Raistlin had long ago realized that he was smarter than

Master Theobald and more gifted in magic. He stayed in the school because there was nowhere else to go, and, as

this proved, he still had much to learn. Master Theobald could cast a sleep spell.

"Do you know what time it is?" Master Theobald asked. "It is dinnertime. You should be in the common room

with the other boys."

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry, Master," Raistlin said ungraciously and went back to his work.

Master Theobald frowned. A well-fed man himself, one who enjoyed his meat and ale, he could not

understand someone like Raistlin, to whom food was fuel to keep his body going and nothing more.

"Nonsense, you have to eat. What are you doing that is so important it causes you to skip a meal?"

Master Theobald could see perfectly well what Raistlin was doing.

"I am working at copying this spell, Master," Raistlin said, gritting his teeth at the man's idiocy. "I do not feel

ready yet to write in my primer."

Master Theobald looked down at the scraps of paper littering the desk. He picked up one, then another. "But

these are adequate. Quite good, in fact."

"No, there must be something wrong!" Raistlin said impatiently. "Otherwise I could have been able to cast-"

He had not meant to say that. He bit his tongue and fell silent, glowering down at his ink-stained fingers.

"Ah," said Master Theobald, with the ghost of a smile, which, since Raistlin was not looking, he did not see.

"So you have been attempting a little spellcasting, have you?"

Raistlin did not reply. If he could have cast a spell now, he would have summoned demons from the Abyss

and ordered them to haul off Master Theobald.

The master leaned back and laced his fingers over his stomach, which meant that he was about to launch into

one of his lectures.

"It didn't work, I take it. I'm not surprised. You are far too proud, young man. Far too self-absorbed and selfsatisfied.

You are a taker, not a giver. Everything flows into you. Nothing flows out. The magic is in the blood, it

flows from the heart. Every time you use it, part of yourself goes with it. Only when you are prepared to give of

yourself and receive nothing back will the magic work for you."

Raistlin lifted his head, shook his long, straight brown hair out of his face. He stared straight ahead. "Yes,

Master," he said coldly, impassively. "Thank you, Master."

Master Theobald's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. "You are seated on a very high horse right

now, young man. Someday you will fall off. If the fall doesn't kill you, you might learn something from it." The

master grunted. "I'm going to dinner now. I'm hungry."

Raistlin returned to his work, a scornful smile curling his lips.

That summer, the summer of the twins' sixteenth year, life

for the Majere family continued to improve. Gilon had been hired to help cut a stand of pines on the slopes of

Prayer's Eye Peak. The property belonged to an absentee lord, who was having the wo od hauled north to build a

stockade. The job paid well and looked as if it would last a long time, for the stockade was going to be a large

one.

Caramon worked full time for the prospering Farmer Sedge, who had extended his land holdings and was now

shipping grain, fruits, and vegetables to the markets of Haven. Caramon worked long hours for a portion of the

crops, some of which he sold, the rest he brought home.

The Widow Judith was considered a member of the family. She maintained her own small house, but for all

practical purposes, she lived at the Majeres'. Rosamun could not manage without her. Rosamun herself was much

improved. She had not fallen into one of her trancelike states in several years. She and the widow performed the

chores around the house and spent much of their time visiting the neighbors.

Had Gilon known exactly what such visits entailed, he might have been worried about his wife. But he

assumed Rosamun and the widow were doing nothing more than sharing the latest gossip. He could not know,

nor would he have believed, the truth of the matter.

Gilon and Caramon both liked the Widow Judith. Raistlin grew to dislike her more than ever, perhaps because

during the summer he was home with her, whereas the other two were not. He saw the influence the widow

wielded over his mother, and he disliked and distrusted it. More than once, he came in on their whispered