horror, concern, and curiosity.

Rosamun stood at the side of the wagon, holding fast to her husband's bloodstained hand and weeping. The

Widow Judith was at her side.

"Have faith in Belzor," the widow was saying, "and he will be healed. Have faith."

"I do," Rosamun was saving over and over through pale lips. "I do have faith. Oh, my poor husband. You will

be well. I have faith...."

People standing nearby glanced at each other and shook their heads. Someone went to fetch the stable owner,

who was supposed to know all about setting broken bones. Otik arrived from the inn, his chubby face drawn and

grieved. He had brought along a jug of his finest brandy, his customary offering in any medical emergency.

"Tie Gilon to a stretcher," the Widow Judith said. "We'll carry him up the stairs. He will mend better in his

own home."

A dwarf, a fellow townsman whom Raistlin knew by sight, glowered at her. "Are you daft, woman! Jouncing

him around like that will kill him!"

"He shall not die!" said the Widow Judith loudly. " Belzor will save him!"

The townspeople standing around exchanged glances. Some rolled their eyes, but others looked interested and

attentive.

"He better do it fast, then," muttered the dwarf, standing on tiptoe to peer into the wagon. Beside him, a

kender was jump ing up and down, clamoring, "Let me see, Flint! Let me see!"

Caramon had climbed into the wagon. Almost as pale as his father, Caramon crouched beside Gilon, anxious

and helpless. At the sight of the terrible injuries -Gilon's cracked rib bones protruded through his flesh, and one

leg was little more than a sodden mass of blood and bone-a low, animal-like moan escaped Caramon's lips.

Rosamun paid no attention to her stricken son. She stood at the side of the wagon, clutching Gilon's hand and

whispering frantically about having faith.

"Raist!" Caramon cried in a hollow voice, looking around in panic.

"I am here, my brother," Raistlin said quietly. He climbed into the wagon beside Caramon.

Caramon grasped hold of his twin's hand thankfully, gave a shuddering sigh. "Raist! What can we do? We

have to do something. Think of something to do, Raist!"

"There's nothing to do, son," said the dwarf kindly. "Nothing except wish your father well on his next journey."

Raistlin examined the injured man and knew immediately that the dwarf was right. How Gilon had managed to

live this long was a mystery.

"Belzor is here!" the Widow Judith intoned shrilly."Belzor will heal this man!"

Belzor, Raistlin thought bitterly, is taking his own sweet time. "Father!" Caramon cried out.

At the sound of his son's voice, Gilon shifted his eyes-he could not move his head-and searched for his sons.

His gaze found them, rested on them. "Take care ... your mother," he managed to whisper. A froth of blood coated

his lips.

Caramon sobbed and covered his face with his hand. "We will, Father," Raistlin promised.

Gilon's gaze encompassed both his sons. He managed a fleeting smile, then looked over at Rosamun. He started to

say something, but a tremor of pain shook him. He closed his eyes in agony, gave a great groan, and lay still.

The dwarf removed his hat, held it to his chest. "Re orx walk with him," he said softly.

"The poor man's dead. Oh, how sad!" said the kender, and a tear trickled down his cheek.

It was the first time death had come so close to Raistlin. He felt it as a physical presence, passing among them,

dark wings spreading over them. He felt small and insignificant, naked and vulnerable.

So sudden. An hour ago Gilon had walked among the trees, thinking of nothing more important than what he

might enjoy for dinner that night.

So dark. Endless darkness, eternal. It was not the absence of light that was as frightening as the absence of

thought, of knowledge, of comprehension. Our lives, the lives of the living, will go on. The sun shines, the moons rise,

we will laugh and talk, and he will know nothing, feel nothing. Nothing.

So final. It will come to us all. It will come to me.

Raistlin thought he should be grieved or sorrowful for his father, but all he felt was sorrow for himself, grief for his

own mortality. He turned away from the broken corpse, only to find his mother still clinging to the lifeless hand,