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. Then, with a word of
command, he sent it from him. It vanished, swallowed up
by the endless night. His head bowed in weariness, Raistlin
laid his hand upon the velvet curtain and disappeared,
becoming one with the darkness and the silence and the
dust.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Palin came slowly to consciousness. His first thought was one
of terror. The fiery jolt that had burned and blasted his body had
not killed him! There would be another. Raistlin would not let him
live. Moaning, Palin huddled against the cold stone floor, waiting
fearfully to hear the sound of magical chanting, to hear the crackle
of the sparks from those thin fingertips, to feel once again the
searing, exploding pain. . . .
All was quiet. Listening intently, holding his breath, his body
shivering in fear, Palin heard nothing.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He was in darkness, such deep
darkness that nothing whatever was visible, not even his own
body.
"Raistlin?" Palin whispered, raising his head cautiously from
the damp, stone floor. "Uncle?"
"Palin!" a voice shouted.
Palin's heart stilled in fear. He could not breathe.
"Palin!" the voice shouted again, a voice filled with love and
anguish.
Palin gasped in relief and, falling back against the stone floor,
sobbed in joy.
He heard booted footsteps clambering up stairs. Torchlight lit
the darkness. The footsteps halted, the torchlight wavered as
though the hand holding it shook
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