“Why would you bother with us?” Yost asked, staring at Caramon suspiciously.
“We’re low on funds. We can use the job. Though, of course, more personal reasons have come up.” He winked at Maggie, who smiled demurely.
“And what, if I may ask,” Yost continued, “would a mage want with money? I thought they could conjure it out of thin air or something.”
“They don’t do that. It’s just a myth, like touching a frog and getting warts,” Caramon said loftily, showing off his vast knowledge of magic.
“Toad,” the cook corrected quietly under her breath, without looking up from her work, sifting flour into a large bowl.
Caramon glanced at her in astonishment.
“You get warts from a toad,” she repeated. “And we don’t need any magic-users around here.”
“There’s never been one,” agreed Yost, “and we’ve got along fine so far. It seems odd, you know.” His voice hardened. “Our cats disappearing and your brother coming into town about the same time.”
“From what I’ve heard, your cats began disappearing weeks ago. My brother and I weren’t anywhere near—” Caramon began hotly.
“There was a wizard lived here once,” Maggie interposed quickly. “Remember, Yost? That crazy old hermit who had a cave in the mountains?”
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“Oh, him,” said the innkeeper, remembering, “I’d almost forgotten about him. He never bothered us. Word was that he died, scared to death by spooks or something like that.”
“Nobody knows for sure,” added the cook ominously, concentrating on her pie crusts.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” Yost frowned, dismissed the subject. “I was just wondering why a wizard would want to help us, that’s all.”
“My brother has his own reasons,” Caramon said curtly. “He’s done a lot of things just to help others, like expose that phoney cleric at Larnish.”
“Larnish!” the cook exclaimed. She dropped a bag of flour on the table in front of her, sending a small, spectral cloud of white into the air.
“You’ve heard of it?” Caramon asked.
“I had people there,” the cook answered.
The warrior waited, but she said nothing more.
“Well, I say it bodes no good! Mages! Huh!” muttered Yost, and walked out of the kitchen.
“Here, I can dry those for you,” said Caramon, grabbing a dishtowel and sidling up beside Maggie.
“Oh, no, sir! This is woman’s work! Besides, you might break—”
Maggie stopped, noting that Caramon was drying the plates swiftly, deftly.
“My mother was sick a lot,” said Caramon quietly, by way of explanation. “My brother and I got used to fending for ourselves. Raist always washed and I dried. It was fun. We enjoyed it. We used to talk . . .” His voice died as the warrior remembered happier times.
But Maggie was smiling at him, a smile that lit the room more brightly than the sun shining through the window.
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Returning to his room, Caramon found Raistlin and Earwig finishing breakfast.
“I don’t think much of that game, Caramon,” said Earwig severely.
“Huh?” The big warrior looked blank.
“Never mind,” snapped Raistlin. “Where’ve you been?”
“Oh, just visiting. Finding out a few things. Can I help you pack, Raistlin?” Caramon walked over to his brother, who was poking his fork at a small piece of bread and assorted pieces of fruit.
“I’m already packed.” Raistlin seemed unusually distant, withdrawn. His face had a gray tinge, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Bad night?” asked Caramon.
“The dream again,” Raistlin answered briefly. He looked away from his brother to stare out the window.
“I’m packed, too!” Earwig stuffed a huge piece of a corncake into his mouth. Syrup dripped down his chin and back onto the plate in front of him. Still chewing, he gulped milk from a’mug. ,
“Earwig, go outside,” ordered Caramon.
“I’m not done!”
“You’re done. Raist, I think I should—”
“That is an excellent suggestion. Wait outside with him, my brother.”
“But—”
“Go!” the mage commanded, thin hands clenching into fists. He stared out the window.
“Sure, Raist. We’ll wait for you downstairs. Come when you’re ready.”
Caramon grabbed his pack and his brother’s and left the room. Taking a last gulp from his mug, Earwig followed.