neck. A blade flashed.

The elf had intended his first blow to be his last. He had tried to sever Raistlin's spinal cord. That breath of air on

his neck had been enough to alert Raistlin. When he turned, the blade missed its mark, slid along his ribs. Liam was

going to make another try this time going for the throat.

Raistlin's panic-stripped mind could not come up with the

words of a spell. He had no weapon other than his magic. He was reduced to fighting like an animal, with tooth and

claw. His fear was his most powerful tool, if he did not let it debilitate him. He remembered vaguely watching Sturm

and his brother in hand-to-hand combat.

Clasping his hands together, Raistlin drove his right elbow with all the force his adrenaline-pumping body could

manage into Liam's midriff.

The dark elf grunted and fell back. But he was not injured, just short of breath. He leapt back to the fight, his

knife slashing.

Frantic and terrified, Raistlin grabbed hold of his attacker's knife hand. The two grappled, Liam trying to stab

Raistlin, Raistlin struggling to wrench the knife from the dark elf's grip.

They lurched about the narrow corri dor. Raistlin's strength was ebbing fast. He could not hope to keep up this

deadly contest for long. Staking his hopes on one desperate move, Raistlin concentrated his remaining energy,

smashed the elf's hand-the hand holding the knife-against the stone.

Bones cracked, the elf gasped in pain, but he clung tenaciously to his weapon.

Panic seized hold. Again and again Raistlin struck Liam's hand against the hard stone. The knife's handle was

slippery with blood. Liam could not hold on to it. The knife slipped from his grip and fell to the floor.

Liam made a lunge to try to recover his weapon. He lost it in the shadows, apparently, for he was down on all

fours, frantically searching the floor.

Raistlin saw the knife. The blade burned with red fire in Lunitari's bright light. The elf saw it at the same time,

made a lunge for it. Snatching the knife from beneath the elf's grasping fingers, Raistlin drove the blade into Liam's

stomach.

The dark elf screamed, doubled over.

Raistlin yanked the blade free. Liam tumbled to his knees, his hand pressed over his stomach. Blood poured from

his mouth. He pitched forward, dead, at Raistlin's feet.

Gasping, each breath causing him wrenching agony, Raistlin started to turn, to flee. He could not make his legs

work properly and collapsed to the stone floor. A burning sensation spread from the knife wound throughout his

nerve endings. He was nauseated, sick.

Liam would have his revenge after all, Raistlin realized in bitter despair. The dark elf's knife blade had been tipped

with poison.

The lights of Solinari and Lunitari wavered in his sight, blurred together, and then darkness overtook him.

Raistlin woke to find himself lying in the same corridor. Liam's body was still there, beside him, the elf's

dead hand touching him. The body was still warm. Raistlin had not been unconscious long.

He dragged himself away from the dead body of the dark elf. Wounded and weak, he crawled into a shadowy

corridor and slumped against a wall. Pain coiled around his bowels. Clutching his stomach, he retched and

heaved. When the vomiting subsided, he lay back on the stone floor and waited to die.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded through a haze of sickness.

He knew the answer. Because he had dared to bargain with a wizard so powerful that he had once thought of

overthrowing Takhisis, a wizard so powerful that the conclave feared his power even after he was dead.

If your armor is made of dross, it will crack at the first blow, and when that happens, I will slip inside and take what is mine.

Raistlin almost laughed. "What little life I have left, you are welcome to, archmagus!"

He lay on the floor, his cheek pressed against the stone. Did he want to survive? The Test had taken a terrible

toll, one from which he might never recover. His health had always been precarious. If he survived, his body

would be like a shattered crystal, held together by the force of his own will. How would he live? Who would take

care of him?

Caramon. Caramon would care for his weak twin.

Raistlin stared into Lunitari's red, flickering light. He couldn't imagine such a life, a life of dependency on his