Disclaimer: I do not own DRAGONLANCE nor do I own any of Weis's and Hickman's characters, I'm not geniuses like them, despite my fantasies.

This story takes place in the Soulforge: Raist and Caramon are six, Raist takes magic lessons from Theobald, and Kit–who is fourteen–hasn't started serious traveling. The three get caught in a complex web of magic, Takhisis, a strange and stupid city, blah blah, just read it!

Note: yes, I've read Brothers Majere and you'll find that Hanilakin is a lot like Mereklar. And, yes, I've also read Dark Heart, some stuff appears from there, too.

Oh, and the Xs stand for where there are swears, my mother has a habit of reading over my shoulders, don't wanna get gorunded. You understand.

Chapter One

"Cheep, cheep, cheep!"

Raistlin Majere yawned, stretching his small, skinny arms and legs out of the curled-up ball he usually slept in, rolling over so that he faced the wall. Dang birds, the six-year-old thought groggily, still half-asleep. Opening his large, brown eyes halfway, Raistlin saw the dark blue sky through the small window on the wall. Still only thirty minutes or so before sunrise. Trust birds to wake up now.

Raistlin rolled out of bed, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes, padding gently over to his parent's room, peeping in through the curtains. Gilon was pulling on his boots, oblivious to his small son's watching eyes. Rosamun was asleep–or as asleep as she ever was–lying in bed, her auburn hair messily fanned out over the pillow like she had been thrown mercilessly from the air onto the small bed. Her eyes were shut, her face grim and wan, the flesh melted from her face, leaving her cheeks hollow and shadowed along the high cheek bones. Her thin lips were drawn in a tight line, colorless and pressed together as if in pain or determination. Gilon glanced worriedly at his wife's face, as if asking himself if she was really the laughing, gentle woman he'd fallen in love all those years ago.

Raistlin glanced back at his twin's bed. Caramon was spread across it, one leg over the side, an arm tossed across the pillow, the other leg bent at the knee, the other arm hugging his shoulder, the hand clenched in a small fist. Curly, unruly golden–brown hair fell across his forehead, dripping teasingly into the boy's eyes. He looked well asleep-good. Raistlin turned back to watching his parents.

Now Gilon was tugging on his jacket, heading for the curtain . . .

Raistlin, moving as quickly as his small legs would let him, dived for the bed, tugging on the covers over the frail body, leaving his eyes open only a sliver underneath his lashes.

Gilon leaned over Caramon, kissing him swiftly on the forehead, pushing the curly hair out of his eyes. "You be a good boy and take care of your mother and brother. They need you." Caramon nodded slightly, sleepily, then was still.

Raistlin's body stiffened as the words reached his ears, striking straight and painful to the little boy's head. His small hand curled into fists, his body went taunt, fury burned three words only in his thoughts: they need you! He didn't need Caramon! And he took care of Rosamun–not Caramon! Trust Gilon to give his favorite son all the credit! he thought jealously, anger, and pain fusing together to give him a coppery, bitter taste in his mouth as the cynical thought circled around and around his head.

He forced himself to lay still as Gilon kissed him swiftly on the cheek, then headed outside with Amber, his faithful dog. Raistlin waited until the distant, hollow echoes of his father's footsteps faded away into the heavy, sleepy silence that was occasionally punctured with the cheery cry of an inconsiderate bird, then he ran to the door, checking to see if Gilon's dark, big shadow could still be seen through the early morning mist. It wasn't, and Raistlin stood still for a minute, checking to see if Gilon was coming back, then went to his side of the bed. There the little boy pulled on a pair of patched pants, a shirt that was too big for his thin body, hugged to his chest by a tight, patched leather vest. He then wondered, what should I do?

Raistlin wasn't hungry–that was Caramon's field. Rosamun was still asleep-no chance of entertainment there- but maybe Kit could provide some amusement.

Raistlin climbed the ladder that led to his sister's loft, then paused to look at Kitiara. At fourteen, her dark, crisp curls framed a tanned oval of a face–appropriate, considering her crisp, cool demeanor. But it was her face that enticed Raistlin the most: her eyes were gently closed, her lips slightly smiling, her face was warm, sweet, and gentle; it had none of her cool, practical look that she had adapted over the years. He stood a long minute, staring down at her face, tracing the details in her mind so that when he closed his eyes, he could see her face as clearly as he could now: gentle, sweet, soft, warm. Such knowledge may be to his advantage in years to come. He added the mental picture with her warm laugh and dark eyes, creating the elder sister he so missed when she was away. But Raistlin had other pictures too–a big sister's angry hand striking, her young face set in dark, angry, grim lines when she yelled at Caramon for staying out to late, or, more commonly, when she bashed an offending teaser head-over-heals with her sharp, heavy wooden sword.

Raistlin shrugged, dismissing all the thoughts that tormented his sleep, twisting his dreams to nightmares, and reached out with a slender, boney finger and jabbed his sister sharply between the shoulders.

She groaned, the sweet face he'd seen seconds earlier growing cold and slightly confused as his cold little finger pierced through the layers of sleep which she had been nestled in seconds earlier. Pulling the quilt up to her chin, she curled her long legs to her chest in an effort to keep warm.

"G'way." she snapped sleepily as he poked her again, and again. "Ca'mon! Go away!" Now a little less than half awake, she rolled over, peering at her little brother through half-closed eyelids. As she saw, not Caramon, as she had expected, but Raistlin, her eyes opened farther, widening in surprise. He suppressed a smile: he had caught her unaware, off-guard. It felt good.

"Raistlin?" Kitiara asked sharply, having recovered-probably due to her brother's amused almost-smile-and reached out, smacking him lightly across the head. "Don't do that, it's midnight!"

"Almost sunrise." he corrected, but softly. Kit didn't like to be corrected.

She had heared his words, the sleep still tugging at her eyes and mind making her irritated. "OK, almost sunrise, then. But that still doesn't answer why the heXX are you up?"

"The birds woke me." He answered truthfully, watching her face closely.

She snorted. "Trust birds to wake up Baby Brother!" Briskly tossing the blankets aside, she rose from her bed, shivering slightly in the coolness. "Brrr." Grabbing a shirt and leggins, she yanked them on over her nightclothes.

He wasn't paying attention. Bored, Raistlin studied her room, though he'd seen it a thousand times. A cot lay beneath the small window, a drawer besides that, a table wedged in the corner. The window was dusty, as was the tops of the furniture: Kit did not dust. Several pieces of clothing, dripping on the chair smashed on the table and drawers, or simple lying under the bed or smack in the middle of the room, forgotten, proved her tidyness.

Raistlin's thoughts were inturrupted by Kit. "C'mon." She grabbed his arm, pulled him down the ladder. "Lets wake up Caramon, shall we?"

Without waiting for an reply she left him at the bottom of the ladder, heading for the kitchen. She came back with a soaking wet rag, which she let Raistlin feel. He shivered slightly: the water was cold. "Drop this on Little Brother's eyes, this'll wak'im up for sure." She said professionally, chuckling. Then she smacked the rag straight on Caramon's face with a sharp slap.

"Aieeee!" Caramon cried out, grabbing the rag and snatching it off his face. Jumping up on the bed, he balled his fists, still clutching the rag, which caused water to run down his arm in tiny rivers, and assumed a boyish glare. He stopped, however, when he saw Kit laughing boisterously and Raistlin's mouth tugging at a smile as he pondered his brother's stupidity.

"Oh, c'mon." Caramon whined playfully, chucking the rag at Kit. She flung it right back, and the two commensed to rag-fight.

"Ohhh. . . " a low moan excelled into several high-pitched screams from Rosamun's room. "Ayiiiiiiiii! Ayiiiiiiiii! AYIIIIIIII!"

Kit and Caramon immeadiately stopped fighting: or, at least, Raistlin presumed such. He had turned and ran into his mother's room. What he saw chilled him inside and out.

Rosamun's face was white, tigned grey, her eyes flung open, the faded irises all but gone, swallowed by the dilated dark pupils. Her thin, bony hands clutched the blankets in horror: her mouth was open, the lips drawn apart and bleeding from a cut in the middle. The thin trickle of red fell from her lip and snaked slowly down her chin, the only color in her pale face. A scream tore from her wasted, wounded body, though of terror or pain, none could say. Her hands went flaccid, slid off the covers, as she panted for breath. As another moan racked her body, her fingers dug into the palms, creating eight small trails of blood on the sheets. Her eyes were fixed upon whatever she saw, if she saw at all.

"Oh, shXt!" Kit cursed, hurrying to her mother's side. Caramon ran into the room, took one look at Rosamun, and retreated to a corner, terrified. Raistlin, too, hurried to Rosamun's side.

"It's OK, Mother!" Raistlin whispered, chilled with horror. "It's OK . . . there's no one there . . . it's OK, Mama . . . " His voice trailed off, choked slightly. Kitiara grabbed her mother's shoulders and shook her-hard. "Shut up, you witch! You're scaring your kids, what kind of mother are you? Shut up, witch! Shut up!"

"Mother, it's all right, Mama, it's all right!"

Caramon was shaking in the corner. Raistlin paid no attention whatsoever. He grabbd his mother's hand, clutching it hopelessly, begging. "It's all right, Mother! It's all right . . . Mama, come home . . . stop it, Mother, come home . . . please come home, Mother . . . "

"Shut up, you witch!" Kit slapped Rosamun's mouth, shaking her hard as the unearthly wailing continued.

"Mother . . . "

Suddenly, silence.

Yeah, I know, cliffhanger. Will get next chapter soon, don't worry, adventurous stuff happends, unlike this friggin' one. But my mother's yelling at me to get to bed, so, hope you like it! R&R!