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. Therefore , as a shapeless mass of metal is
plunged into a white-hot fire and emerges shining steel, so Par-
Salian intended to forge this conjurer.
"Your brother cannot stay," the Mage admonished softly.
"I am aware of that. Great One," Raistlin replied, with a hint of
impatience.
"He will be well cared for in your absence," Par-Salian
continued. "And of course, he will be allowed to carry home your
valuables should the Test prove beyond your skill."
"Carry home . . . valuables . . ." Caromon's face became grim
as he considered this statement. Then it darkened as he understood
the full meaning of the Mage's words. "You mean-"
'Raistlin's voice cut in, sharp, edged. "He means, dear brother,
that you will take home my possessions in the event of my death."
Par-Salian shrugged.
"Failure, invariably, proves fatal."
"Yes, you're right. I forgot that death could be a result of this . .
. ritual." Caramon's face crumped into wrinkles of fear. He laid his
hand on his brother's arm. "I think you should forget this, Raist.
Let's go home."
Raistlin twitched at his brother's touch, his thin body
shuddering. "Do I counsel you to refuse battle?" he flared. Then,
controlling his anger, he continued more calmly. "This is my
battle, Caramon. Do not worry. I will not fail."
Caramon pleaded. "Please, Raist . . . I'm supposed to take care
of you-"
"Leave me!" Raistlin's control cracked, splintered, wounding
his brother
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