Caramon's worried expression eased. "What does it matter? What's mine is yours, Raist, you know that."

"It does matter to me," Raistlin returned. "Very much. I must do something to pay my share."

Caramon gave the matter serious thought for about three minutes, but apparently that process hurt, for he

began rubbing his head and said that he thought it must be about time for lunch.

Heleft to go rummage in the larder while Raistlin considered what he might do to add to their upkeep. He was

not strong enough for farm labor, nor did he have the time for any other job, with his studies. His schooling now

meant more than anything, was doubly important. Every spell he learned added to his knowledge ... and to his

power.

Power over others. He remembered Caramon, strong and muscular, falling into a deep slumber, lying

comatose at the command of his weaker brother. Raistlin smiled.

Returning with a loaf of bread and a crock of honey, Caramon placed an empty vial down in front of his

brother. "This belongs to that old crone, Weird Meggin. It had some sort of tree juice in it. Kit gave it to you to

bring your fever down. I should probably return that to her," he said reluctantly, adding in an awed tone, "Do you

know, Raist? She's got a wolf that sleeps on her door stoop and a human head sitting right smack on her kitchen

table!"

Weird Meggin. An idea stirred in Raistlin's mind.He lifted the vial, opened it, sniffed. Elixir of willow bark.

He could make that easily enough. Other herbs in his garden could be used for cures as well. He now had the

power to cast minor

magicks. People would pay good steel if he could ease a colicky baby into sleep, bring down a man's fever, or

cause an itchy rash to disappear.

Raistlin fingered the vial. "I'll return this myself. You needn't come if you don't want to."

"I'm coming," Caramon said firmly. "Where did she get that skull, huh? Just ask yourself that. I wouldn't want

to walk in andsee your head in her dining room. You andme, Raist. From now on, we stick together.We're all

each other's got."

"Not quite all, my dear brother," Raistlin said softly. His hand went to the small leather bag he wore at his

waist, a bag containing his spell components. It held only dried rose petals now, but soon it would hold more.

Much more.

"Not quite all."

Book 4.

Who wants or needs any gods at all? I certainly don't. No divine force controls mylife,and that's the way I like it. I choose my own

destiny. I am slave to no man. Why should I be a slave to a god and let some priest or cleric tell me how to live?

-Kitiara uth Matar.

Two years passed. Spring's gentle rains and summer's

sunshine caused the vallenwood saplings on the gravec --site to straighten, sending forth green shoots.

Raistlin spent winters at the school. He added another elementary spell-a spell he could use to determine if an

object might be magical-to his spellbook. Caramon spent the winters working in the stables, the summers

working at Farmer Sedge's. Caramon wasn't home much during the winter. The house was lonely without his

brother and "gave him the creeps." When Raistlin returned, however, the two lived there almost contentedly.

That spring brought the customary May Day festival, one of Solace's largest celebrations. A huge fair was set

up in a large area of cleared land on the town's southern borders.

Free at last to travel, now that the winter thaw had cleared the roads, merchants came from all parts of

Ansalon, eager to sell the wares they had spent all winter making.

The taciturn, savage-looking Plainsmen traders were first to arrive, coming from villages with outlandish,

barbaric names, such as Que-teh and Que-kiri. Clad in animal skins decorated with uncouth ornaments said to

honor their ancestors, whom they worshiped, the Plainsmen held themselves aloof from the other inhabitants of

the region, though they took their steel readily enough. Their clay pots were much prized; their handwoven

blankets were extraordinarily beautiful. Some of their other goods, such as the bead-decorated skulls of small

animals, were coveted by the children, to the shock and dismay of their parents.

Dwarves, well dressed, wearing gold chains around their necks, traveled from their underground realm of