healer-while your warrior brother does great deeds, wins great reward, and covers himself in glory.

"Oh, dear! Oh, my goodness!"

Startled, Raistlin came up short, with the realization that he'd just bumped into someone. He had been

concentrating on his thoughts, hurrying along so that he wouldn't be late, and not watching where he was going.

Lifting his head, about to mutter some apology and push his way past, he saw Miranda.

"Oh, dear," she said again and peered over the edge of the railing. Several bolts of fabric lay scattered on the

ground beneath them.

"I'm so terribly sorry!" Raistlin gasped. He must have plowed straight into her, causing her to drop the bolts of

cloth. They had fallen off the boardwalk, tumbled in a spiral of bright color to the ground.

That was his first thought. His second-and one that caused him even more confusion-was that the boardwalk

was wide enough for four people to walk on it abreast and there were only two of them on it at present. One of

them, at least, must have been watching where she was going.

"Wait ... wait here," Raistlin stammered. "I'll ... I'11 go pick them up."

"No, no, it was my fault," the girl returned. Her green eyes glowed like the new budding leaves of the trees

that spread their limbs over them. "I was watching a pair of nesting

sparrows...." She blushed, which made her even prettier. "I wasn't looking...."

"I insist," Raistlin said firmly.

"We'll go together, shall we?" Miranda forestalled him. "It's a lot to carry, for just one."

She shyly slid her hand into his.

Her touch sent flame through him, flame similar to that of his magic, only hotter. This flame consumed, the other

refined.

The two walked side by side down the long stairs to the ground below. The area was still in shadow, the early

morning sun was only just filtering through the shiny new leaves. Miranda and Raistlin gathered up the bolts of cloth

slowly, taking their time. Raistlin said he hoped the dew would not harm the fabric. Miranda said that there had

been no dew at all that morning, nothing to speak of, and that a good brushing would set them right.

He helped her fold up the long lengths of cloth, taking one end while she took the other. Every time they came

together, their hands touched.

"I wanted to thank you personally," Miranda said, looking up at him during one of these moments as they stood

there, the cloth held between them. Her eyes, glimmering through a veil of reddish blond eyelashes, were entrancing.

"You saved my sister's baby. We're all so very grateful."

"It was nothing," Raistlin protested. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded! The baby is everything, of

course. What I meant was that what I did was nothing. Well, not that either. What I meant was-"

"I know what you meant," said Miranda and closed both of her hands over his.

They dropped the cloth. She lifted her lips, closed hereyes. He bent over her.

"Miranda! There you are! Stop dawdling, girl, and bring along that cloth. I need it for Mistress Wells's bodice."

"Yes, Mother." Miranda stooped, hastily gathered up the cloth in a bundle , not bothering to fold it. Holding the

fabric in her arms, she whispered softly and breathlessly, "You will come to visit me some evening, won't you,

Raistlin?"

"Miranda!"

"Coming, Mother!"

Miranda was gone, departing in a flutter of skirts and trailing fabric.

Raistlin remained standing where she'd left him, as if he'd

been struck by lightning and his feet had melted to the spot. Dazed and dazzled, he considered her invitation and

what it meant. She liked him. Him! She had chosen him over Caramon, over all the other men in town who were

vying for her affection.

Happiness, pure and untainted, happiness such as he had rarely experienced, poured over him. He basked in

it, as in a hot summer sun, and felt himself grow like the newly planted seeds. He built castles in the air so

rapidly that within seconds they were ready for him to take up residence.

He saw himself her acknowledged favorite. Caramon would envy him for a change. Not that what Caramon

thought mattered, because Miranda loved him, and she was everything good and sweet and wonderful. She