The pleasure had soon faded. He came to realize that other boys left him alone because, after the nettle incident,

they detested him. They had always disliked him, but now they distrusted him so much that they derived no pleasure

from teasing him. They left him severely alone.

I should welcome this change, he said to himself.

But he didn't. He found that he had secretly enjoyed the attention of the others, even if such attention had

annoyed, hurt, or angered him. At least by teasing himthey had acknowledged him as one of them. Now he was an

outcast.

He had meant to walk to the clearing this day, but, standing on the outskirts, looking at the trackless snow

flowing in smooth, frozen ripples around the boles of the trees, he did not enter.

The snow was perfect, so perfect that he could not bring himself to walk through it, leaving a floundering trail

behind, marring the perfection.

The school bell rang. He lowered his head against the icy flakes that a slight, rising breeze was blowing into his

eyes. Turning, he slogged his way back through the silence and the white and the black and the gray, back to the

heat and the torpor and loneliness of the schoolroom.

The boys changed their wet clothes and filed down to supper, which they ate under the watchful, if somewhat

vacant, eye

of Marm. Master Theobald entered the room only if necessary to prevent the floor from being awash in soup.

Marm reported any misdeeds to the master, and so the bread-tossing and soup-spitting had to be kept to a

minimum. The boys were tired and hungry after their hard-fought snow battles, and there was less horseplay than

usual. The large common room was relatively quiet except for a few smothered giggles here and there, and thus the

boys were extremely surprised when Master Theobald entered.

Hastily the boys clamored to their feet, wiping grease from their chins with the backs of their hands. They

regarded his arrival with indignation. Dinner was their own personal time, into which the master had no right or

reason to intrude.

Theobald either didn't see or decided to ignore the restless feet shuffling, the frowns, the sullen looks. His gaze

picked out the three eldest: Jon Farnish; Gordo, the hapless butcher; and Raistlin Majere.

Raistlin knew immediately why the master had come. He knew what the master was going to say, what was going

to happen. He didn't know how he knew: premonition, some hereditary offshoot of his mother's talent, or simple

logical deduction. He didn't know and he didn't care. He couldn't think clearly. He went cold, colder than the snow,

fear and exultation vying within him. The bread he had been holding fell from his nerveless hand. The room seemed

to tilt beneath him. He was forced to lean against the table to remain standing.

Master Theobald called off the names of the three, names that Raistlin heard only dimly through a roaring in his

ears, the roaring as of flames shooting up a chimney.

"Walk forward," said the master.

Raistlin could not move. He was terrified that he would collapse. He was too weak. Was he falling sick? The sight

of Jon Farnish, tromping across the floor of the common room with a hangdog air, certain that he was in trouble,

brought a derisive smile to Raistlin's lips. His head cleared, the chimney fire had burnt itself out. He strode forward,

conscious of his dignity.

He stood before Theobald, heard the master's words in his bones, had no conscious recollection of hearing them in

his ears.

"I have, after long and careful consideration, decided that you three, by virtue of your age and your past

performance, will be tested this night to determine your ability to put to use the skills you have learned. Now, don't

be alarmed."

This to Gordo, whose eyes, white -rimmed and huge with

consternation, seemed likely to roll from their sockets.

"This test is not the least bit dangerous," the master continued soothingly. "If you fail it, nothing untoward will

happen to you. The test will tell me if you have made the wrong choice in wanting to study magic. If so, I will

inform your parents and anyone else interested in your welfare"-here he looked very sharply at Raistlin-"that, in

my opinion, your remaining here is a waste of time and money."

"I never wanted to be here!" Gordo blurted out, sweating. "Never! I want to be a butcher!"