Caramon said nothing more. He dumped what remained of the eggs into a skillet and placed it over the fire.

He heard Kit's booted footfalls sound hollowly on the wood, winced at a particularly loud and angry stomp.

When the eggs were cooked,

the two sat down to breakfast in silence.

Caramon risked a glance at his sister, saw her regarding him with an affable air, a charming smile.

"These eggs are really good," said Kit, spitting out small bits of shell. "Did I ever tell you about the time the

bandit tried to stab me in my sleep? What you did reminded me of the story. We'd had a hard fight that day, and I

was dead tired. Well, this bandit..."

Caramon listened to this story and to many other exciting adventures during the day. He listened and enjoyed

what he heard -Kit was an excellent storyteller. Every so often, Caramon would go to the bedroom to check on

Raistlin and find him slumbering peacefully. When Caramon returned, he would hear yet another tale of valor,

daring, battles fought, victory , and wealth won. He listened and laughed and gasped in all the right places.

Caramon knew very well what his sister was trying to do. There could be only one answer. If Raistlin went,

Caramon would go. If Raistlin stayed, so did Caramon.

That evening, Raistlin woke. He was weak, so weak that he couldn't lift his head from the pillow without help.

But he was lucid and very much aware of his surroundings. He didn't appear all that surprised to see Kitiara.

"I had dreams about you," he said.

"Most men do," Kit returned with a grin and a wink. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and while Caramon

fed his brother chicken broth, Kitiara made Raistlin the same proposition she'd made Caramon.

She wasn't quite as glib, talking to those keen blue, unblinking eyes that looked right through her and out the

other side.

"Who is it you work for?" Raistlin asked when Kit had finished.

Kitiara shrugged. "People," she said.

"And what temple is this where you would have me work? Dedicated to what god?"

"It's not Belzor, that's for sure!" Kitiara said with a laugh. When Caramon, spooning broth, tried to say

something, Raistlin coldly shushed him.

"Thank you, Sister," Raistlin said at last, "but I am not ready."

"Ready?" Kit couldn't figure out what he was talking about. "What do you mean, 'ready'? Ready for what?

You can read, can't you? You can write, can't you? So you don't have any talent for magic. You gave it a good

try. It's not important. There

are other ways to gain power. I know. I've found them."

"That's enough, Caramon!" Raistlin pushed away the spoon. Wearily he lay back down on the pillows. "I need

to rest."

Kit stood up. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. "That addle-pated mother of ours had you wrapped in

cotton, for fear you'd break. It's time you got out, saw something of the world."

"I am not ready," Raistlin said again and closed his eyes.

Kitiara left Solace that night.

"I'm only making a short trip," she told Caramon, drawing on her leather gloves. "To Qualinesti. Do you know

anything about that place?" she asked offhandedly. "Its defenses? How many people live there? That sort of

thing?"

"I know elves live there," Caramon offered after a moment's profound thought.

"Everyone knows that!" Kit scoffed.

Putting on her cloak, she drew her hood over her head. "When will you be back?" Caramon asked.

Kit shrugged. "I can't say. Maybe a year. Maybe a month.

Maybe never. It depends on how things go."

"You're not mad at me, are you, Kit?" Caramon asked wistfully. "I wouldn't want you to be mad."

"No, I'm not mad. Just disappointed. You'd have been a great warrior, Caramon. The people I know would

have really made something of you. As for Raistlin, he's made a big mis take. He wants power, and I know where

he could get it. If you both hang around here, you'll never be anything but a farmer, and he'll be-like that fellow

Waylan-a coin-puking, rabbit pulling conjurer who's the joke of half of Solace. It's such a waste."