Caramon nuzzled Miranda's neck and straddled her. The two rolled out of the light. Pants and heaves and

smothered giggles whispered in the darkness, giggles that dissolved into moans and gasps of pleasure.

Raistlin thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robe. Shivering uncontrollably in the warm spring air, he walked

silently and rapidly back to the stairs that were blood red in Lunitari's smugly smiling light.

Raistlin fled along the boardwalks, with no idea where he

was or where he was going. He knew only that he coulds anot go home. Caramon would be returning

later, when his pleasure was sated, and Raistlin could not bear to see his brother, to see that self-satisfied grin and

smell her scent and his lust still clinging to him. Jealousy and revulsion clenched Raistlin's stomach, sent bitter

bile surging up his throat. Half blind, weak, and nauseous, he walked and walked, blind and uncaring, until he

walked straight into a tree limb in the darkness.

The blow to his forehead stunned him. Dazed, he clung to the railing. Alone on the moonlit stairs, his hands

dappled with the blood-red light, shaking and trembling with the fury of his emotions, he wished Caramon and

Miranda both dead. If he had known a magical spell in that moment that would have seared the lovers' flesh,

burned them to ashes, Raistlin would have cast it.

He could see quite clearly in his mind the fire engulfing the clothier's shed, see the flames crackling red and

orange and white-hot-consuming the wood and the flesh inside, burning, purifying ...

A dull aching pain in his hands and wrists jolted him back to conscious awareness. He looked down to see his

hands white-knuckled in the moonlight. He h ad been sick, he realized from the stench and a puddle of puke at his

feet. He had no recollection of vomiting. The purging had done him some good apparently. He was no longer

dizzy or nauseated. The rage and jealousy no longer surged inside him, no longer poisoned him.

He could look around now, take his bearings. At first, he recognized nothing. Then slowly he found a

familiar landmark,

then another. He knew where he was. He had traversed nearly the length of Solace, yet he had no memory of having

done so. Looking back, it was as if he looked into the heart of a conflagration. All was red fire and black smoke and

drifting white ash. He gave a deep sigh, a shuddering sigh, and slowly let go his stranglehold on the railing.

A public water barrel stood nearby. He dared not yet put anything into his shriveled stomach, but he moistened

his lips and splashed water on the boards where he'd been sick.He was thankful no one had seen him, thankful no

one else was around. He could not have borne with pity.

As Raistlin came to figure out where he was, he came to the realization that he shouldn't be here. This part of

Solace was not considered safe. One of the first to be built, its dwellings were little more than tumbledown shacks,

long since abandoned, the early residents having either prospered and moved up in Solace society or foundered and

moved out of town altogether. Weird Meggin lived not far from here, and this was also the location of The Trough,

which must have been very close by.

Drunken laughter drifted up through the leaves, but it was sporadic and muffled. Most people, even drunkards,

were long abed. The night had crossed its midpoint, was in the small hours.

Caramon would be home by now, home and probably frantic with worry at the absence of his twin.

Good, Raistlin said sourly to himself. Let him worry. He would have to think up some excuse for his absence,

which shouldn't be too difficult. Caramon would swallow anything.

Raistlin was chilled, exhausted, and shivering; he'd come out without a cloak, and he would have a long walk

home. But still he lingered by the railing, looked back with uneasiness on the moment when he'd wished his brother

and Miranda dead. He was relieved to be able to tell himself that he had not meant it, and he was suddenly able to

appreciate the strict rules and laws that governed the use of magic. Impatient to gain power, he had never

understood so clearly the importance of the Test, which stood like a steel gate across his future, barring his entry to

the higher ranks of wizardry.

Only those with the discipline to handle such vast power were granted the right to use it. Looking back on the

savagery of his emotions, his desire, his lust, his jealousy, his rage, Raistlin was appalled. The fact that his body-the

yearnings and desires of his body-could have so completely overthrown the disci

pline of his mind disgusted him. He resolved to guard against such destructive emotions in the future.

Pondering this, he was just about to set out for home when he heard booted footsteps approaching. Probably the

town guard, walking their nightly patrol. He foresaw annoying questions, stern lectures, perhaps even an enforced