"From what I've heard, your people witnessed the hardships suffered by those under their rule calmly enough,"

Raistlin returned. "Perhaps because they were responsible for most of it."

"That's a lie!" Sturm cried, jumping to his feet, his fists clenched.

"Here, now, Sturm, Raist didn't mean that-" Caramon began.

"Are you telling me that the Solamnic knights did not actively persecute magic-users?" Raistlin feigned

astonishment. "I suppose the mages simply grew weary of living in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, and

that's why they fled from it in fear for their lives!"

"Raist, I'm sure Sturm didn't intend to-"

"Some call it persecution. Others call it rooting out evil!" Sturm said darkly.

"So you equate magic with evil?" Raistlin asked with dangerous calm.

"Don't most people with any sense?" Sturm returned.

Caramon rose to his feet, his own fists clenched. "I don't think you really meant that, did you, Sturm?"

"We have a saying in Solamnia. 'If the boot fits-"'

Caramon took a clumsy swing at Sturm, who ducked and lunged at his opponent, catching him in his broad

midsection. Caramon went over backward with a "woof," Sturm on top of him, pummeling him. The two crashed

into the wooden chest, breaking it into its component parts and smashing the crockery that was being stored

inside. The two continued their scuffling on the floor, rolling and punching and flailing away at each other.

Raistlin remained sitting by the fire, watching calmly, a slight smile on his thin lips. Flint was disturbed by

such coolness, so disturbed that he lost the moment when he might have stopped the fight. Raistlin did not appear

worried, concerned, or shocked. Flint might have suspected him of having provoked this battle for his own

amusement, except that he did not appear to be enjoying the show. His smile was not one of pleasure. It was

faintly derisive, his look disdainful.

"Those eyes of his shivered my skin," Flint was later to tell Tanis. "There is something cold-blooded about him, if

you take my meaning."

"I'm not sure I do. Are you saying that this young man deliberately provoked his brother and his friend into a

fistfight?"

"Well, no, not exactly." Flint considered. "His question to me was sincere. I've no doubt of that. But then, he must

have known how the talk of gods and all that hoo-hah about magic would affect a Solamnic knight. And if there was

ever a Solamnic knight walking around without his armor, that is young Sturm for you. Born with a sword up his

back, as we used to say.

"But that Raistlin." The dwarf shook his head. "I think he just liked knowing that he could make them fight, best

friends and all."

"Hey, now!" Flint shouted, suddenly realizing that he wasn't going to have any furniture left if he didn't put an end

to the brawl. "What do you think you're doing? You've broken my dishes! Stop that! Stop it, I say!"

The two paid no heed to the dwarf. Flint waded into the fray. A swift and expert kick to the outside of the kneecap

sent Sturm rolling. He rocked in agony on top of the bits of broken crockery clutching his knee and biting his lip to

keep from crying out in pain.

Flint grabbed hold of a handful of Caramon's long, curly hair and gave it a swift, sharp tug. Caramon yelped and

tried unsuccessfully to prize loose the dwarf's hold. Flint had a grip of iron.

"Look at you both!" the dwarf stated in disgust, giving Caramon's head a shake and Sturm another kick. "Acting

like a couple of drunken goblins. And who taught you to fight? Your great-aunt Minnie? Both of you taller than me by

a foot at least, maybe twofeetfor the young giant, and here you are. Flat on your back with the foot of a dwarf on

your chest. Get up. Both of you."

Shamefaced and teary-eyed from the pain, the two young men slowly picked themselves up off the floor. Sturm

stood balancing on one leg, not daring to trust his full weight to his injured knee. Caramon winced and massaged his

stinging scalp, wondering if he had a bald spot.

"Sorry about the dishes," Caramon mumbled.

"Yes, sir, I am truly sorry," Sturm said earnestly. "I will make recompense for the damage, of course."

"I'll do better than that. I'll pay for it," Caramon offered.

Raistlin said nothing. He was already counting out money from their take at the fair.