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Wracking sobs tore at Palin's body. He was bereft, alone. Lies, all
lies! Everyone had lied to him-his father, the mages, the world!
What did it matter, after all? The magic. That was all he had. His
uncle was right. The burning touch of those slender fingers; the
soft black velvet beneath his cheek, wet with his tears; the smell of
rose petals and spice. That would be his life. . . . That and this
bitter emptiness within. An emptiness that all the world could not
fill.
"Weep, Palin," Raistlin said softly. "Weep as I wept once, long,
long ago. Then you will realize, as I did, that it does no good. No
one hears you, sobbing in the night alone."
Palin lifted his tear-stained face suddenly, staring into
Raistlin's eyes.
"At last you understand." Raistlin smiled. His hand stroked
back the wet hair from Palin's eyes. "Get hold of yourself, young
one. It is time for us to go, before the Dark Queen comes. There is
much to be done-"
Palin regarded Raistlin calmly, though the young man's body
still shuddered from his sobs and he could see his uncle only
through a blur of tears. "Yes," he said. "At last I understand. Too
late, it seems. But I understand. And you are wrong, uncle," he
murmured brokenly. "Someone die? hear you crying in the night.
My father."
Rising to his feet, Palin brushed his hand across his eyes,
keeping his gaze steadfastly on his uncle. "I am going to close the
Portal
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