"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
