Dragonlance 12 - Raistlin Chronicles - Soulforge by Margaret Weis Page B
Authors: Margaret Weis
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for words." She lined her brothers up for inspection. "What do you think you're doing? You can't go to school dressed like that!"
Grabbing Raistlin, she pointed at his bare and dusty feet. "You have to wear shoes."
"In the summer?" Caramon was stunned.
"Mine don't fit me," Raistlin said. He'd had a small growth spurt that spring. He was now as tall as his twin, if only about half his weight and a quarter of his girth.
"Here. Wear these." Kit hunted out a pair of Caramon's old shoes from last winter and tossed them at Raistlin.
"They'll pinch my toes," he protested, regarding them glumly.
"Wear them," Kit ordered. "All the other boys in the school wear shoes, don't they? Only peasants go barefoot. That's what my father says."
Raistlin made no reply. He slid his feet into the worn shoes.
Picking up a dirty dishcloth, Kit dipped it in the water bucket and scrubbed Raistlin's face and ears so vigorously that he was certain at least half his skin must be missing.
Squirming free of his sister's grasp, Raistlin saw that Rosamun dropped her ball of wool on the floor. Her beauty had faded, like a rainbow fades when the storm clouds overtake the sun. Her hair was drab and lusterless, her eyes had too bright a luster, the luster of fever or madness. Her pale skin had a gray cast to it. She stared vaguely at her empty hands, as if she were wondering what to do with them. Caramon picked up the wool, handed it to her.
"Here, Mother."
"Thank you, child." She turned her vacant gaze to him. "Gregor's dead, do you know that, child?"
"Yes, Mother," Caramon said, not really hearing her.
Rosamun would often make incongruous statements like this. Her children were used to them and generally ignored them. But this morning Kitiara rounded on her mother in sudden fury. "He's not dead! What do you know? He never cared for you! Don't say things like that, you crazy old witch!"
Rosamun smiled and twined her wool and sang to herself. Her boys stood nearby, quiet, unhappy.
Kit's words hurt them far more than they hurt Rosamun, who wasn't paying the slightest attention to her daughter.
"He's not dead! I know it and I'm going to find him!" Kitiara declared, her vow low and fervent.
"How do you know he's alive?" Caramon asked. "And if he is, how will you find him? I've heard there are lots of people in Solamnia. Even more than here in Solace."
"I'll find him," Kit replied confidently. "He told me how." She gazed at them speculatively. "Look, this is probably the last time you'll see me for a long while. Come here. I'll show you something if you promise not to tell."
Leading them into the small room where she slept, she produced from her mattress a crudely crafted, handmade leather pouch. "In here. This is my fortune."
"Money?" Caramon asked, brightening.
"No!" Kitiara scoffed at the notion. "Something better than money. My birthright."
"Let me see!" Caramon begged.
Kitiara refused. "I promised my father I would never show it to anyone. At least not yet. Someday, though, you will see it. When I come back rich and powerful and riding at the head of my armies, then you will see it."
"We'll be part of your army, won't we, Kit," Caramon said. "Raist and me."
"You'll be captains, both of you. I'll be your commander, of course," Kit said matter-of-factly.
"I'd like being a captain." Caramon was enthusiastic. "What about you, Raist?"
Raistlin shrugged. "I don't care." After another lingering glance at the pouch, he said quietly, "We should leave now. I'll be late."
Kit eyed them, her hands on her hips. "You'll do, I suppose. You come straight back home, Caramon, after you drop Raistlin off. No hanging about the school. You two have to get used to being separated."
"Sure, Kit." It was now Caramon's turn to be glum.
Raistlin went to his mother, took her by the hand. "Good-bye, Mother," he said with a catch in his voice.
"Good-bye, dear," she said. "Don't forget to cover your head when it's damp."
And that was his blessing. Raistlin had
Grabbing Raistlin, she pointed at his bare and dusty feet. "You have to wear shoes."
"In the summer?" Caramon was stunned.
"Mine don't fit me," Raistlin said. He'd had a small growth spurt that spring. He was now as tall as his twin, if only about half his weight and a quarter of his girth.
"Here. Wear these." Kit hunted out a pair of Caramon's old shoes from last winter and tossed them at Raistlin.
"They'll pinch my toes," he protested, regarding them glumly.
"Wear them," Kit ordered. "All the other boys in the school wear shoes, don't they? Only peasants go barefoot. That's what my father says."
Raistlin made no reply. He slid his feet into the worn shoes.
Picking up a dirty dishcloth, Kit dipped it in the water bucket and scrubbed Raistlin's face and ears so vigorously that he was certain at least half his skin must be missing.
Squirming free of his sister's grasp, Raistlin saw that Rosamun dropped her ball of wool on the floor. Her beauty had faded, like a rainbow fades when the storm clouds overtake the sun. Her hair was drab and lusterless, her eyes had too bright a luster, the luster of fever or madness. Her pale skin had a gray cast to it. She stared vaguely at her empty hands, as if she were wondering what to do with them. Caramon picked up the wool, handed it to her.
"Here, Mother."
"Thank you, child." She turned her vacant gaze to him. "Gregor's dead, do you know that, child?"
"Yes, Mother," Caramon said, not really hearing her.
Rosamun would often make incongruous statements like this. Her children were used to them and generally ignored them. But this morning Kitiara rounded on her mother in sudden fury. "He's not dead! What do you know? He never cared for you! Don't say things like that, you crazy old witch!"
Rosamun smiled and twined her wool and sang to herself. Her boys stood nearby, quiet, unhappy.
Kit's words hurt them far more than they hurt Rosamun, who wasn't paying the slightest attention to her daughter.
"He's not dead! I know it and I'm going to find him!" Kitiara declared, her vow low and fervent.
"How do you know he's alive?" Caramon asked. "And if he is, how will you find him? I've heard there are lots of people in Solamnia. Even more than here in Solace."
"I'll find him," Kit replied confidently. "He told me how." She gazed at them speculatively. "Look, this is probably the last time you'll see me for a long while. Come here. I'll show you something if you promise not to tell."
Leading them into the small room where she slept, she produced from her mattress a crudely crafted, handmade leather pouch. "In here. This is my fortune."
"Money?" Caramon asked, brightening.
"No!" Kitiara scoffed at the notion. "Something better than money. My birthright."
"Let me see!" Caramon begged.
Kitiara refused. "I promised my father I would never show it to anyone. At least not yet. Someday, though, you will see it. When I come back rich and powerful and riding at the head of my armies, then you will see it."
"We'll be part of your army, won't we, Kit," Caramon said. "Raist and me."
"You'll be captains, both of you. I'll be your commander, of course," Kit said matter-of-factly.
"I'd like being a captain." Caramon was enthusiastic. "What about you, Raist?"
Raistlin shrugged. "I don't care." After another lingering glance at the pouch, he said quietly, "We should leave now. I'll be late."
Kit eyed them, her hands on her hips. "You'll do, I suppose. You come straight back home, Caramon, after you drop Raistlin off. No hanging about the school. You two have to get used to being separated."
"Sure, Kit." It was now Caramon's turn to be glum.
Raistlin went to his mother, took her by the hand. "Good-bye, Mother," he said with a catch in his voice.
"Good-bye, dear," she said. "Don't forget to cover your head when it's damp."
And that was his blessing. Raistlin had
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