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No! With the help of the gods, he would stop this if he
could. But, raising the staff, Palin realized helplessly that he
hadn't the vaguest idea how to close the Portal. He could
sense the power in the staff, but he could not control it.
Raistlin was right-what a stupid, meaningless gesture.
Behind him, Palin heard his uncle laugh. It wasn't
mocking laughter this time, however. It was bemused,
almost angry.
"This is senseless, Palin! Stop! Don't make me do this!"
Drawing a deep breath, Palin tried to concentrate his
energy and his thoughts upon the staff. "Close the Portal,"
he whispered, forcing himself to think about nothing else,
though his body quivered with fear. It was not a fear of
dying, he could tell himself that with quiet pride. He loved
life, never so much as now, he realized. But he could leave
it without regret, though the thought of the grief that his death
would cause those who loved him filled him with sorrow. His
mother and father would know what he had done, however. They
would understand. No matter what his uncle said.
And they'll fight you, Palin knew. They will fight you and your
Dark Queen as they fought once before. YOU WILL NOT WIN.
Palin gripped the staff, his hand sweating, his body trembling.
He wasn't afraid of dying. He was afraid of ... of the pain.
Would it hurt . . . very much ... to die?
Shaking his head angrily, the young man cursed himself for a
coward and stared hard at the Portal
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