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. . . .
Palin whispered the words to himself as he climbed the
dark and winding stairs. Night had stolen in upon Palanthas,
sealing the city in darkness, deepening the perpetual
darkness that hung about the Tower of High Sorcery.
Solinari, the silver moon beloved of Pala-dine, shone in the
sky, but its white rays did not touch the Tower. Tjiose
inside gazed upon another moon, a dark moon, a moon only
their eyes could see.
The stone stairs were pitch-black. Though Cara-mon
carried a torch, its feeble, wavering flame was overwhelmed
by the darkness. Groping his way up the stairs, Palin
stumbled more than once. Each time, his heart pulsed
painfully, and he pressed himself close against the chill
wall, closing his eyes. The core of the Tower was a hollow
shaft. The stairs ascended it in a dizzying spiral, protruding
from the wall like the bones of some dead animal.
"You are safe, young one," Dalamar said, his hand on
Palin's arm. "This was designed to discourage unwelcome
intruders. The magic protects us. Don't look down. It will be
easier."
"Why did we have to walk?" Palin asked, stopping to
catching his breath. Young as he was, the steep climb had
taken its toll. His legs ached, his lungs burned. He could
only imagine what his father must be feeling. Even the dark
elf appeared to be at a loss for breath, though Dalamar's
face was cold and impassive as ever. "Couldn't we have
used magic?"
"I will not waste my energies," Dalamar replied
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