Raistlin didn't mind the heat nearly as much as the other boys. He would have enjoyed it if it weren't for the fact

that he would soon have to go out into the cold and the snow. Moving from one extreme to the other, venturing out

into the chill in sweat-damp robes, took its toll on Raistlin's frail body. He was just now recovering from a sore throat

and high fever that had robbed him of his voice for several days, forcing him to remain at home in bed.

He detested missing school. He was more intelligent than the master. And Raistlin knew in his soul that he was a

better wizard than Master Theobald. Still, there were things he could learn from the master, things he must learn.

The magic burned inside Raistlin like the fever, more pleasant yet just as painful. What Master Theobald knew and

Raistlin did not was how to control the burning, how to make the magic serve the spellcaster, how to transmit the

fever to words that could be written and spoken, how to use the fever to create.

Master Theobald was such an inept teacher, however, that Raistlin often felt as if he were lying in ambush,

waiting to pounce upon the first bit of useful information that might accidentally wander in his direction.

The pupils of Master Theobald sat on their tall stools and tried desperately to stay awake, not easy to do in the

heat after the heavymiddaymeal. Anyone caught dozing off would be

awakened by the whip-snap of the lithe willow branch across his shoulders. Master Theobald was a big, flabby man,

but he could move quickly and quietly when he wanted to. He liked nothing better than to catch a pupil napping.

Raistlin had spoken quite glibly to his brother about being whipped that first day of school. Since then his thin

shoulders had felt the snap of the willow branch, a pain that cut more deeply into the soul than into the flesh. He

had never before been struck, except for the occasional smack from his sister, slaps which were delivered in a spirit

of sibling affection. If Kitiara sometimes hit harder than she'd meant, her brothers knew that it was the thought that

counted.

Master Theobald hit with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his fat face that left no doubt he enjoyed meting out

punishment.

"The letter a in the language of magic," Master Theobald was saying in his somnambulistic monotone, "is not

pronounced 'aa' as it is in the Common vernacular, nor is it pronounced 'ah' as you will hear it in the elven, nor yet

'ach' as we find it spoken among the dwarves."

Yes, yes, thought Raistlin drearily. Get on with it. Quit showing off. You've probably never spoken to an elf in your

life,, you fat old dundering idiot.

"The letter a in the language of magic is spoken as 'ai.' "

Raistlin snapped to alertness. Here was information he needed. He listened attentively. Master Theobald repeated

the pronunciation.

" 'Ai.' Now, you young gentlemen, say this after me."

A drowsy chorus ofaissighed through the stifling room, punctuated by one strongaispoken firmly by Raistlin.

Generally his voice was the quietest among them, for he disliked drawing attention to himself, mainly because such

attention was usually painful. His excitement at actually learning something useful and the fact that he was one of

the few awake and listening had prompted him to speak more loudly than he'd intended.

He immediately regretted having done so. Master Theobald regarded Raistlin with an approving eye, at least what

could be seen of that eye through the pouches of fat surrounding it, and gently tapped the willow branch upon the

desk.

"Very good, Master Raistlin," he said.

Raistlin's neighbors cast him covert, malignant glances, and he knew he'd be made to pay for this compliment.

The boy to his right, an older boy, almost thirteen, who had been sent to the

school because his parents could not stand to have him around the house, leaned over to whisper.

"I hear you kiss his arse every morning, 'Master Raistlin.' "

The boy, known as Gordo, made vulgar smacking sounds with his lips. Those sitting nearby responded with

smothered giggles.

Master Theobald heard and turned his eye on them. He rose to his feet and the boys immediately hushed. He

headed for them, the willow branch in his hand, when he was distracted by the sight of a small pupil actually

slumbering soundly, his head on his arms, his eyes closed.

Master Theobald smiled. Down came the willow branch across the small shoulders. The pupil sat bolt upright

with a pained and startled cry.