we'll call."

The barmaid, offended, flounced off. Otik cast Antimodes a helpless, apologizing

glance. Antimodes smiled, to indicate he wasn't the least concerned, and Otik, with a

shrug of his fat shoulders and, wringing his pudgy hands, walked distractedly away.

Fortunately the arrival of additional guests gave the innkeeper something to do.

Kitiara settled down to business with a serious intensity that drew Antimodes's

approval.

"Who is this person?" he asked.

"My little brother. Half-brother," she amended as an afterthought.

Antimodes recalled the scathing look she'd given Otik when he mentioned her mother.

No love lost there, the archmage guessed.

"How old is the child?"

"Six."

"And how do you know he wants to study magic?"

Antimodes asked. He thought he knew the answer. He'd heard it often.

He loves to dress up and play wizard. He's so cute. You should see him toss dust into

the air and pretend he's casting a spell. Of course, we assume it's a stage he's going

through. We don't really approve. No offense, sir, but it's not the sort of life we had in

mind for our boy. Now, if you could talk to him and tell him how difficult ...

"He does tricks," said the girl.

"Tricks?" Antimodes frowned. "What sort of tricks?"

"You know. Tricks. He can pull a coin out of your nose. He can throw a rock into the

air and make it disappear. He can cut a scarf in two with a knife and give it back good as

new."

"Sleight-of-hand," said Antimodes. "You realize, of course, that this is not magic."

"Of course!" Kitiara scoffed. "What do you think I am? Some yokel? My father-my

real father-took me to see a battle once, and there was a wizard who did some true magic.

War magic. My father's a Solamnic knight," she added with naive pride that made her

suddenly seem a little girl.

Antimodes didn't believe her, at least the part about her father being a Solamnic knight.

What would the daughter of a Solamnic knight be doing running around like a street

urchin in Solace? He could well believe that this tomboy was interested in military

matters. More than once, her right hand had rested on her left hip, as if she were either

accustomed to wearing a sword or accustomed to pretending that she wore one.

Her gaze went past Antimodes, out the window, and kept going. In that gaze was

yearning, longing for distant lands, for adventure, for an end to the boredom that was

probably about to stifle her. He was not surprised when she said, "Look, sir, I'm going to

be leaving here sometime soon, and my little brothers will have to fend for themselves

when I'm gone."

"Caramon will be all right," Kitiara continued, still gazing out at the smoky hills and

the distant blue water. "He's got the makings of a true warrior. I've taught him all I know,

and the rest he'll pick up as he goes along."

She might have been a grizzled veteran, speaking of a new recruit, rather than a

thirteen-year-old girl talking of a little snot- nosed kid. Antimodes almost laughed, but she

was so serious, so earnest, that instead he found himself watching and listening to her

with fascination.

"But I worry about Raistlin," Kitiara said, her brows drawing

together in puzzlement. "He's not like the others. He's not like me. I don't understand him. I've tried to teach him

to fight, but he's sickly. He can't keep up with the other children. He gets tired easily and he runs out of breath."

Her gaze shifted to Antimodes. "I have to leave," she said for the second time. "But before I go, I want to