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. Aching pity filled Tanis then, and he
took the boy's hand in his own.
"Be still now," he whispered.
But the boy tried weakly to lift his hand. "No. No more. Father.
Please, I cannot. No more."
"Hush, now, lad. Rest."
"Please, Father. I would-I would stay if I could. Please,
Father. No more. I-want no more of these stolen lives."
Even as he heard Flint's shuddering gasp, Tanis knew why the
mage had fought so bitterly for Daryn's life. It was for the boy!
The boy might have been but twelve or thirteen, but his eyes spoke
of many more years than that. And those years, Tanis realized sud-
denly, had all been winters.
"Father? Let me go. I am so weary ... let me go. Father?"
"Tanis, give him what he wants." Flint sat heavily down on the
cold stone floor, his back against the boy's bed. It was as though,
Tanis thought, the old dwarf could not look at the boy any longer.
And, in truth, he would have turned away, too. But he could
not, though he thought he could drown in the need he saw in the
boy's eyes.
"He wants death, Flint."
The boy shivered and stirred again, groping for Tanis's hand.
The quiet rustle of his bedclothes was like the sound of Death's
soft-footed approach.
"Tanis, help him," Flint whispered. "He thinks you are his
father."
Tanis gathered the boy gently in his arms and held him carefully.
He wanted to hold the thin spark of life within the boy, as though
his pity alone would keep it burning
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