramon looked at his brother. "They mean you, don't they?" His brows came together in an angry scowl.

"Whoa, there!" He brought the cart to a halt.

"Caramon, let it pass," Raistlin said, placing his hand on his brother's muscular arm.

"I won't, Raist," Caramon returned. "They shouldn't call you names like that!" His hands clenched into fists that,

for a thirteen-year-old, were formidable.

"Caramon, no!" Raistlin ordered sharply. "I will deal with them in my own time, in my own way."

"Are you sure, Raist?" Caramon was glaring back at the taunting boys. "They won't call you names like that if their

lips are split open."

"Not today, perhaps," Raistlin said. "But I have to go back to them tomorrow. Now, drive on. I want to reach home