window. Caramon's heart sank into the mud, which seemed to be up around his knees now. Then he heard a

grating sound, as of a bar being lifted. The door swung open. She spoke a word to the wolf, a word Caramon

couldn't understand.

The wolf rolled over, all four paws in the air, and the crone scratched its belly.

"Well, boy," she said, looking up, "what do you want? The weather's a bit inclement for you to be throwing

rocks at my house, isn't it?"

Caramon went red as a pickled beet. The rock-throwing incident had happened a long time ago, he'd been a

small boy at the time, and he had assumed she wouldn't recognize him.

"Well, what do you want?" she repeated.

"Bark," he said in a low voice, ashamed, flustered, and em-

barrassed. "Some sort of bark. I ... I forget what." "What's it for?" Meggin asked sharply.

"Uh ... Kit ... No, I don't mean that. It's my brother. He has a fever."

"Willow bark elixir. I'll fetch it." The crone eyed him. "I'd ask you to come in out of the rain, but I'll wager

you wouldn't."

Caramon peered past her into the shack. A warm fire looked inviting, but then he saw the skull on the table-a

human skull, with various other bones lying about. He saw what looked like a rib cage, attached to a spine. If it

had not been too horrible to even imagine, Caramon might have thought the woman was attempting to build a

person, starting from the bones and working outward.

He took a step backward. "No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am, but I'm quite comfortable where I am."

The crone grinned and chuckled. She shut the door. The wolf curled up on the threshold, keeping one yellow

eye on Caramon.

He stood miserably in the rain, worried over his brother, hoping the crone wouldn't be long and wondering

uneasily if he dared trust her. Perhaps she might need more bones for her collection. Perhaps she'd gone to get an

ax....

The door opened with a suddenness that made Caramon jump.

Meggin held out a small glass vial. "Here you go, boy. Tell your sister to have Raistlin swallow a large

spoonful morning and night until the fever breaks. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Caramon fumbled for the coins in his pocket. Realizing suddenly what

she'd said, he stammered, "It's not ... um ... for my sister. She's not here ... exactly. She's away. I don't-" Caramon

shut his mouth. He was a hopeless liar.

Meggin chuckled again. "Of course she is. I won't say anything to anyone. Never fear. I hope your brother gets

well. When he does, tell him to come visit me. I miss seeing him."

"My brother comes here?" Caramon asked, astonished.

"All the time. Who do you think taught him his herb lore? Not that dundering idiot Theobald. He wouldn't

know a dandelion from a crab apple if it bit him on the ass. You remember the dose, or do you want me to write

it down?"

"I ... I remember," said Caramon. He held out a coin.

Meggin waved it away. "I don't charge my friends. I was sorry to hear about your parents. Come visit me

yourself some

time, Caramon Majere. I'd enjoy talking to you. I'll wager you're smarter than you think you are."

"Yes, ma'am," said Caramon politely, having no idea what she meant and no intention of ever taking her up on

her offer.

He made an awkward bow and, holding the vial of willow bark elixir as tenderly as a mother holds her

newborn child, he slogged through the mud to the staircase leading back up into the trees. His thoughts were

extremely confused. Raistlin vis iting that old crone. Learning things from her. Maybe he'd touched that skull!

Caramon grimaced. It was all extremely baffling.

He was so flustered that he completely forgot he was supposed to stop at the inn for the brandy. He received a

severe scolding from Kit when he reached home, and had to go back out in the rain after it.

Raistiin was very ill for several days. The fever would subside somewhat after a dose of the willow bark, but it would

always go back up again, and each time it seemed