wide, fever dilated eyes. Kit rummaged through the house, found every blanket, and piled them over him. She

placed her hand on his neck to feel his pulse beat, pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown, and shook her head.

Caramon stood by, watching anxiously.

"Is that crone still around?" Kit asked abruptly. "You know, the one who talked to trees and whistled like a

bird and kept a wolf for a pet?"

"Weird Meggin? Yeah, she's still around. I guess." Caramon was doubtful. "I don't go to that part of town

much. Father doesn't -" He paused, swallowed, and began over. "Father didn't want us to go there."

"Father isn't around anymore. You're on your own now, Caramon," Kitiara returned with brutal frankness. "Go

to Weird Meggin's and tell her you need elixir of willow bark. And hurry up. We've got to bring down this

fever."

"Elixir of willow bark," Caramon repeated to himself several times. He put on his cloak. "Anything else?"

"Not right now. Oh, and Caramon"-Kitiara halted him as he stood in the open doorway-"don't tell anyone I'm

back in town, will you?"

"Sure, Kit," Caramon answered. "Why not?"

"I don't want to be bothered by a lot of tittle-tattlers snooping around and asking questions. Now, go along.

Wait! Do you have any money?"

Caramon shook his head.

Kitiara reached into a leather purse she wore on her belt, fished out a couple of steel coins, and tossed them to

him. "On your way back from the old crone's, stop by Otik's and buy a jug of brandy. Is there anything in the

house to eat?"

Caramon nodded. "The neighbors brought lots of stuff."

"Ah, I forgot. The funeral meats. All right. Go on. Remember what I said: tell no one I'm here."

Caramon departed, a little curious about his sister's injunction. After several moments of long and considered

thought, he at last decided that Kitiara knew what she was doing. If word got out that she was in town, every

gossip from here to the Plains of Dust would be snooping around. Raistlin needed rest and he needed quiet, not a

stream of visitors. Yes, Kit knew what she was doing. She would help Raistlin. She would.

Caramon generally took a positive view of things. He was not one to fret over what had happened in the past

or worry about what might come in the future. He was honest and trusting, and like many honest, trusting people,

he believed that everyone else was honest and trustworthy. He put his faith in his sister.

He hastened through the pouring rain to Weird Meggin's, who lived in a tumbledown shack that sat on the

ground

beneath the vallenwood trees, not far from the disreputable bar known as The Trough. Concentrating on his

errand, muttering "willow bark, willow bark," to himself over and over, Caramon almost tripped over an ancient

gray wolf lying across the threshold.

The wolf growled. Caramon backed up precipitously.

"Nice doggie," Caramon said to the wolf.

The wolf rose to its feet, the fur on its back bristling. Its lips

parted in a snarl, showing extremely yellow but very sharp

teeth.

The rain beat down on Caramon. His cloak was wet through. He stood ankle-deep in mud. He could see

candlelight in the window and a figure moving around inside. He made another attempt to pass the wolf.

"There's a good dog," he said and started to pat the wolf on the head.

A snap of the yellow teeth nearly took off Caramon's hand.

Abandoning the door, Caramon thought he might tap on the windowpane. The wolf thought he wouldn't. The

wolf was right.

Caramon couldn't leave. Not without the elixir. Shouting at the door wasn't very polite, but in these

circumstances, it was all the desperate Caramon had left to try.

"Weird-I mean-"Caramon flushed, started over-"Mistress Meggin! Mistress Meggin!"

A face appeared in the window, the face of a middle-aged woman with gray hair pulled back tight. Her eyes

were bright and clear. She didn't look crazy. She gazed intently at the sopping wet Caramon, then left the