He stared, willing with an aching heart for this to be true, even as a part of him knew it wasn't.

Rosamun ceased rocking, rose from the chair with grace and ease. He was conscious of sweet fragrance as she

passed near him, a fragrance of roses....

In the next room, his brother gave a fearful yell, a horrible scream, as though he were being burned alive.

The scent of roses in his nostrils, Raistlin searched the room, found what he sought. A dish of dried and withered

rose petals had been placed on a table to sweeten the sickness-tainted air. He dipped his hand into the dish, and

carried the rose petals into the bedroom.

Caramon clutched the sides of the bed, his hands white -knuckled. The bed shook beneath him. His eyes were

wide open, staring at some horror visible only to himself.

Raistlin had no need to refer to his primer for the wording of the spell. The words were etched into his brain with

fire, and like a wildfire racing across parched grass, so the magic raced from his brain down his spine, burned

through every nerve, enflamed him.

He crushed the rose petals, strewed them over his brother's tormented form.

"Ast tasarak sinuralan kyrnawi."

Caramon's eyelids fluttered. He gave a great sigh, shuddered, then his eyes closed. He lay for a moment, flattened

on the bed, not breathing, and Raistlin knew a fear unlike any he'd ever previously experienced. He thought his twin

was dead.

"Caramon!" Raistlin whispered. "Don't leave me, Caramon! Don't!"

His hands gently brushed the rose petals from Caramon's still face.

Caramon drew a breath, long, deep, and easy. He let that breath go and then drew another, his chest rising and

falling. His face smoothed, the dreams had not cut too deep, had not left their chisel mark upon him. The lines of

weariness, grief, and sorrow would soon fade away, ripples on the surface of his customary genial tranquillity.

Weak with relief, Raistlin sank down beside his brother's bed, rested his head in his hands. It was only then, his

eyes closed, seeing nothing but darkness, that Raistlin realized what he had done.

Caramon was asleep.

I cast the spell, Raistlin said inwardly. The magic worked for me.

The fire of the spellcasting flickered and died out, leaving him weak and shaking so that he could not stand, yet

Raistlin knew such joy as he had never known in his life.

"Thank you!" Raistlin whispered, his fists clenched, his nails digging into his flesh. He saw again the eye, white,

red, black, regarding him with satisfaction. "I won't fail you!" he repeated over and over. "I won't fail!"

The eye blinked.

A tiny pinprick of concern, of jealous doubt, jabbed him. Had Caramon fallen into a trance? Was it possible that

he had likewise inherited the magic?

Raistlin opened his eyes, stared hard and long at his slumbering brother. Caramon lay on his back, one arm

flopped over the edge of the bed, the other across his forehead. His mouth was open, he gave a prodigious snore.

He had never looked more foolish.

"I was mistaken," Raistlin said, and he pushed himself to his feet. "It was a bad dream, nothing more." He

smiled scornfully at himself. "How could I have ever imagined that this great oaf would inherit the magic?"

Raistlin left the room on tiptoe, moving quietly so as not to disturb his brother, and shut the door to their room

softly behind him. Entering the parlor, Raistlin sat down in his mother's rocking chair, and, rocking gently back

and forth, he reveled fully in his triumph.

Caramon slept that day through and on into the night. The next day he woke, recalled nothing of his dreams,

was amused and even skeptical to hear his twin

describe them.

"Pooh, Raist!" Caramon said. "You know I never dream."

Raistlin did not argue. He himself was gaining strength rapidly, was strong enough to sit at the kitchen table that

morning with his brother. The day was warm; a soft breeze carried sounds of women's voices, calling and laughing.

It was laundry day, and the women were hanging their wet clothes among the leaves to dry. The early autumn

sunshine filtered through the changing leaves, casting shadows that flitted around the kitchen like birds. The twins

ate breakfast in silence. There was much they had to talk about, much they needed to discuss and settle, but that