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. Almost Raistlin
thought he could hear one sound-the sound of the dust
falling, the sound of time passing. . . .
Sighing wearily, the archmage raised his head and
looked into the darkness, broke the ages-long silence. "I
have done what you wanted of me," he cried. "Are you
satisfied?"
There was no answer; only the gently sifting dust
drifting down into the perpetual night.
"No," Raistlin murmured. "You cannot hear me. And that is
just as well. Little did you think, Dalamar, that when you
conjured my illusion for this purpose, you would conjure
me! Oh, no, apprentice"-Raistlin smiled bitterly-"do not
pride yourself. You are good, but not that good. It was not
your magic woke me from my sleep. No, it was something
else. . . ." He paused, trying to remember. "What did I tell
the young man? 'A shadow on my mind'? Yes, that's what it
was.
"Ah, Dalamar, you are lucky." The archmage shook his
hooded head. For a brief moment, the darkness was lit by a
fierce glint in the golden eyes, gleaming with their inner
flame. "If he had been what I was, you would have found
yourself in sad straits, dark elf. Through him, I could have
returned. But as his compassion and his love freed me from
the darkness into which I cast myself, so it binds me there
still."
The light of the golden eyes faded, the darkness returned.
Raistlin sighed. "But that is all right," he whispered,
leaning his head against the staff that supported him
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