my nineties, which figures to about twenty-five of your human
years. You, I believe, were only twenty-one when you took the
Test.”
“Yes,” Raistlin murmured, and a shadow passed across the
mage’s golden-tinted skin. “I was… twenty-one.”
Dalamar saw the hand that rested upon the spellbook clench
in swift, sudden pain; he saw the golden eyes flare. The young
apprentice was not surprised at this show of emotion. The Test
is required of any mage seeking to practice the arts of magic at
an advanced level. Administered in the Tower of High Sorcery
at Wayreth, it is conducted by the leaders of all three Robes.
For, long ago, the magic-users of Krynn realized what had
escaped the clerics – if the balance of the world is to be main-
tained, the pendulum must swing freely back and forth among
all three – Good, Evil, Neutrality. Let one grow too powerful –
any one – and the world would begin to tilt toward its destruc-
tion.
The Test is brutal. The higher levels of magic, where true
power is obtained, are no place for inept bunglers. The Test was
designed to get rid of those – permanently; death being the pen-
alty for failure. Dalamar still had nightmares about his own
testing, so he could well understand Raistlin’s reaction.
“I passed,” Raistlin whispered, his eyes staring back to that
time. “But when I came out of that terrible place I was as you
see me now. My skin had this golden tint, my hair was white,
and my eyes…” He came back to the present, to look fixedly at
Dalamar. “Do you know what I see with these hourglass eyes’?”
“No, Shalafi.”
“I see time as it affects all things,” Raistlin replied. “Human
flesh withers before these eyes, flowers wilt and die, the rocks
themselves crumble as I watch. It is always winter in my sight.
Even you. Dalamar” – Raistlin’s eyes caught and held the
young apprentice in their horrible gaze – “even elven flesh that
ages so slowly the passing of the years are as rain showers in the
spring – even upon your young face, Dalamar – I see the mark
of death!”
Dalamar shivered, and this time could not hide his emotion.
Involuntarily, he shrank back into the cushions of the chair. A
shield spell came quickly to his mind, as did – unbidden – a
spell designed to injure, not defend. Fool! he sneered at himself,
quickly regaining control, what puny spell of mine could kill
him?
“True, true,” Raistlin murmured, answering Dalamar’s
thoughts, as he often did. “There live none upon Krynn who
has the power to harm me. Certainly not you, apprentice. But .
you are brave. You have courage. Often you have stood beside
me in the laboratory, facing those I have dragged from the
planes of their existence. You knew that if I but drew a breath at
the wrong time, they would rip the living hearts from our
bodies and devour them while we writhed before them in tor-
ment.”
“It was my privilege,” Dalamar murmured.
“Yes,” Raistlin replied absently, his thoughts abstracted. Then
he raised an eyebrow. “And you knew, didn’t you, that if such
an event occurred, I would save myself but not you?”
“Of course, Shalafi,” Dalamar answered steadily. “I under-
stand and I take the risk” – the dark elf’s eyes glowed. His fears
forgotten, he sat forward eagerly in his chair – “no, Shalafi, I
invite the risks! I would sacrifice anything for the sake of -”
“The magic,” Raistlin finished.
“Yes! The sake of the magic!” Dalamar cried.
“And the power it confers.” Raistlin nodded. “You are ambi-
tious. But – how ambitious, I wonder? Do you, perhaps, seek
rulership of your kinsmen? Or possibly a kingdom somewhere,
holding a monarch in thrall while you enjoy the wealth of his
lands? Or perhaps an alliance with some dark lord, as was done
in the days of the dragons not far back. My sister, Kitiara, for
example, found you quite attractive. She would enjoy having
you about. Particularly if you have any magic arts you practice
in the bedroom -”
“Shalafi, I would not desecrate -”
Raistlin waved a hand. “I joke, apprentice. But you take my