a nice person, Raist. Can't you believe that?"

Apparently Raistlin could not, for he continued to ask questions. "How did you come across such a 'nice

person,' my brother?"

"Actually, she came to us," Caramon said after taking a moment to recollect. "She came to the door one day

and said that she'd heard Mother wasn't feeling well. She knew we menfolk"-Caramon spoke the plural with a

touch of pride"needed to be out working and said that she'd be glad to sit with Mother while we were gone. She

told usshe was a widow lady, her own man was dead, her children grown and moved on. She was lonely herself.

And the High Priest of Belzor had commanded her to help o thers."

"Who is Belzor?" Raistlin asked suspiciously.

By this time, even Caramon's patience was exhausted. "Name of the Abyss, I don't know, Raistlin," he said.

"Ask

her yourself. Only be nice to the Widow Judith, all right? She's

been real nice to us."

Raistlin did not bother to respond. He fell into another brooding silence.

He did not himself know why this should upset him. Perhaps it was nothing more than his own feelings of

guilt for having abandoned his mother to the care of strangers. Yet something about this wasn't quite right.

Caramon and his father were too trusting, too ready to believe in the goodness of people. They could both be

easily taken in. No one devoted hours of her day to caring for another without expecting to gain something by it.

No one.

Caramon was casting his brother worried, anxious glances. "You're not mad atme, Raist, are you? I'm sorry I

snapped at you. It's just.. . well, you haven't met the widow yet, and-"

"You seem to be faring well, my brother," Raistlin interrupted. He did not want to hear any more about Judith.

Caramon straightened his back proudly. "I've grown four inches since fall. Father measured me on the

doorframe. I'm taller than all our friends now, even Sturm."

Raistlin had noticed. He could not help but notice that Caramon was no longer a child. He had grown that winter

into a comely young man-sturdy, tall for his age, with a mass of curly hair and wide-open, almost unbearably honest

browneyes.He was cheerful and easygoing, polite to his elders, fun-loving and companionable. He would laugh

heartily at any joke, even if it was against himself. He was considered a friend by every young person in town, from

the stem and generally morose Sturm Brightblade to the toddlers of Farmer Sedge, who clamored for rides on

Caramon's broad shoulders.

As for the adults, their neighbors, especially the women, felt sorry for the lonely boy and were always inviting him

to share a meal with the family. Due to the fact that he never turned down a free meal, even if he'd already just

eaten, Caramon was probably the best-fed youngster in Solace.

"Any word from Kitiara?" Raistlin asked.

Caramon shook his head. "Nothing all winter. It's been over a year now since we heard from her. Do you think ... I

mean... Maybe she's dead...."

The brothers exchanged glances, and in that exchange, the

resemblance between the two, not usually noticeable, was quite

apparent. Both shook their heads. Caramon laughed. "All right, so she's not dead. Where is she, then?"

"Solamnia," said Raistlin.

"What?" Caramon was astonished. "How do you know that?"

"Where else would she go? She went to search for her father, or at least for his people, her kin."

"Why would she need them?" Caramon wondered. "She's got us."

Raistlin snorted and said nothing.

"She'll be back for us, at any rate," Caramon said confidently. "Will you go with her, Raist?"

"Perhaps," Raistlin said. "After I've passed the Test."

"Test? Is that like the tests Father gives?" Caramon looked indignant. "Miss one lousy sum and get sent to bed

without any supper. A guy could starve to death! And what good is arithmetic to a warrior, anyway? Whack!

Whack!"

Caramon slashed an imaginary sword through the air, startling the horse. "Hey! Oops. Sorry, there, Bess. I