Dark Heart

Chapter 9

After several more days, Kitiara reached Solace. It was late summer, and the branches of the majestic vallenwoods made an emerald canopy overhead. The familiar smells spurred Cinnamon into a trot. The horse didn't need any help finding the way back to her old stall in the shed beneath the Majere cottage. Kit fed and watered the mare, then, mindful of Ursa's warning, took Beck's sword and buried it under an unassuming pile of hay. Later, she would sneak the weapon up to her room.

With mixed feelings she climbed the spiral stairs to home.

It was almost meal time. Kit knew that her whole family would probably be home. Just as she was about to enter, the door swung open. Caramon threw himself on her, squealing with excitement.

"You're really back! Raist was right! He said you'd be standing there if I opened the door. I bet him a bag of rock candy that you wouldn't be, but I'm happy to pay up."

Caramon grabbed Kit's hand and pulled her into the center of the room. Rosamun's door was almost entirely closed, and Gilon was absent. Though the late afternoon was warm, Raistlin was sitting in a chair pulled up close to the hearth. A book lay open in his lap. Curiosity, admiration, resentment, and a little petulance mingled in the look he gave Kit.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon. Was your journey a worthwhile one?" Raist asked her gravely.

Kit grinned. Same old Raist. "Let's say it took some unexpected turns. Judge for yourself how worthwhile."

Caramon, sensing the imminent handing out of presents, began hopping up and down at Kit's side. "Oh, she brought us something. It better be good; you've been gone all summer."

With a flourish, Kit pulled two small packages out of her bag. Despite his desire to appear cool and collected, Raist hopped off his chair and ran up to Kit. She gave the first package to Caramon. He tore off the crude wrapping and exclaimed loudly over the sturdy short sword she had brought him.

"It must have been so expensive!" crowed Caramon, turning it around in his hand admiringly.

In truth, Kit had taken the sword off the dead Kagonesti, but there was no reason for Caramon to be told that. "Watch you don't cut yourself," she admonished.

Raist unwrapped his smaller package more slowly, but seemed equally pleased with his set of leather vials.

"Now, those were expensive," Kit said, winking at Raist. The dead Kagonesti had contributed those, too.

As each boy was examining his souvenir, Gilon walked in the door carrying herbs and other foodstuffs, appearing harried. He looked at Kit in surprise, then followed that reaction quickly with a grin of genuine warmth. Having his arms full, he was able to avoid the awkwardness that typically passed between them over whether or not to embrace.

"Well, the adventurer returns! You must have grown two inches in the last couple months. Welcome back, Kit."

Indeed, she had grown up over the time, physically and otherwise. Gilon could see that Kit carried herself with, not just adolescent swagger, but true assurance. And while someone who looked at her fleetingly might still mistake her for a boy, anyone whom she engaged more closely with her crooked smile and laughing eyes would not.

Gilon dumped the food he was carrying onto the table. Just then, Rosamun shuffled out of their bedroom, a glaze over her eyes. Her face didn't show recognition of Kit, nor anyone else in the room. Her hair was uncombed, and she'd obviously slept in her clothes.

Kit frowned. Gilon hurried over and led her mother back to the bedroom, speaking to Rosamun in soothing tones. The twins, occupied with their new possessions and probably inured to the ghostly appearances of their mother, didn't take much notice.

Gilon strode back into the room. "I'm afraid it will be a while before we eat," he said to Kit apologetically, "and the meal won't be much. I don't have your knack in the kitchen."

A cosmic conspiracy seems determined to keep me in the kitchen, Kit thought to herself. "Sit down, Gilon," she said with a sigh. "I'll do the cooking. I haven't gotten out of practice, especially in the last few weeks."

As she prepared a homecoming repast, Kit regaled Gilon and the twins with selected stories from her exploits. In these, Ursa became Trubaugh-she thought it wise to disguise as much about him as possible, including his name-a mysterious man she had met at the spring festival, who swore he knew where her father was. He agreed to lead her to him, far to the northwest, if she would cook for him and his gang of ruffians. When it turned out that he was luring her up there for more nefarious purposes-here she wrinkled her brows to imply that these were motives best left unspoken-she relieved this Trubaugh of some of his purse and left him and his hapless gang in the middle of the night.

"Good for you!" said Caramon approvingly.

"Yes, he deserved worse," chimed in Raistlin.

"What about Gregor?" asked Gilon hesitantly. "Did Trubaugh really know anything? Or was it all a lie?"

"As false as everything else about Trubaugh," said Kitiara, shaking her head sadly.

After leaving Trubaugh, Kit continued, she had made her way through perilous mountain trails until she came upon a congenial settlement of miners and lumbermen called Dragonshead. Better than Stumptown, she thought to herself with the pride of creative deception.

The inn there was a jovial place, and for many weeks she had a job and friends. Piggott became a hilarious buffoon, and the motley crew that frequented his inn all played comical supporting roles. She left out all mention of their true names and the dark side of her experiences. Gilon and Caramon laughed heartily at her inspired version of events, but Kitiara caught Raistlin gazing at her thoughtfully.

Caramon, who was normally easy to gull, asked a zillion innocent questions about the time she had spent away, and Kit found herself squirming to think of plausible replies.

"C'mon, didn't you fight anybody when you were gone? I bet you did. Who? Was it this guy Trubaugh, or somebody at the inn? What weapons did you use? Did you win?"

Kit just smiled and tousled her brother's hair. "Don't be so dramatic, Caramon. Do I look battle-scarred?"

Caramon seemed crestfallen at her disclaimer, while Gilon and Raist regarded her skeptically.

"What about you?" Kit asked Caramon, deftly changing the subject. "Have you been practicing with your sword? And how has mage school been, Raist?"

"Well, I haven't had anyone to practice with, but I was pretty good to begin with," bragged Caramon, "Y'know that fancy lunge and parry you showed me? I can do that easily now. I'll show you after dinner, OK?"

"And mage school?" Kit persisted.

Raistlin looked down at his plate. Kit saw that Gilon was observing Caramon's twin solicitously.

"I already know more than some boys who have been studying with Morath for a year," Raist responded in a low voice.

"Good!" exclaimed Kit enthusiastically. "And what about friends? Are you making any?"

"I don't really have much to do with the other boys there," he answered, fixing his gaze on his plate.

Kit's eyes met Gilon's. She mimed a shrug of unconcern. "They're probably all spoiled little bookworms," Kit declared. In her view, there were far more important things than being the most popular boy in the class.

Gilon left the table to try to coax Rosamun into eating something. Kitiara remained seated, joking with the twins, basking in their attention. When Gilon returned, unsuccessful at his mission, it was Kit's turn to leave the table, but only for a moment. She returned carrying a small pouch, which she emptied on the table in front of Gilon, creating a small pile of copper and silver coins.

"I don't know how long I'll be staying, but I want to pay for my room and board while I'm here. This should cover it."

The twins crowed at the sight of the coins. It was more money than they had seen in their lives. Gilon was momentarily speechless.

As he began gathering the coins from the table, the big woodcutter finally spoke, with evident emotion. "Thank you, Kitiara. This will help."

Kit had relished the gesture, and she did want to help out. But she suffered a twinge as she watched Gilon count the money. She had spent rather too freely on the journey home, enjoying a soft bed at a roadside inn on more than one night. Giving those coins to Gilon left her almost flat. It meant she was a little more stuck in Solace than she would have liked.

Oh well, Kit thought to herself. I've left once before without anything saved up. I can do it again if needs be.

That night, Kitiara climbed the ladder to her sleeping loft and surveyed her old quarters. What once had seemed, if not exactly grand, then at least luxuriously set apart from the rest of the house, now looked cramped and dingy to Kit. Deeply tired, she stretched out on her straw pallet and received confirmation from yet another source that she had grown in the last few months, for her ankles overhung the edge of the bed by a good two inches.

In the cottage below, Kit heard Raistlin toss and moan in his sleep. The boys had stayed up past their bedtime and were overtired when they finally did go down. That often meant nightmares for Raist. Kit listened as Caramon roused himself to climb into bed with Raistlin and comfort him.

A rhythmic shuffling noise came from Gilon's and Rosamun's room. When Rosamun was in one of her wandering trances, Gilon actually had to put a cuff around her wrist and loop her to the bedpost some nights. Rosamun would pace back and forth alongside the bed, muttering weirdly to herself all night long. Such was obviously the case tonight.

Home, sweet home, Kit thought to herself. Well, she was glad to be back in Solace-temporarily. Her mind raced ahead to ways she could keep her stay short, but sleep overtook her before she could think of anything.

Waking up was hard business. Kit stretched on her too-small pallet. From the whispered conversations that drifted up from below, she surmised that Gilon and Raist were preparing to leave for the long walk to Poolbottom and that the rest of the household was still asleep. It was early, just after sunrise, when she heard them slip out the door.

Kit waited a moment to make sure they were gone before grabbing some clothes and climbing down from her loft. When she reached the first floor, Caramon was up, leaning on his elbows, regarding her with a sleepy smile.

"What about school for you, Caramon? What time to you have to be there?"

"I have to leave in an hour, if I go. When Mother is having one of her bad spells, I often stay home to make sure nothing happens to her. What's for breakfast? Usually father leaves me something."

Kit found a piece of bread with honey lathered on it that had been set aside in the larder which, she noticed, was not particularly well-stocked. She made a slice for herself and picked out some other food for her and Caramon's breakfast.

"What are we gonna do after we eat?" asked Caramon eagerly. "Want me to show you that lunge-and-parry?"

"Don't gobble so fast," Kit advised her little brother, who had started to bolt down his food. "I have to eat, too, then before I do anything I have to make sure Cinnamon has food and water. After that, maybe."

"I've been using your wooden sword while you were away, the one Gregor left you," said Caramon, chattering exuberantly. "I hope you don't mind. It's good for practicing. I've outgrown it, that's for sure-especially now that I've got a real sword."

Kitiara reached across the table and cuffed him on the ear.

"Owl What's that for?" asked Caramon.

"For being stupid," Kit replied. "Keep the real sword at home until you're bigger. If there's one thing that my father taught me, it's don't show a sword unless you're ready to use it. And you won't be ready for some years. Meanwhile, a wooden sword is fine for a runt like you."

"Aw," said Caramon, chastened.

"Why, Kitiara, you're back."

Kit started at hearing her name and turned around to see Rosamun standing in the doorway of her and Gilon's bedroom. Her mother had woken up, smiling and lucid for the moment. Her skin seemed to hang on her bones; she looked withered before her time.

Neither Rosamun's spectral appearance nor her mood shift seemed to make much impression on Caramon, who happily skipped over to his mother for hugs and kisses.

"Yeah, isn't it great. She came back last night before supper. She brought me a real sword, Mother, a valuable one."

Caramon took Rosamun by the hand and led her toward the kitchen area. He dropped her hand now and ran to a high-backed ashwood armchair whose surface had mellowed to a satiny patina: Rosamun's chair, crafted by Gilon's handiwork. Caramon pushed it near the window into a pool of sunlight. Rosamun sank down into the chair and rested her head against its back, evidently wearied by the simple task of crossing the room.

Kit saw how fragile Rosamun's state was. Caramon would not be going to school today. "Would you like me to heat some water for tea, Mother?" the boy asked.

Rosamun smiled vaguely. "That sounds fine, dear."

Caramon grabbed the kettle eagerly. Kit could tell he wanted to show off to her how he could make tea all by himself now.

As Rosamun sipped a mug of tea, Caramon proudly showed her the sword Kit had brought him. As he knelt by her side, she stroked his golden brown hair. All of her mother's rapt attention was on the boy; though Kit had been gone for weeks, Rosamun barely noticed her daughter. The longer Kit stood there, ignored, the more irritated she became at the cozy domestic scene from which she was excluded.

"Well, Caramon?" she interrupted brusquely. "Are we going to practice our swordplay or not?"

"You bet!" he said, jumping up.

"Get my sword, too, will you?" she asked him.

Caramon reached under his bed and retrieved both Kitiara's old wooden sword and the small-handled one that Gilon had carved for him. As the would-be warrior waved both blades in the air with glee, Kit glanced at Rosamun, who was sunk in her chair, a look of hurt on her face.

"First we have to check on Cinnamon," reminded Kit. "I'll give you some lessons in taking care of a horse. That's a good thing for a warrior to know."

Caramon raced out the door without a backward glance at his mother.

Caramon and Kitiara practiced for hours. Kit used her old wooden sword, feeling childish, but she knew better than to bring out Beck's sword and let Caramon, much less anyone who happened to be passing by, get a look at it. Caramon wielded the sword Gilon had made for him, which was shorter than hers, but heftier. Both toy weapons were sharp enough that it hurt when they made good contact.

The sister and brother went at each other hard, down by the shed. Kit had to admit that Caramon had improved by leaps and bounds. What he lacked in technique, he more than made up in agility and determination. She could whack and stab him, but she couldn't back him down. Frowning with concentration, his hair stuck to his head with perspiration, the plucky six-year-old was beginning to tire. So was Kit, but neither would surrender.

"Let's go down by the lake," proffered Kit as an olive branch.

Not far from their home was Crystalmir Lake-Crone Lake, the kids sometimes called it, in reference to the legend of a witch who was believed to haunt it. Now and then the crone was spotted by a fisherman who'd had too much to drink, or a gnome traveler who, having heard the legend, would sit on the banks of the lake for two or three days, brandishing a See-Through-Virtually-Anything Aquascope.

"Sure thing," said Caramon, taking off in front of her. Kit easily passed him at a lope.

The shore was mossy in parts, sandy in others, the lake placid. Sticks, leaves, dead bugs, seaweed, and lily pads had washed up on the shoreline.

For an hour they explored the beach, stopping frequently to turn over big rocks and skip smaller ones across the surface. Caramon waded into the water, trying to catch crawfish that eluded his stubby hands. Kit laughed as he screamed epithets at one of them that had managed to pinch his fingers. When her brother fell backward into the water and came up sopping wet, she laughed all the harder.

Up on the bank, Caramon was wringing water out of his shirt and Kit was lazing on her back, marveling to herself at how quickly she was becoming bored by old, familiar Solace.

"Kit?" Caramon asked, strenuously squeezing his shirt.

"Yes," she answered dreamily.

"You ever seen the crone?" he wondered.

"What crone?" she asked back.

"The Crone Lake crone."

"Oh," she said, her eyes closed. "That's just a story they tell to little boys and girls to scare them."

"That's what Raist said," said Caramon in a small voice.

Afterward, they went back to the house, checked on Rosamun, who was napping, and decided to take Cinnamon out for some exercise. As Kit readied the mare, she turned her back on Caramon, who was idly scuffing his feet and poking around in the shed.

"Kit! What's this? You've been holding out on me. Where'd you get it? It's wonderful!"

Kit turned back to see Caramon swaggering with Beck's sword. Furious, she snatched it away from him and quickly wrapped it up again. Then she thrust it farther into the straw, behind a pile of field stones.

"Never mind where I got it," she said fiercely. "Nobody must know I have it. Understand? Nobody! On your honor as a warrior, promise to forget about it." She stood over her little brother intimidatingly.

"Aw, why?"

Kit raised a hand.

"OK, OK. I promise."

Later they rode. Kit sat behind Caramon, her arms encircling him, and they shared the reins. Guiding the chestnut mare beyond the forest into the tall grass, they rode for several hours, crisscrossing the open country, laughing and almost falling off. How good the wind felt!

By the time they returned from riding, it was approaching late afternoon, the time when Raist was expected home. Caramon told Kit that some days his twin stayed late and slept overnight at Poolbottom. A number of the students there came from far greater distances and boarded at the mage school, so there were good accommodations. But Raistlin preferred to walk the long way home most days. When Kit asked why, Caramon looked thoughtful while he replied.

"He doesn't have many friends there. He told me they call him the 'Sly One.' I think it's because he's smarter than all the other students. He's always the first to finish his assignments, and he's the best at remembering spells." Caramon paused for a moment, looking at his feet and kicking a stone as he walked along. He was frowning.

"Morath doesn't seem to like him much, either. The master mage thinks up a lot of extra work for him. That's the only time Raist stays overnight, when he has too much extra work to finish."

Caramon stopped on the walkway near the Majere cottage, fists clenched at his sides. "I know I ought to help him, but I don't know how. I know I got to worry about Raistlin and Mother, when you're not around. Father tries, but he works from sundown to sunup just trying to keep food on the table."

At that moment Kit was proud of little Caramon. Wasn't he just like her in some ways? Hadn't she been only seven when Gregor had left her alone with Rosamun? And at eight, hadn't she taken on almost all the responsibility of caring for the twins?

Just then Raistlin appeared in their path. His clothing was ripped and disheveled. One eye was already swelling shut, and his upper lip was bleeding.

"Who did this to you?" Caramon demanded.

Raist, his lower lip trembling, pushed past them into the cottage without saying anything. Inside, Rosamun fell on him instantly, exclaiming and weeping. She sat him in a chair and wiped at his lip and scratches. Caramon paced up and down in front of the door, swearing revenge. Kit stood off to one side, watching everything anxiously.

Afterward, Rosamun retreated to her room, and Raistlin and Caramon started quarreling.

"If I had been with you, this never would have happened," said Caramon, puffing out his chest.

"Don't be ridiculous. This is between me and-"

"Caramon, calm down," Kit commanded. "Now, Raist, tell us what happened. I think we can all agree that any revenge devised by all three of us will be three times as sweet as anything you can concoct by yourself." Her tone brooked no argument.

"I was on my way home from school, on the outskirts of Solace where there's that stand of young trees," Raistlin began slowly. "I had just entered the shade of that grove from the bright sunlight, and my eyes were still adjusting to the dimness so I'm not sure exactly what happened. But someone or something pounced on me from above at the same time that I tripped, I think over a rope drawn tight across the path. I hit my face on some rocks as I fell down, which is how I got the cut lip.

"Before my head had cleared, my hands and feet were tied up. I saw who was tying me-it was Dune Wister. His brother, Bronk, was with him. They made fun of me for being a magic-user. They looked in my pockets for anything of value. There wasn't any gold or silver, of course, but they took the pouches you gave me, for holding my spell components, and they filled them instead with… bat dung. They ran off laughing, and it took a while for me to get untied."

For an instant Raist looked as if he were about to cry, then he fiercely blinked back the tears.

"Those scum!" Caramon exploded.

"Quiet!" snapped Kitiara.

"Dune and Caramon are in the same class at the village school," Raist continued. "Dune's just like his brother, a pint-sized bully. Every time he sees us, he makes a crack about Mother." Raistlin's voice dropped a notch in the telling.

"Tell her about the last time," urged Caramon.

"The last time," said Raistlin, shooting a glance at his brother, "I was ready. We haven't learned many spells at Poolbottom yet, just some simple illusions. There was one that only called for dried beetle wings, which are easy enough to get, so I was carrying some with me. So as soon as Dune started saying something about Mother, I had Caramon pin him down and I made the spell. Every time he opened his mouth to say something, bugs fell out." Raistlin and Caramon grinned at the memory.

"Bugs?" repeated Kit.

"You know, beetles and ants, centipedes and flies. Dune couldn't open his mouth without spitting out bugs. The spell was supposed to last for a couple hours, so I don't think he had much fun teasing anyone the rest of that day."

Despite his scratches and swollen lip, Raist looked slyly pleased with himself. Caramon, though, had stopped grinning. "We ought to settle this my way," he declared vehemently, "We're three against two. Bronk and Dune won't dare jump Raist again."

Raistlin glared at his twin, but Kit spoke first.

"One good brain is worth more than a dozen stout warriors," she said emphatically. That was one of Gregor's maxims, and the twins had heard Kitiara repeat it before.

"Come here," she said, drawing her younger brothers close in a huddle. "I have an idea."

The sun had just risen when Kit slipped the note under the door. She hoped that, as the oldest, Bronk was up first to help with the chores. If Aureleen had been right all those months ago, Bronk wouldn't be able to resist an invitation from Kitiara, even if what little common sense he had told him the circumstances were suspicious.

My heart's beating quickened when I saw you the other day. Meet me at the end of the path to Crystalmir Lake tonight at dusk.

Affection, Kitiara

Pleading aches and pains from the previous day, Raist stayed home from Poolbottom. Gilon raised his eyebrows at the excuse, for Raist had always been eager to go to school, even on days when he'd had a raging fever. But Gilon was preoccupied with his own concerns, and Raist's acting job convinced him.

After solicitously serving the twins breakfast, Rosamun, her strength depleted, dozed in her favorite chair.

Kit, Raist, and Caramon spent the day coming and going on mysterious errands. After one final whispered conference between the three of them in the late afternoon, Kit disappeared with a bundle under her arm. Not one of the three came home for supper, and Rosamun became very worried.

"Don't fret," said Gilon, when he returned to the cottage. "They must be up to something." He stroked his wife's white hair soothingly. But Gilon was worried, too.

Kit had found a vantage point on a hill overlooking the path down to the lake and was keeping watch. As she expected, Bronk showed up a good hour before sunset, nervously checking the area for any traps. He made a more thorough job of it than she would have guessed, then settled down on a stump at the edge of the sand leading down to the water.

Bad luck. Earlier that day the twins had tethered a line to the far side of that exact stump, burying it under the sand and running it down into the water. Kit didn't want Bronk to start poking around the stump, so quickly she shrugged out of her tunic and leggings, then unrolled the bundle from home.

A gauzy, flowered dress, one of Rosamun's old ones, fluttered in the lively breeze. Kit regarded the garment with some distaste, then slipped it on. The rich colors set off her dark hair.

Bronk had started to idly dig into the sand with the toe of his boot. Kit looked up the path toward Solace. No sign of the twins, yet she had no choice but to begin the charade.

Making certain Bronk did not see her, Kitiara hurriedly crept around to the back of the hill where she had been perched, then stepped onto the path. Fortunately, he caught sight of her right away and stopped his idle digging.

She sighed with relief. "I'm so glad you came, Bronk," Kit murmured. "I didn't think it was going to be so dark on the path down here."

Bronk mistook her sigh for a flirtatious gesture. When she glided closer to him, Kit could see that his mouth was hanging open. He was definitely off his guard.

"Gee, I, uh, I… what's all the mystery, Kitiara?" he stammered, thrusting out his chest and striking a virile pose.

"Well," Kit began, "it's just that I haven't seen you for an awfully long time."

"You've been gone," Bronk said, sounding a little miffed. He glanced around nervously. "Everybody wondered where you went. Nobody knew for sure. Not even your brothers, I don't think. Where'd you go anyway?"

"What does it matter?" she said, lowering her head. She tried some sniffling. "It's all over anyway."

"What's over?" he demanded to know.

"What does it matter?" Kit repeated mysteriously. Sniffle, sniffle.

Bronk sidled over and clumsily put his arm around her shoulder.

Where were Caramon and Raist? How long was she going to have to put up with this dunce and keep him dangling around this tree stump!

"Well," Bronk said petulantly, "I'm glad you realized the error of your ways. I always thought that us… that is, you and me… I mean, even if I don't like your dumb brothers, I always thought that you and me could be friends. More than friends."

This had been a long and almost articulate speech for Bronk. He seemed winded and confused, as if he had said more than he'd meant to. Again his eyes darted nervously around. Then Bronk gave Kit a tentative little squeeze.

"What do you mean, 'more than friends'?" she asked ingenuously, batting her lashes. Where were her darn brothers? But Bronk, preoccupied with his next move, didn't notice the tension in her shoulders.

His arm tightened around her shoulders. Kitiara smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn't notice she was gritting her teeth.

Please! She couldn't take much more of this.

Just then, the sound of boys' voices reached them, coming from the path.

"What's this?" Bronk asked with considerable irritation.

The voices grew louder, until Kit and Bronk could make out some of the words.

"You'll eat those words," Caramon was saying.

"My brother would never-"

"See if you believe your own eyes." That was Raist.

Bronk had dropped his hand from Kit's shoulder and was looking at her with revived suspicion. When he finally realized that it was Dune's voice he was hearing, along with the twins, he grew agitated.

"Say, what is this?" he said, shoving Kitiara's shoulder.

Dune came around the bend. He was wedged between Caramon and Raistlin, almost being propelled forward by the twins. His eyes grew big when he spied his brother standing next to Kit.

Dune was a thick-witted little boy who worshiped his bully brother. Caramon and Raistlin had told him that Bronk was secretly romancing Kit. Dune couldn't believe that his brother was wooing the very girl about whom Bronk had said so many terrible things. On a bet, the twins had brought the boy to Crystalmir Lake to sneak up on the two supposed lovebirds and prove the romance.

"Bronk!" Dune cried in dismay.

"It's a dumb… rotten…" Bronk sputtered a few more words, but they were unintelligible.

Kit had intended to maneuver everyone closer to the water, but decided she had better act right away, while Bronk was momentarily unnerved. She edged around the stump and pulled on the hidden rope.

Nothing.

She pulled again, harder. This time she could feel something give on the other end.

Kitiara signaled Raist, who was hanging back. He stood ready in his best spellcasting stance.

After a few murmured phrases from Raist, the surface of the lake near the shore where they stood began to bubble and seethe. The odd noise captured Bronk's and Dune's attention. Immediately, the two brothers lost interest in their private drama. They froze, their eyes riveted to the lake.

"What's that?" Bronk whispered fearfully to Kit.

Good. They've forgotten all about Raistlin.

Dark plumes of smoke and fingers of flame erupted from the sandy banks. The surface of the water roiled, and a huge shape began to emerge.

With the smoke and the dim light, it was difficult to see exactly what the shape was. A thing, a creature, manlike but much larger, with wet tendrils of slimy plants clinging to its sides. Suddenly its empty eye sockets blazed with orange fire, and its upper limbs began to sway, making it appear as if the horrible creature were moving toward shore.

"It's the crone!" Caramon whispered near Dune's ear.

"The crone!" shouted Dune in fright. "It's the crone!"

Screaming in terror, Bronk and Dune fell over each other scrambling up the path. Their yells continued for several minutes before fading into the distance.

Kit, Raist, and Caramon collapsed on the sand, laughing. They were distracted by a loud hissing sound coming from the water. When they looked up, they saw the garish shape slowly collapsing in on itself.

"I wondered how long those sheep bladders would hold air," Raist said, suddenly thoughtful. "I was worried when we had to force that contraption into a cage and sink it underwater, whether it would deflate and not be able to float when Kit released the lid."

"You were worried!" exclaimed Kit, between fits of laughter. "Bronk was about to try and kiss me!"

"Did you see them take off?" Caramon asked, his face flushed and eyes bright. "It'll be a long time before either of them look in our direction."

"It'll be a long time before they can look each other in the eyes," Raist added solemnly.

"Of course," Caramon felt compelled to add, "I could have beaten them fair and square, if you had let me settle it my way." He struck an injured pose. "But that was fun," he admitted after a moment. "Good job, Raist."

"You built the 'monster'," Raist said.

"Let's leave this junk here," Kit said, standing and surveying the collapsed creation. "Bronk and Dune are bound to slink back and investigate in the safety of daylight. Then they'll see what it was that scared them-birch bark, an empty ale barrel, sheep bladders, and old rags. That's the witch of Crone Lake."

They all laughed again.

"Tomorrow we'll spread the story, right?" exulted Caramon. "That'll teach 'em."

"No," said Raist.

Caramon looked perplexed. Kit nodded understanding.

"Let them wonder why we don't tell people," said Raist wisely. "Let them wonder when we are going to start."

The three of them laughed, reliving their glorious trick on Dune and Bronk all the way back to the cottage, where even Kit was delighted to discover that Rosamun had made vanilla pudding.

Kitiara had itched with restlessness from almost the moment she'd returned to Solace. Yet as the days grew shorter and fall approached, Kit lingered in the Majere household. Before she knew it, another winter had come on, then spring again, then another summer.

Kit wanted desperately to leave, but she didn't have very much money and no real destination in mind. There was no word of her father, and she was so far away from Silverhole that she didn't expect to hear any news of Ursa. And she knew that the mercenary would never come back to her part of the world again.

For the most part, her days revolved around Caramon and Raistlin, but the two of them were so busy with their individual schooling, both were so much older and self-sufficient, that there was less for her to do.

Rosamun's health went into another stage of deterioration, and most of the time she had no idea that Kit was even living there, as before, up in her small loft. Rosamun had so weakened that she was bedridden for weeks at a time, and easy enough to look after. Bigardus came to the house several times a week, at Gilon's bidding.

Kit's old friend Aureleen Damark had developed womanly affectations and a steady boyfriend, Ewen Low, a militia cadet. When the two teenage girls got together, they fell easily enough into their former pattern of giggling conversations. But Aureleen's mother did what she could to see that Kit did not receive many invitations to visit.

Another winter approached. With the onset of colder weather, Kitiara got into the habit of frequenting Otik's in order to keep an eye on parties traveling through Solace.