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."
Scowling angrily, Caramon turned, jabbing his finger at
Dalamar. "You had no right! He's too young! He might have
died!"
"True," said Dalamar softly, "but that is a risk we all face. It is
a risk you take every time you send your older sons to battle. . . ."
"This is different." Caramon turned away, his face dark.
Dalamar's gaze went to Palin, who sat in a chair, a glass of
untasted wine in his hand. The young mage was staring dazedly
around as though he could still not believe what had occurred.
"Because of Raistlin?" Dalamar smiled. "Palin is truly gifted,
Caramon. As gifted as his uncle. For him, as for Raistlin, there
could have been only one choice-his magic. But Palin's love for
his family is strong. He would have made the choice, and it would
have broken his heart."
Caramon bowed his head, clasping his hands behind him.
Palin, hearing a muffled choke behind him, set his wine glass
down and, rising to his feet, walked over to stand beside his father.
Reaching out his hand, Caramon drew his son close. "Dalamar's
right," the big man said huskily. "I only wanted what was best for
you and-and I was afraid . . . afraid I might lose you to the magic
as I lost him. . . . I-I'm sorry, Palin. Forgive me."
Palin's answer was to embrace his father, who wrapped both his
great arms around the white-robed mage and hugged him tight.
"So you passed! I'm proud of you, son!" Caramon whispered
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