stroking the cooling flesh, urging Gilon to speak to her.

"Caramon, we have to see to Mother," Raistlin said urgently.

"We must take her home."

But on turning, he found that Caramon was in need of assis tance himself. He had collapsed near the body of

his father. Painful, choking sobs wrenched him. Raistlin rested his hand comfortingly on Caramon's arm.

Caramon's big hand closed convulsively around his twin's. Raistlin could not free himself, nor did he want to.

He found comfort in his brother's touch. But he didn't like the fey look on his mother's face.

"Come, Mother. Let the Widow Judith take you home." "No, no!" cried Rosamun frantically. "I must not leave

your father. He needs me."

"Mother," Raistlin said, now starting to be frightened. "Father is dead. There is nothing more-"

"Dead!" Rosamun looked bewildered. "Dead! No! He can't be! I have faith."

Rosamun flung hers elf on her husband. Her hands grasped his blood-soaked shirt. "Gilon! Wake up!"

Gilon's head lolled. A trickle of blood flowed from his mouth.

"I have faith," Rosamun repeated with a heartbroken whimper. Her hands were bloody, she clung to the bloodsoaked

shirt.

"Mother, please, go home!" Raistlin pleaded helplessly.

Otik took hold of Rosamun's hands and gently freed her grip. Another neighbor hurriedly covered the body

with a blanket.

"So much for Belzor," said the dwarf in a grating undertone.

He had not meant his words to be overheard, but his voice was deep and had a good carrying quality to it.

Everyone standing around heard him. A few looked shocked. Several shook their heads. One or two smiled

grimly when they thought no one was watching.

The Widow Judith had done a good deal of proselytizing since her arrival in town, and she'd gained more than

a few converts to her new faith. Some of those converts were regarding the dead man with dismay.

"Who's Belzor?" the kender asked eagerly in shrill tones. "Flint, do you know Belzor? Was he supposed to

heal this poor man? Why didn't he, do you suppose?"

"Hush your mouth, Tas, you doorknob!" the dwarf said in a harsh whisper.

But this was a question many of the faithful newcomers were asking themselves. They looked to the Widow

Judith for an answer.

The Widow Judith had not lost her faith. Her face hardened. She glared at the dwarf, glared even more fiercely

at the kender, who was now lifting the corner of the blanket for a curious peep at the corpse.

"Perhaps he's been healed and we just haven't noticed," the kender offered helpfully.

"He has not been healed!" The Widow Judith cried out in dolorous tones. "Gilon Majere has not been healed,

nor will he be healed. Why not, do you ask? Because of the sinfulness of this woman!" The Widow Judith

pointed at Rosamun. "Her daughter is a whore! Her son is a witch! It is her fault and the fault of her children that

Gilon Majere died!"

The pointing finger might have been a spear ripping through Rosamun's body. She stared at Judith in shock,

then screamed and sank to her knees, moaning.

Raistlin was on his feet, climbing over the body of his father. "How dare you?" he said softly, menacingly to

the widow. Reaching the side of the wagon, he vaulted out. "Get out of here!" He came face-to-face with the

widow. "Leave us alone!"

"You see!" The Widow Judith backed up precipitously. The pointing finger shifted to Raistlin. "He is evil! He

does the bidding of evil gods!"

A fire blazed up within Raistlin, blazed up white hot, consumed sense, consumed reason. He could see

nothing in the glare of the blaze. He didn't care if the fire destroyed him, just so long as it destroyed Judith.

"Raist!" A hand grabbed him. A hand, strong and firm, reached into the midst of the blaze and grasped hold of

him. "Raist! Stop!"

The hand, his brother's hand, dragged Raistlin out of the fire. The terrible white-hot glare that had blinded him

died, the fire died, leaving him cold and shivering, with a taste of ashes in his mouth. Caramon's strong arms

wrapped around Raistlin's thin shoulders.