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. The innkeeper was
considerably startled, therefore, to catch a glimpse of
ragged, white hair straying out from beneath the hood and
to note that the hand holding the staff was thin and wasted.
"We'll take it," the warrior muttered, his worried gaze
going to his brother as he laid the coin down.
"What's the matter with 'im?" Slegart asked, eyeing the
mage, his fingers twitching near the coin, though not
touching it. "It ain't catchin', is it?" He drew back. "Not the
plague?"
"Naw!" The warrior scowled. Leaning nearer the
innkeeper, the big man said in a low voice, "We've just
come from the Tower of High Sorcery." Slegart's eyes grew
wide. "He's just taken the Test. . . ."
"Ah," the innkeeper said knowingly, his gaze on the
young mage not unsympathetic. "I've seen many of 'em in
my day. And I've seen many like yourself" - he looked at
the big warrior - "who have come here alone, with only a
packet of clothes and a battered spellbook or two all that
remains. Yer lucky, both of you, to have survived."
The warrior nodded, though it didn't appear - from the
haunted expression on his pale face and dark, pain-filled
eyes - that he considered his luck phenomenal. Returning to
his table, the warrior laid his hand on his brother's heaving
shoulder, only to be rebuffed with a bitter snarl
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