Caramon went white to the lips. "Raist, I-"

"I will disown you," Raistlin pressed on, knowing that the iron must strike to the heart. "I will leave this house, and I will never come back. Your name will never be spoken in my presence. If I see you coming down the road, I will turn and walk the opposite direction."

Caramon was hurt, deeply hurt. His big frame shuddered, as if the point Raistlin had driven home was in truth steel.

"I guess. it means a lot. to you," Caramon said brokenly, lowering his head, staring at his clasped hands.

Raistlin was softened by his brother's anguish. But Caramon had to be made to understand. Kneeling beside his twin, Raistlin stroked his brother's curly hair.

"Of course this means a lot to me, Caramon. It means everything! I have worked and studied almost my entire life for this chance. What would you have me do-cast it aside because it is dangerous? Life is dangerous, Caramon. Just stepping out that door is dangerous! You cannot hide from danger.

Death floats on the air, creeps through the window, comes with the handshake of a stranger. If we stop living because we fear death, then we have already died.

"You want to be a warrior, Caramon. You practice with a real sword. Isn't that dangerous? How many times have you and Sturm very nearly sliced off each other's ears? Sturm has told us of the young knights who die in the tourneys held to test their knighthood. Yet if you had the chance to fight in one of those, wouldn't you take it?"

Caramon nodded. A tear fell on the clasped hands.

"What I do is the same thing," Raistlin said gently. "The blade must be forged in the fire. Are you with me, my brother?" He pressed his hand over Caramon's. "You know that I would stand at your side, should you ever fight to prove your mettle."

Caramon lifted his head. In his eyes, there was new respect and admiration. "Yes, Raist. I'll stand with you. I understand, now that you've explained it. I won't say a word to anyone. I promise."

"Good." Raistlin sighed. The elation had drained away. The battle with his brother had sapped his energy, leaving him weak and exhausted. He wanted to lie down, to be quiet and alone in the comforting darkness.

"What do I tell the others?" Caramon asked.

"Whatever you choose," Raistlin returned, heading for his room. "I don't care, so long as you make no mention of the truth."

"Raist." Caramon paused, then asked, "You wouldn't do what you said, would you? Disown me? Claim that you never had a brother?"

"Oh, don't be such an idiot, Caramon," Raistlin said and went to his bed.

Caramon informed Sturm the next day that neither he nor his brother could accompany him to Solamnia. Sturm tried arguing and persuading, but Caramon remained adamant, though he could give no clear reason for his change of heart. Sturm marked Caramon as being worried and preoccupied about something. Assuming that Raistlin had decided not to go and had forbidden his brother to go without him, Sturm- though offended and hurt-said no more about the matter.

"If you want a traveling companion, Brightblade, I'll go with you myself," Kitiara offered. "I know the fastest and best routes north. Plus, from what I've heard, there's dark doings happening up that way. We shouldn't either of us travel alone, and since we're heading the same direction, it makes sense that we travel together."

The three were in the Inn of the Last Home, drinking a glass of ale. Having stopped by her brother's home, Kit had recognized immediately that the twins were up to something and was angry when they maintained that nothing unusual was going on. Well aware that she would never be able to pry the secret from Raistlin, she hoped to be able to tease the truth out of the more pliable Caramon.

"You and Tanis would be most welcome, Kitiara," Sturm said, recovering from his initial astonishment at her offer. "I did not ask you at first because I knew Tanis planned to accompany Flint on his summer journeys, but-"

"Tanis won't be going with me," Kit said tonelessly, flatly. She drained her tankard of ale and loudly called out for Otik to bring her another.

Sturm looked over at Caramon, wondering what was going on. Tanis and Kitiara had been together all winter, closer and more affectionate than ever.

Caramon shook his head to indicate that he had no idea.

Sturm was troubled. "I'm not certain-"

"Fine. It's settled. I'm coining," Kit said, refusing to listen to any arguments. "Now, Caramon, tell me why you and that wizard brother of yours won't come with us. Four traveling the road is much safer. Besides, there's some people up north I want you to meet."

"Like I told Sturm, I can't go," Caramon said.

His usually cheerful face was shadowed, grave. He hadn't drunk even a sip of his ale, which had by now gone flat. Shoving it aside, he stood up, flung a coin on the table, and left.

He didn't feel comfortable around Kitiara anymore. He was glad she was leaving, relieved that Tanis wasn't going with her. He had often felt that he should tell Tanis the truth about that night. Tell Tanis that Kit had been the one to murder Judith. Tell Tanis that she had urged Caramon to let Raistlin take the blame, to let Raistlin die.

She had claimed that she was joking. Still.

Caramon gave a relieved sigh. She would leave, and if they were lucky, she would not return. Caramon was worried about Sturm, who would be traveling in Kit's company, but on reflection, Caramon decided that the young knight, bolstered by his reliance on the Oath and the Measure, could look after himself. Besides, as Kit said, traveling alone was dangerous.

Caramon's main concern was for Tanis, who would be terribly hurt by Kit's decision to leave. Caramon figured-logically-that Kitiara, the restless firebrand, was the one who had ended the relationship.

It was Raistlin who discovered the truth.

Although he had several months to wait before he and Caramon would undertake their journey to the Tower, Raistlin began immediately to make preparations. One of these involved the retooling of the leather thong that held the knife on Raistlin's wrist, concealed beneath his robes. A flick of that wrist was supposed to cause the knife to drop down, unseen, into the mage's hand.

At least that was how the thong was designed to work. Raistlin's wrist was far thinner than the wrist of the war mage who had originally worn it, however. When Raistlin tried wearing the contraption, the thong itself dropped into his hand. The knife fell to the floor. He took it to Flint, hoping the dwarf could fix it.

Flint, looking the thong over, was impressed with the workmanship, thought it might be dwarven.

According to Lemuel, the Qualinesti elves had made the knife and the thong as a gift to their friend, the war mage.

Raistlin made no mention of this, however. He agreed with the dwarf that the thong was undoubtedly constructed by some great dwarven leatherworker. Flint offered to adjust the size if Raistlin would leave the thong with him for a week or two.

Raistlin had his hand on the doorknocker, was about to knock, when he heard faint voices inside. The voices belonged to Tanis and Flint. Raistlin could distinguish only a few words, but one was "Kitiara."

Certain that any conversation about his sister would cease if he were introduced into it, Raistlin carefully and quietly lowered his hand from the knocker. He looked to see if anyone was in sight. Finding that he was alone, Raistlin slipped around the side of the house to Flint's workshop. The dwarf had opened the window to let in the soft spring breeze. Hidden from view by a fall of purple clematis, which grew up the side of the workshop, Raistlin stood to one side of the window.

Any qualms he might have had about eavesdropping on his friends were easily settled. He had often wondered how much Tanis knew about Kit's activities: midnight meetings with strangers, the murder of the priestess. Was Kit fleeing danger? Had Tanis threatened to denounce her? And where did that leave Raistlin if this were the case? Quite understandably, he had small faith in his sister's loyalty.