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"The magic!" Raistlin shrieked in fury. "The magic!"
"Oh, that," Caramon shrugged. "I've always been able to. Most
of the time I don't need it, what with my sword and all, but you're
hurt real bad and I've got to get you out of here. I didn't want to
take time fighting that character. Don't bother about it, Raist. It can
still be your little specialty. Like I said before, most of the time I
don't need it."
THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE, Raistlin's mind told him. HE
COULDN'T HAVE ACQUIRED IN MOMENTS WHAT IT TOOK
ME YEARS OF STUDY TO ATTAIN. THIS DOESN'T MAKE
SENSE. FIGHT THE SICKNESS AND THE WEAKNESS AND
THE PAIN! THINK! But it wasn't the physical pain that clouded
Raistlin's mind. It was the old inner pain clawing at him, tearing at
him with poisoned talons. Caramon, strong and cheerful, good and
kind, open and honest. Everyone's friend.
Not like Raistlin-the runt, the Sly One.
ALL I EVER HAD WAS MY MAGIC, Raistlin's mind shrieked.
AND NOW HE HAS THAT TOO!
Propping himself against the wall for support, Raistlin raised
both his hands, put his thumbs together, and pointed them at
Caramon. He began murmuring magic words, but different from
those that Caramon had spoken.
"Raist?" Caramon backed up. "What are you doing? C'mon! Let
me help you. I'll take care of you- just like always . . . Raist! I'm
your brother!"
Raistlin's parched lips cracked in a grin. Hatred and jealousy-
long kept bubbling and molten beneath a layer of cold, solid
rock-burst forth
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