Книга только для ознакомления
.
WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME? he wondered through a
dreamy haze of pain. Only a young conjurer, he had been
subjected to trials devised by the most renowned Mages-living
and dead. The fact that he must pass these Tests was no longer his
main thought; survival, however, was. Each trial had wounded
him, and his health had always been precarious. If he survived this
ordeal-and he doubted he would-he could imagine his body to
be like a shattered crystal, held together by the force of his own
will.
But then, of course, there was Caramon, who would care for
him-as always.
HA! The thought penetrated the haze, even made Raistlin laugh
harshly. No, death was preferable to a life of dependence on his
brother. Raistlin lay back on the stone floor, wondering how much
longer they would let him suffer . . .
. . . And a huge figure materialized out of the shadowy
darkness of the corridor.
THIS IS IT, Raistlin thought, MY FINAL TEST. THE ONE I
WON'T SURVIVE.
He decided simply not to fight, even though he had one spell
left. Maybe death would be quick and merciful.
He lay on his back, staring at the dark shadow as it drew closer
and closer. It came to stand next to him. He could sense its living
presence, hear its breathing. It bent over him. Involuntarily, he
closed his eyes.
"Raist?"
He felt cold fingers touch his burning flesh.
"Raist!" the voice sobbed. "In the name of the gods, what have
they done to you?"
"Caramon," Raistlin spoke, but he couldn't hear his own voice
|
