escort home. He sidled near the bole of the tree, crept into its shadow, out of Lunitari's light. He wanted to be alone,

he wanted to talk to no one.

The person continued walking, moved out of the shadows cast by the tree leaves, and entered a red pool of

moonlight. The person was cloaked and hooded, but Raistlin knew Kitiara immediately, knew her by her walk-her

long, quick, impatient stride that never seemed to carry her to her destination fast enough.

She passed close by Raistlin. He could have reached out to brush her dark cloak, but he only shrank still deeper

into the shadows. Of all the people he did not want to see this night, Kitiara was foremost. He hoped she would

remove herself from his vicinity quickly, so that he could return home, and he was extremely frustrated to see her

halt at the water barrel.

He waited for her to take her drink and go on, but, though she did drink from the gourd cup attached to the barrel

by a rope, she didn't move on. She dumped the gourd back into the water; it fell with a splash. Crossing her arms,

Kit leaned back against the barrel and took up a position of waiting.

Raistlin was stranded. He could not leave his tree. He could not step out into the moonlight without her noticing

him. But by now he would not have left if he could have. He was intrigued and curious. What was Kitiara doing? Why

was she out walking the streets of Solace at this time of night, walking alone, her half-elf lover nowhere to be seen?

She was meeting someone; that much was obvious. Kit was never good at waiting for anything, and this was no

exception. She had not been standing two minutes before she stirred restlessly. She crossed her feet, uncrossed her

feet, rattled the sword at her waist, slapped her leather gloved hands together, took another drink of water, and more

than once leaned forward to peer impatiently down the walkway.

"I will give him five more minutes," she muttered. The night air was still, and Raistlin could hear her words quite

clearly.

Footsteps sounded, coming from the direction in which Kit had been looking. She straightened, her hand going

reflexively to the hilt of her sword.

The other figure was that of a man, also cloaked and hooded and reeking of ale. Even from where he stood, no

more than ten paces from them, Raistlin could smell the liquor on the man. Kit wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"You sot!" Kit sneered. "Keep me waiting in the cold for hours while you suck down rotgut, will you! I've half a

mind to slit your ale-swilling belly!"

"I am not past our meeting time," said the man, and his voice was cold and, surprisingly, sober. "If anything, I am

early. And one cannot sit in a tavern, even in a tavern as wretched as The Trough, without drinking. Though I am

thankful to say that more of that foul liquid the barkeep has the temerity to call ale is on me than is inside me. The

barmaid helps herself to her own wares apparently. She managed to spill nearly a full flagon on me.... Did you hear

that?"

Raistlin had shifted his position ever so slightly in order to relieve a sudden painful cramp in his left leg. He had

made hardly any noise at all, yet the man had heard him, for the hooded face turned in Raistlin's direction. Steel

flashed in the moonlight.

Raistlin held perfectly still, not even breathing. He did not want to be caught spying on his sister. Kit would be

furious, and she had never had any qualms about relieving her anger with the flat of her hand. She might do worse

now. And even if she didn't, even if she were inclined to be at all tenderhearted with her baby brother, then the man

with the voice like frost-rimed iron would not.

Yet even as fear clenched his already shriveled belly, Raistlin realized that he did not dread being caught because

he feared punishment, but because he would miss a chance to discover one of Kit's secrets. Kit had already tried to

draw him into her world, place him under her influence. Raistlin was certain she would try again, and he had no

intention of playing a subservient role to anyone. Someday he would have to oppose the wishes of his willful sister.

He would need every weapon at his disposal for the combat.

"Your ears are playing tricks on you," Kit said after a moment's pause, during which both had listened intently.

"I heard something, I tell you," the man insisted.

"It must have been a cat, then. No one comes here this time

of night. Let's get down to business."

Raistlin could see the flash of moonlight off the hilt of Kit's sword; she had drawn aside her cloak to remove a

leather scroll case she carried tucked into her belt.