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"I must. I have no choice." Leaning upon Palin, the archmage
gathered his torn black robes about him, and the two walked
forward as fast as they could through the shifting sand toward
where the Portal stood in the center of the red-tinged landscape.
But before he had gone very far, Raistlin stopped, his frail body
wracked by coughing until he gasped for air.
Standing beside him, holding him, Palin looked at his uncle in
concern. "Here," he offered. "Take your staff. It will aid your
steps-"
Raistlin's hourglass eyes went to the staff in the young man's
hand. Reaching out his slender, golden-skinned hand, he touched
the smooth wood, stroking it lovingly. Then, looking at Palin, he
smiled and shook his head.
"No, nephew," he said in his soft, shattered voice. "The staff is
yours, a gift from your uncle. It would have been yours someday,"
he added, speaking almost to himself. "I would have trained you
myself, gone with you to watch the Testing. I would have
been proud ... so proud . . ." Then, he shrugged, his gaze
going to Palin. "What am I saying? I AM proud of you, my
nephew. So young, to do this, to enter the Abyss-"
As if to remind them where they were and the danger
they were in, a shadow fell upon them as of dark wings,
hovering overhead.
Palin looked up fearfully. Then his gaze went to the
Portal that seemed farther away than he remembered. "We
can't outrun her!" he gasped
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